\. 
 
 \ 
 
1, 
 
 37 
 
 THE 
 
 PROSE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 WITH THE 
 
 NOTES OF CURRIE AND CROMEK, 
 AND MANY BY THE PRESENT EDITOR. 
 
 EDINBURGH: • 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS 
 
 AND W. S. ORR AND COMPANY, LONDON. 
 
 1839. 
 
^^^-b^^ 
 
 EDUfBUROH : 
 
 Peintbd by W. and R. Chambsks, 
 19, Waterloo Place. 
 
 $0Ja»03 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The first examples of the Prose of Burns, besides the Prefaces to the various Editions of his Poems, were 
 given to the world, in the Edition of his Works published by Dr Currie, in 1800. They consisted of about 
 one hundred and twenty letters, addi-essed to various correspondents ; fifty-five addressed to Mr George . 
 Thomson, exclusively on the subject of Scottish Song ; and some Extracts from Common-Place Books, which 
 the Poet had kept at various periods of his life. 
 
 Burns's prose made from the first a considerable impression on the public mind. By many, the Letters 
 were considered as even more wonderful compositions than the Poems ; and we learn that Dr Aiken, then at 
 the head of critical literature in England, pronounced them superior to any thing of the kind in the language. 
 This praise would now, perhaps, be generally considered as too high ; yet, notwithstanding some specimens 
 of bad taste, occurring here and there, they are certainly entitled to no mean place in the department of 
 literature to which they belong. They display, in general, all that vigour of thought and expression which 
 shines in the verse of Burns. They contain many striking views of life and manners, and some deeply 
 solemn and touching speculations on the topics which most nearly concern the human bosom. Above all, 
 they throw a most interesting light on the character and history of the Poet himself, who is here seen in the 
 undisguise of his veritable nature— full of generous feeling towards all whom he loved— sternly, and often, it 
 may be, coarsely, indignant at those whom his jealous irritability taught him to regard as enemies^ — sometimes 
 elated by the joy of his fame, and the pride of his talents— but more frequently brooding in gloom over his 
 unworthy lot and dismal prospects, or writhing in repentance over follies which the better part of his nature 
 in vain contended. with. The facts of the life of Burns are chronicled by others ; but the history of his feel- 
 ings — his truest and most genuine biography — is to be found in his own Letters. 
 
 In consequence of the estimation in which the prose part of Dr Currie's publication was held, further 
 specimens of that class of Burns's compositions were afterwards brought before the world. In 1802, a series 
 of his letters was published in Glasgow, by the same Mr T. Stewart who had given to the world his J0II3' 
 Beggars, and other poems, overlooked by Currie. They were twenty-five in number, and had been •written by 
 the Poet chiefly during his confinement with a bruised limb, in Edinburgh, in the winter of 1787-8, the sole 
 person addressed being a lady, poetically named Clarinda, for whom he had contracted a I'omantic feeUng of 
 attachment, in consequence of conversing with her but once in the house of a friend, immediately before the 
 occurrence of his accident. The originals of these letters had been obtained surreptitiously, and their pub- 
 lication was rendered illegal by the claim which Burns's executors had over all his compositions during the 
 currency of their term of copyright. They were therefore interdicted, at the instance of these executors, and 
 soon vanished^from the open market. The force of the interdict is now, we presume, exhausted, along with 
 the term of the copyright ; but the letters are still suppressed, in consequence of the non-consent of the lady 
 herself to their publication. 
 
 Mr Cromek's volume of Reliques, published in 1808, added seventy -two letters of Burns to the General 
 Correspondence printed by Currie ; and we were further presented on this occasion with a series of strictures 
 on Scottish songs and ballads, with anecdotes of their authors, which the Poet had drawn up for the illustra- 
 tion of Johnson's Musical Museum — besides a more complete edition of his Common-Place Books than that 
 given by Currie. 
 
 Since then, additional letters of Bums have been published in Morrison's Edition of the Poems, in Mr 
 Lockhart's Life of Burns, in Mr Allan Cunningham's Edition of the Poet's Works, and other publications. To 
 Mr Cunningham the public is Ukewise indebted for a complete set of the Poet's Memoranda of his Border 
 and Highland Tours. 
 
 In the present Edition of the Prose Works of Burns, are combined all the letters, and other composi- 
 tions, enumerated, as having appeared in these various publications ; namely : — 
 
 The one hundred and twenty General Letters, published by Currie ; 
 
 The Correspondence >vith Mr Thomson ; 
 
 The seventy-two General Letters, published by Mr Cromek ; 
 
 All the other Letters, more recently pubUshed ; 
 
 The Common-Place Books, in their entire form ; 
 
 The Memoranda of Tours ; and 
 
 The Strictures on Scottish Songs and Ballads, with Anecdotes of their Authors. 
 Besides which, all the Notes of Currie and Cromek, with many new ones by the Editor, are given ; so that 
 the present Fasiculus, with the two accompanymg publications, may be said to form as complete a set of the 
 Life and Writings of Burns as any in existence. 
 
 > R. C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ^:^* The Italic letters in the following list of contents are dcbigneil to indicate in wliieh of the above enumerated iiublica- 
 tions the various letters respectively made their appearance. Those marked a were published by Dr Currie ; those 
 marked 6 appeared in Cromek's volume ; those marked c were published in jMorison's edition of the poems ; d marks those 
 incorporated in Mr Lockhart's Memoir ; c those published in Cunningham's edition of the poet's works ; / those in Hogg 
 and JMotherwcll's edition ; and g those in the present edition ; an asterisk being added whei-e the letter had previously 
 appeared f ugitively. 
 
 General Cop^respondence 
 
 Page 
 9 
 
 9. 
 10. 
 11. 
 12. 
 13. 
 14. 
 15. 
 Id. 
 17. 
 
 18. 
 
 id. 
 20. 
 
 21. 
 
 26 
 
 27, 
 
 1783. 
 
 To . Loelilee. A love-letter - - a 
 
 To . A love-letter - ~ a 
 
 To . A love-letter - - -a 
 
 To . On her rejection of liis hand - a 
 
 To Mr John Murdoch, schooiniaster. Jan. 15. 
 Giving an account of his present studies and 
 temper of mind - - - - -a 
 
 To Mr James Burness, Montrose. June 21. 
 State of the country - - - - d 
 1784. 
 
 To the same. Feb. 17. Mentioning the death 
 of his father - - - - - - d 
 
 To the same. Aug. Gives an account of the 
 Buchanites - - - - - - d 
 
 1786. 
 
 To Mr John Richmond. Feb. 17. Giving an 
 account of some of his compositions - b 
 
 To Mr Jolm Kennedy. INIar. 3. Invitation to 
 Maucliline ------ e 
 
 To Mr Robert Muir, Kilmarnock. Mar. 20. 
 Encloses " Scotch Drink " - - - e 
 
 To Mr Aiken. Apr. 3. Sends thanks for a lady's 
 approbation ----- *e 
 
 To Mr M'Whinnie, writer, Ayr. Apr. 17. Sends 
 the prospectus of his poems - - - ''b 
 
 To Mr Jolm Kennedy. Apr. 20. Encloses " The 
 Mountain Daisy"' e 
 
 To Mons. James Smith, Ivlauchline. His in- 
 tended voyage to the West Indies delayed b 
 
 To Mr David Brice. June 12. Jean Armour's 
 return — her perjiu-y. Is printmg his poems 6 
 
 To John Ballantyne, of Ayr. June. Encloses 
 prospectus of his poems. JMr Armour's de- 
 struction of his marriage certificate - e 
 
 To Mr John Richmond, Edinburgh. July 9. 
 Condolence. Forbidden by the Armours to 
 visit tlieir house - 1 - . _ g 
 
 To Mr David Brice, Glasgo-w. July 17. Jean 
 Armour. Has done penance in church e 
 
 To Mr John Richmond. July 30. Is about to 
 sail for the West Indies. Threatened with a 
 jail ---.__. e 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop. Thanks for her no- 
 tice. Praise of her ancestor, Sir William 
 AVallace ..-a 
 
 To Mr John Kennedy. Aug. Farewell e 
 
 To Mr Burness, Montrose. Sept. 26. Domestic 
 affections. Uncertain of his departure *g 
 
 To Mr Robert Muir, Kilmarnock. Sept. Birth 
 of his first twin children. " The Calf" e 
 
 To Mr Robert Aiken. Scheme for obtaining him 
 an excise appointment. Expresses his belief 
 in the immortality of tlie so'al. Disclaims 
 misanthropy ---__« 
 
 To Dr IMackenzie, Mauchline. Enclosing verses 
 on dining with Lord Daer. Character of Mr 
 Dugald Stewart b 
 
 To Mrs Stewart, of Stair. Encloses " The Bonny 
 Lass of Ballochmyle" - - - - a 
 
 Proclamation in the name of the Muses - a 
 
 To Gavin Hamilton. Esq. ]Mauchline. Edin- 
 burgh, Dec. 7. Rising fame. Patronage b 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 Page 
 
 30. To John Ballantyne, Esq. Ayr. Dee. 13. A 
 
 host of patrons and patronesses - - 6 16 
 
 31. To Mr WiUiam Chalmers, writer, Ajt. Dec. 27. 
 
 A humorous sally b 17 
 
 1787. 
 
 32. To the Earl of Eglinton. Jan. Thanlis for his 
 
 patronage "" al7 
 
 33. To John Ballantyne, Esq. Jan. 14. Offered a 
 
 farm by Mr Miller. Complimented in a mason 
 lodge - - - - - -.&17 
 
 84. To the same. Encloses " The Banks of Doon" 6 17 
 
 35. To Mr Dunlop. Jan. 15. Account of his situa- 
 
 tion in Edinburgh - - - - -al7 
 
 36. To James Dairy mple, Esq. Orangefield. Ap- 
 
 proves of Mr D.'s verses. Praise of Lord 
 Glencairn - - - - - - a 18 
 
 37. To Dr Moore. Jan. Grateful acknowledgments 
 
 of Dr M.'s notice of him in letters to Mrs 
 Dunlop - - - - - - -a 18 
 
 38. To the Rev. G. Lowrie. ThaiJvs for advice. 
 
 Reflections on his situation. Compliments paid 
 
 to Miss L by Mr Mackenzie - - a 19 
 
 39. To Dr Moore. Feb. 15 - - - - a 19 
 
 40. To John Ballantyne, Esq. Feb. 24. Second 
 
 edition of his poems about to appear - 6 20 
 
 41. To the Earl of Glencairn. Grateful acknowledg- 
 
 ments of kindness - - - - a 20 
 
 42. To the Earl of Buchan. In reply to a letter of 
 
 advice a 20 
 
 43. To Mr William Dunbar. Thanks for a present 
 
 of Spenser. Soon to leave Edinbiirgh / 20 
 
 44. To Mr James Caudlish. Mar. 21. Return from 
 
 scepticism to religion. Still " the old man 
 with his deeds" & 20. 
 
 45. To . Mar. On Fergusson's headstone a 21 
 
 46. To Mrs Dunlop. Mar. 22. Respecthig his pro- 
 
 spects on leaving Edinburgh - - - 21 
 
 47. To Miss . A kind of love-letter - b 22 
 
 48. To IMrs Dunlop. Apr. 15. Gratitude - a 22 
 
 49. To Dr Moore. Apr. 23. About to leave Edin- 
 
 burgh - - « 22 
 
 50. To Mrs Dunlop. Apr. 30. Reply to criticisms a 23 
 
 51. To the Rev. Dr' Blau\ May 3. Written on 
 
 leaving Edinburgh. Thanks for his kindness 23 
 
 52. To James Johnson. May 3. Promises assist- 
 
 ance for the Scots Musical Museum - / 23 
 
 53. To William Creech, Esq. Selkirk, May 13. Ilis 
 
 tour of the Border. " Willie's Awa" b 23 
 
 54. To Mr Pattison, bookseller, Paisley. Receipt of 
 
 paymeiit for ninety copies of his poems, sold 
 
 at Paisley f '2i 
 
 55. To Mr W. Nicol, Carlisle, June 1. A ride de- 
 
 scribed in broad Scotch - - - 6 24 
 
 56. To the same. Mauchline, June 18. IMilton's 
 
 Satan his favourite. Misfortune of the poetic 
 character. Estimate of his friends and ac- 
 quaintance - - - - - -6 24 
 
 57. To Mr James Candlish. Scots Musical Mu- 
 
 seum -- 25 
 
 58. To Mr W. Nicol. Auchtertyre, June. His liapi)!- 
 
 ness in that mansion - - - - e 25 
 
 59. To Mr William Cruickshank. Auchtertyre, June. 
 
 His late peregrinations - - - e 25 
 
 60< To John Richmond. July 7. Richmond's master. 
 
 His highland ramble - - - - e 25 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 To Robert Ainslie. July 23. Sets high value 
 upon his friendship - - - - e 25 
 
 To the same. July. Sufferings from savage hos- 
 pitality. Farming e 26 
 
 To Robert Muir. Aug. 26. Stirling. Bannock- 
 bum. Compliments - - - - e 26 
 
 To Gavin Hamilton. Aug. 28. Mr H.'s family 
 at Harvieston - - - - - -&26 
 
 To Mr Walker. Sept. 5. Bruar water. Duke 
 of Athole's children - - - - « 27 
 
 To Gilbert Bums. Sept. 17. Account of his 
 Highland journey - - - - - a 27 
 
 To Miss Chalmers. Sept. 26. Determined to 
 pay a poetic compliment to Miss Hamilton. 
 Joim Skinner. Mr Miller - - - 6 27 
 
 To the same. Farming. Charlotte Hamilton h 28 
 
 To Rev. John Skinner. Oct. 25. Thanks for a 
 poetical compliment. Johnson's Museum e 28 
 
 To James Hoy. Oct. 30. Mr Nieol. Johnson's 
 Museum _-----e28 
 
 To the same. Nov. 6. Song by the Duke of 
 Gordon - e 29 
 
 To Robert Ainslie. Nov. 23. Declines an invi- 
 tation - - & 29 
 
 To the Earl of Glencaim. Requesting his aid hi 
 getting into the excise- - - - - a 29 
 
 To Cliarles Hay, Esq. Enclosing verses on the 
 Death of the Lord President - - *^ 29 
 
 To Miss M n. Compliments a Greenland 
 
 expression - ' - - - - - *6 29 
 
 To Miss Chalmers. Nov. 21. Charlotte Hamil- 
 ton, &c. The Wabster's Grace - - 6 30 
 
 To the same. Dec, 12, His bruised limb. Praise 
 of the Bible - 6 30 
 
 To th.e same. Dec. 19. On stilts, not poetic 
 but oaken. His motto, I dare. His enemy 
 moimcme - - - - - - &30 
 
 To the same. Dee. Complimentary poems on 
 Miss C. A severe letter of hers to b 30 
 
 To Sir John Whitefoord. Dec. Thanks for 
 friendship. Reflections on the poetical cha- 
 racter a 31 
 
 To Miss Williams. Dec. A critique on her 
 poem of " Tlie Slave Trade" - - - ''e 31 
 
 To Mr Richard Brown, Irvine. Dec. 30. Re- 
 collections of early life. Same will-o'-wisp 
 being as ever - - - - - c 32 
 
 To Mr Gavin Hamilton. Dee. Prayers for his 
 health. Advices e 
 
 1788. 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Jan. 21. Low spirits after 
 
 recovering from sickness - - - a 
 To Miss Chalmers. Anger at Creech. Miser- 
 able prospects b 
 
 m. To Mrs Dunlop: Feb. 12. Religion - a 
 
 87. To Robert Graham, Esq. Asks an appoint- 
 
 ment to the excise - - - - -a 
 
 88. To the Rev. John Skinner. Feb. 14. Second 
 
 volume of Johnson published - - e 
 
 89. To Richard Brown. Feb. 15. Appointment to 
 meet in GlasgoAv ----- c 
 
 To Miss Chalmers. About to commence far- 
 mer, and has entered into the excise - b 
 
 To Mrs Rose, of Kilravock. Feb. 17. Recol- 
 lections of his residence at Kilravock - e 
 
 To Richard Bro^\Ti. Mauchline, Feb. 24. 
 Friendship. Resolved to enjoy the present c 
 
 To air W. Cruikshanks. Mar. 3. Negotiations 
 for farm of Ellisland - - - - e 
 
 To Robert Ainslie, Esq. Mar. 3. Ellisland. 
 Jean Armour. Message to Clarinda - e 
 
 To Richard Brown. Mar. 7. An honest passion 
 a good stimulus - - - - - c 
 
 To Mr Muir. Notions on human destiny *b 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Mar. 17. Disclaims having 
 
 84. 
 
 85 
 
 90. 
 
 91. 
 
 92. 
 
 93. 
 
 94. 
 
 ridiculed her 
 
 98. To Miss Chalmers. 
 
 lease of Ellisland. 
 K. 
 
 99. To Richard Brown. 
 
 100. To Mr Robert Cleghorn, 
 
 in the farmer - - - _ _ ^ 
 
 101. To Miss Chalmers. Apr. 7. Thanks for her 
 
 making him acquainted ^vith Miss Kennedy. 
 Has lately made some sacrifices. - & 
 
 Mar. 14. Has taken a 
 Good resolutions. Miss 
 
 b 
 
 Mar. 26. Apologies - c 
 Mar. 31. Poet sunk 
 
 32 
 
 Pac-e 
 
 102. To Mrs Dunbar. Apr. 7. Forgoes poetry and 
 
 the world of wits, for business - - / 37 
 
 103. To Mrs Dunlop. Apr. 28. Giving an account 
 
 of his prospects - - - a 37 
 
 104. To Mr James Smith. Apr. 28. Jocular allu- 
 
 sions to his marriage - - - - 6 37 
 
 105. To Professor Dugald Stewart. May 3. Thanks a 38 
 
 106. To Mrs Dunlop. May 4. Remarks on Dryden's 
 
 Tirgil and Pope's Odyssey - - a 38 
 
 107. To Mr Robert Ainslie. May 27. His marriage 6 38 
 
 108. To Mrs Dunloj?. May 27. Bitter remark^ on 
 
 hauteur towards domestics - - - a 38 
 
 109. To the same. June 13. Qualities of his wife a 39 
 
 110. To Mr R. Ainslie. June 14. Apprehends an 
 
 imperfection in his mental sight. Resolves to 
 
 be gxave. His marriage - - - b 39 
 
 111. To the same. Juno 23. Respectinsj' a profile of 
 
 Dr Blacklock ---.''- g 39 
 
 112. To the same. June 30. Death of Mr Ainslie's 
 
 master. Praise of prudence. Defence of the 
 piudent 6 39 
 
 113. To Mr George Lockhart. July 18. Admiration 
 
 of the Misses Baillie - - - - 6 40 
 
 114. To Mr Peter Hill. With a present of a cheese a 40 
 
 115. To Mr W. Cruikshanks. Aug. Nicol, Creech, 
 
 A ; friendly wishes - - - - e 41 
 
 115. To Mrs Dunlop. Aug. 2. Condolences. Lines 
 on a hermitage. Address to Mr Graham of 
 Fintry - - - - - a 41 
 
 117. To the same. Aug. 10. Further account of his 
 
 marriage. Contempt of accomplished young 
 ladies - - - - - a 41 
 
 118. To the same. Aug. 16. Dinner at Mr Miller's. 
 
 The many unhappy. Religion - a 42 
 
 119. To Mr Beugo, engraver. Sept. 9. Farming and 
 
 poetry - - - - - 6 42 
 
 120. To Miss Chalmers. Sept. 16. Touching recol- 
 
 lections of happy days spent in her company. 
 Has married Jean, and become farmer and 
 exciseman. Lines on Friars' Carse - h 43 
 
 121. To Mr Morrison, Mauchline. Sept. 22. Urges 
 
 the preparation of his household furniture b 43 
 
 122. To Mrs Dunlop. Sept. 27. Grateful for her 
 
 criticisms. Verses on a mother's less of her 
 son - - - - - & 44 
 
 123. To Mr P. Hill. Oct. 1. Criticism on an " Ad- 
 
 dress to Loch Lomond" - - a 44 
 
 124. To the Editor of the Star. Nov. 8. Pleading 
 
 for the Stuart family - - - a 45 
 
 125. To Mrs Dimlop. Nov. 13. Flatteries of la- 
 
 dies ------- a 4,5 
 
 126. To Mr James Johnson. Nov. 15. The Mu- 
 
 seum - - - - - 6 46 
 
 127. To Dr Blacklock. Nov. 15. Poetical labours. 
 
 Pleased witli his marriage - - & 46 
 
 128. To Mrs Dunlop. Dec. 17. Condolences. Sends 
 
 " Auld Lang Syne" and " My Bonnie Mary" a 46 
 
 129. To Miss Davies. Dec. Enclosing a ballad a 46 
 
 130. To Mr John Tennant. Dec. 22. Praises his 
 
 whisky - - - - - *e 47 
 
 178.9. 
 
 131. To Mrs Dunlop. New-year's day. Reflections 
 
 suggested by the day - - a 47 
 
 132. To Dr Moore. Jan. 4. Account of his situation 
 
 and prospects - - - - a 47 
 
 133. To Mr Robert Ainslie. Jan. 6. Mr A.'s com- 
 
 mencement of a i)rofessional career - J 48 
 
 134. To Professor Dugald Stewart. Jan. 20. En- 
 
 closes some poems for his criticism - a 48 
 
 1'35. To Bishop Geddes. Feb. 3. Account of his 
 
 situation and prospects - - a 49 
 
 136. To Mr James Burness. Feb.. 9. Esteem. Ac- 
 
 count of his recent affairs. Relatives - c? 49 
 
 137. To Mrs Dunlop. Mar. 4. Indignant sense of 
 
 his poverty. Lines by J\Irs Dunlop, improved 
 by Bums - - - - a 49 
 
 138. To Rev. Mr P. Carfi'ae. Poem by a Mr Mylne a 50 
 
 139. To Dr Moore. Mar. 23. Enclosing a poem a 50 
 
 140. To Mr Hill. Apr. 2. Apostrophe to' frugality. 
 
 Orders for books - - - - a 51 
 
 To ]\Irs Dimlop. Ajir. 4. Encloses sketch of 
 C. J. Fox - - - - a 52 
 
 142. To Mrs M'Murdo, Drumlanrig. May 2. Gra^ 
 titude for her attentions. Encloses song of 
 " Bonnie Jea.n" - . - p e;o 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 143. To ]\Ir Cunninghcam. May 4. Encloses poem 182. 
 
 on a wounded hare. Praises Cruikshanks a 52 
 
 144. To Mr Samuel Brown. May 4. Ailsa fowling e 63 
 
 145. To Richard Brown. May 21. Hopes they will 
 
 meet in another world - - c 53 
 
 14G. To Mr James Hamilton. May 26. Sympathises 
 
 with Mr H.'s misfortunes - - - 6 53 
 
 147. To William Creech, Esq. May 30. Toothache. 
 
 Encloses some new pieces. Requests three 
 copies of his poems - - - 6 53 
 
 148. To Mr M'Auley, of Dumbarton. June 4. An 
 
 accoimt of his situation - - - a 53 
 14.9. To Mr R. Ainslie. June 8. Overwhelmed with 
 
 business. Serious counsel - - - 6 54 
 
 150. To Mr M'Murdo. .Tune 19. Encloses a song e 54 
 
 151. To Mrs Dunlop. June 21. Reflections on re- 
 
 ligion - - - - - a 54 
 
 152. To Mr . In answer to a letter in which 
 
 there was some account of Fergusson - a 55 
 
 153. To Miss Williams. Enclosing a criticism on a 
 
 poem of hers - - - - a 55 
 
 154. To Mr John Logan. Aug. 7. " The Kirk's 
 
 Alarm" - - - - e 56 
 
 155. To Mrs Dunlop. Sept. 6. Religion. Praise of 
 
 Zeluco - - a 5Q 
 
 156. To Captain Riddel, Carse. Oct. 16. Day of 
 
 the contention for the whistle. Requests two 
 franks ___._ . 6 56 
 
 157. To the same. Gratitude - - - h 57 
 
 158. To Mr R. Ainslie. Nov. 1. Apology for his 
 
 entering the excise - - - & 57 
 
 159. To Mr Richard Brown. Nov. 4. Account of 
 
 his excise duties and emoluments - c 57 
 
 160. To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fin try. Dec. 9. 
 
 Encloses some of his poems - - - a 57 
 
 161. To Mrs Dunlop. Dec. 13. Ill with a nervous 
 
 headache. Reflections on immortality a 58 
 
 162. To Lady Winifred Maxwell Constable. Dec. 16. 
 
 An effusion of Jacobinism - - - c? 58 
 
 163. To Provost Maxwell, of Lochmaben. Dec. 20. 
 
 Is at a loss for a subject. Wishes to hear of 
 an election at Lochmaben - - - e 59 
 
 1790. 
 
 164. To Sir John Sinclair. Account of a book society 
 
 among the farmers in Nithsdale - - a 59 
 
 165. To Charles Sharp, Esq. of Hoddam. Under a 
 
 fictitious character enclosing a ballad - a 59 
 
 166. To Mr Gilbert Bums. Jan. 11. Discontented 
 
 with his farm. Players at Dumfries - a 60 
 
 167. To Mr Sutherland, player. Enclosing a pi'o- 
 
 logue 60 
 
 168. To Mr W. Dunbar. Jan. 14. Anxious to keep 
 
 up correspondence. Excise business. His 
 children. Hopes of a better world - / 60 
 
 169. To Mrs Dunlop. Jan. 25. Some account of 
 
 Falconer, author of " The Shipwreck." Touch- 
 ing stanzas from old Scottish ballads - a 61 
 
 170. To Mr P. Hill. Feb. 2. Hurry of excise busi- 
 
 ness. Case of Miss Burns. Poem of " The 
 Village Curate." Order for books - b 
 
 171. To Mr W. Nicol. Feb. 9. Nicol's mare dead. 
 
 Theatricals __._-- 5 
 
 172. To Mr Cunningham. Feb. 13. Apologies for 
 
 his poor paper. Is there a science of life ? 
 Obliged to break the Sabbath. After all, his 
 chief fears refer to this world - - a 
 
 173. To Mr P. Hill. Mar. 2. Orders for books. 
 
 Thinks mankind naturally benevolent - a 
 
 174. To Mrs Dunlop. Apr. 10. Love of his coun- 
 
 try. Conduct of statesmen. Admires the 
 Mirror and Lounger. Minds of sensibility 
 not fitted for the world - - - a 
 
 175. To Collector Mitchell. Obscure allusions to a 
 
 meeting of the county gentlemen - - e 
 
 176. To Dr Moore. July 14. Thanks for a present 
 
 of Zeluco. Mrs C. Smith's sonnets - a 
 
 177. To Mr Murdoch. July 16. Respecting his 
 
 brother William - - _ _ _ 6 
 
 178. To Mr M'Murdo. Aug. 2. Encloses a poem 
 
 179. To Mrs Dunlop. Aug. 3. Some one has 
 
 wounded his pride - . _ - a 
 
 180. To Mr Cunningham. Aug. 8. Aspirations after 
 
 independence - - _ _ _ « 
 
 181. To Dr Anderson. Apologises for inability to 
 
 aid iu a literary work - - - - fe 66 j^ 
 
 183. 
 184. 
 
 185. 
 
 186. 
 
 187. 
 188. 
 
 189. 
 
 190. 
 
 191. 
 
 192. 
 193. 
 
 194. 
 195. 
 196. 
 197. 
 
 198. 
 199. 
 200. 
 
 201. 
 
 202. 
 
 203. 
 
 204. 
 
 205. 
 206. 
 
 207. 
 
 61 
 
 208. 
 
 62 
 
 
 
 209. 
 
 
 210. 
 
 62 
 
 
 63 
 
 2ir. 
 
 
 212. 
 
 63 
 
 
 
 213. 
 
 64 
 
 
 
 214. 
 
 64 
 
 
 
 215. 
 
 65 
 
 
 65 
 
 
 65 
 
 216. 
 
 65 
 
 217. 
 
 Page 
 To Crawford Tait, Esq. Oct. 15. Introduces 
 a Mr Duncan. Appeals to his generosity m 
 
 behalf of Mr D. b (SG 
 
 To . Dr M'Gill's case - - - h GG 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Nov. Congratulates her on 
 the birth of her grandchild. Stanzas on the 
 same occasion - - , _ - a 67 
 
 1791. 
 
 To Lady W. M. Constable. Jan. 11. Thanks 
 for the gift of a box which had belonged to 
 Queen Mary a 67 
 
 To Mr W. Dunbar. Jan. 17. Not yet dead. 
 Good wishes. Encloses a poem - - 67 
 
 To Mr P. Hill. Jan. 17. Tirade on poverty a 68 
 
 To Mr Cunningham. Encloses " Tarn o' Shan- 
 ter," &c. - a 68 
 
 To A. F. Tytler, Esq. Feb. Reply to Mr T.'s 
 criticisms on Tam o' Shanter - , - a 68 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Feb. 7. Hurt arm and hand. 
 Encloses " Elegy on Miss Burnet." Good 
 wishes for Mrs D.'s daughter and grandchild a 69 
 
 To the Rev. Mr A. Alison. Feb. 14. Doctrine 
 of association of ideas. Praises Mr A.'s work 
 on Taste a 69 
 
 To the Rev. G. Baird. Respecting the poems 
 of M. Bruce a 69 
 
 To Dr Moore. Feb. 28. Enclosing some re- 
 cently composed poems. Has been ranked as 
 supervisor, though not yet employed as such a 70 
 
 To Mr Cunningham. Mar. 12. Encloses two 
 songs - - - - - -'-a 70 
 
 To Mr Alex. Dalzel. Mar. 19. Death of Lord 
 Glencaim ------ jjl 
 
 To Mrs Graham of Fintry. '. Enclosing " Queen 
 Mary's Lament." His poverty - - a 71 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Apr. 11. Birth of a third 
 son. Health of the mother. Appreciates 
 her homely simplicity of character - a 71 
 
 To . Apology for delay in writing - a 71 
 
 To Quaint invective on a pedantic critic 72 
 
 To Mr Cunningham. June 11. Pleads in be- 
 half of Mr Clarke, a persecuted schoolmaster a 72 
 
 To the Earl of Buchan. Reply to an invitation 
 to celebrate the birth-day of Thomson a 72 
 
 To Mr Thomas Sloan. Sept. 1. Apology for 
 not writing. Strange scene at the public sale 
 of his crop ------6 73 
 
 To Colonel Fullarton, of FuUarton. Oct. 3. 
 Sends poems. Anxious to be known to one 
 he respects so much - - - - ^ 73 
 
 To Lady E. Cunningham. Encloses his " La- 
 ment for the Earl of Glencairn" - - « 73 
 
 To Mr Ainslie. Miserable state of his mind a 73 
 
 To Miss Davies. Apology for neglecting her 
 commands. Railings at fortune. Wishes to 
 reform the world - - - - - « 73 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Dec. 17. Enclosing the " Song 
 of Death" - - - - - - « 74 
 
 1792. 
 
 To Mr William Smellie, printer. Jan. 22. In- 
 troduces Mrs Riddel. Contrast between the 
 character of Mr S. and Mrs R. - - a 74 
 
 To Mr W. Nicol. Feb. 20. Ironical thanks for 
 advice - - - - - - -«74 
 
 To Francis Grose, Esq. ' Requesting him to 
 visit Mr Dugald Stewart, whose character he 
 
 ■^ourtrays - - '- - - - b 75 
 
 To the same. With legends respecting Allow- 
 way Kirk - - - - *& 75 
 
 To Mr J. Clarke, Edinburgh. July 26. Hu- 
 morous invitation to come to the country to 
 teach music - - - - 6 76 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Aug. 22. Miss Lesley Baillie. 
 Regrets separation from friends - a 70 
 
 To Mr Cunningham. Sept. 10. Wild apostro- 
 phe to a spirit. The conjugal state - a 7V 
 
 To Mrs Dunlop. Sept. 24. Condoles on Mrs 
 Henri's situation in France. Life of a farmer, 
 unless on his own property, vsretched. His 
 own increasing family - - a 77 
 
 To the same. Condoles on the death of Mrs 
 Henri - - - - - o 78 
 
 To the same. Dec. 6. Melancholy reflections 
 on the death of friends. Birth of his daugh- 
 ter. Poetical quotations - " a 78 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 78 
 
 78 
 
 222. 
 223. 
 
 224. 
 
 218. To R. Graham, Esq. of Fintiy, Dec. Distress 
 
 in consequence of an order to inquire into his 
 political conduct. Appeal for protection h 
 
 219. To Mrs Dunlop. Dec. 31. Resolutions against 
 
 hard drinking. No hope of promotion at pre- 
 sent. Forswears politics - - - & 
 1793. 
 
 220. To the same. Jan. 5. Board of excise ap- 
 
 peased respecting his political principles. 
 Execrates informers. Thanks for a cup pre- 
 sented by Mrs D. - - - - « 
 
 221. To Mr Cunningham. Mar. 3. Orders a seal 
 to be engraved ----- a 
 
 To Miss Benson. Mar. 21. Pleasure he had 
 had in meeting with her - - - - a 
 
 To Patrick Miller, Esq. Apr. Sends a present 
 of the new edition of his Poems - & 
 
 To John Francis Erskine, Esq. of Mar. Apr. 13. 
 Gratitude for his friendship. The inquiry 
 into his political conduct. Pathetic appeal 
 against his supposed degradation by being an 
 exciseman - - - - ^ ^0 
 
 225. To Mr R. Ainslie. Apr. 26. Spunkie his tute- 
 
 lary genius. Possibility of scholarcraft being 
 caught by the touch of books - - 6 81 
 
 226. To Miss Kennedy. A letter of compliment b 81 
 
 227. To Miss Craik. Aug. Wretchedness of poets a 82 
 
 228. To Lady Glencaim. Gratitude. Defence of 
 
 the business of the excise. Dramatic compo- 
 sition -------& 82 
 
 22.9. To John M'Murdo, Esq. Dee. Pays a debt 
 which has for some time kept him out of Mr 
 M.'s company. Sends a perusal of a collec- 
 tion of Scottish songs - - - - a 83 
 
 230. To the same. A present of his Poems - 83 
 
 233. To Captain . Dec. 5. Compliments him 
 
 as father of Scottish county reform. Encloses 
 
 « Bruee's Address" - - - *e 83 
 
 232. To Mrs Riddel. Envies her going to a party 
 
 of choice spirits - - - - - a 83 
 1794 
 
 233. To a Lady. In favour of a player's benefit a 83 
 
 234. To the Earl of Buchan. Jan. 12. Enclosing 
 
 " Bruee's Address." Apostrophe to liberty *e 83 
 
 235. To Captain Miller, Dalswinton. Enclosing 
 
 " Bruee's Address" - - - 
 
 236. To Mrs Riddel. Execration of one of her mi- 
 
 litary friends - * - 
 
 237. To the same. Gin-horse class of men. His own 
 
 irritability - - - - a 
 
 238. To the same. Recals her late severe look on 
 
 meeting him, but assures her of his admira- 
 tion and esteem - - - a 
 
 239. To the same. Renewal of interrupted friend- 
 
 ship ----- a 
 
 240. To the same. Bewails their estrangement a 
 
 241. To John Syme, Esq. Enclosing a son^ - a 
 
 242. To Miss . Obscure allusions to liis disre- 
 
 pute. Requests the return of MSS. lent to a 
 deceased friend ----- a 
 
 243. To Mr Cunningham. Feb. 25. His miserable 
 
 hypochondria. Requests consolation. Mag- 
 nanimity. Religion . _ . « 
 
 244. To the Earl of Glencairn. May. . With a pre- 
 
 sent of his Poems - - - - i 
 
 245. To David MaccuUoch, Esq. June 21. Arrange- 
 
 ment respecting a journey in Galloway e 
 
 246. To Mrs Dunlop. June 25. Melancholy fore- 
 
 bodings about his health. Encloses first 
 stanzas of an Ode on Liberty - - 6 
 
 247. To Mr James Johnson. Poetry interrupted by 
 
 mental suffering. Sends songs for the Museum. 
 Has got Lord Balmerino's dirk - - 6 
 
 248. To Mr Samuel Clarke, jun. Allusions to a 
 
 quarrel with Captain , occasioned by a 
 
 toast, and which might have ended in a duel. 
 Anxiety to prevent its Jbeing misrepresented 
 to his disadvantage - - _ - 5 
 
 249. To Peter Miller, jun. Esq. Nov. Deelmes 
 
 veriting for the Morning Chronicle - 6 
 
 250. To Mrs Riddel. As from the other world, apo- 
 
 logising for misconduct when intoxicated a 
 1795. 
 
 251. To the same. Too busy at present for any 
 
 literary pursuit - - ' - a 
 
 84 
 a 84 
 
 84 
 
 85 
 
 86 
 
 86 
 
 86 
 
 87 
 
 Page 
 
 252. To Mr Heron of Heron. Enclosing ballads on 
 
 Mr H.'s election contest - - - 6 88 
 
 253. To Miss Fontenelle. Compliments her as an 
 
 actress, and encloses an address for her benefit 
 night 6 88 
 
 254. To Mrs Dunlop. Dec. 15. Anxiety about his 
 
 family. Dumfries theatricals. Cowper's 
 "Task" - a 88 
 
 255. To Mr Alex. Findlater. Schemes. Good wishes 6 89 
 
 256. To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle. For 
 
 a friend — complaining of the non- transmission 
 
 of the paper - - - - - -6 89 
 
 257. To Mrs Dunlop. Dec. 20. Mr Thomson's col- 
 
 lection of songs. Has been appointed super- 
 visor temporarily. Good wishes. Dr Moore a 89 
 
 258. Address of the Scotch Distillers to the Right 
 
 Hon. W. Pitt - - - - 6 90 
 
 259. To the Hon. the Provost, Bailies, and Town 
 
 Council of Dumfries. Requesting the privi- 
 lege of sending his son to the burgh schools, 
 on the footing of a burgess's son - - 6 90 
 1796. 
 
 260. To Mrs Riddel. Jan. 20. « Anacharsis's Tra- 
 
 vels." Lost health - - - - a 90 
 
 261. To Mrs Dunlop. Jan. 31. Deplores the appa- 
 
 rent loss of her friendship. Is the victim of 
 a rheumatic fever a91. 
 
 262. To Mrs Riddel. June 4. His health forbids 
 
 his attending the birth-night assembly a 91 
 
 263. To Mr Clarke, schoolmaster, Forfar. Fears he 
 
 is dying. Bewails the prospects of his chil- 
 dren *g 91 
 
 264. To Mr James Johnson. July 4. The Museum. 
 
 Anticipations of death - - - 6 91 
 
 265. To Mr Cunningham. July 7. Account of his 
 
 illness and his poverty. Anticipation of 
 death - - - - - a 91 
 
 266. To Mr Gilbert Bums. July 10. Anticipations 
 
 of death. His debts - - - - 92 
 
 267. To Mrs Burns. From Brow. Sea-bathing af- 
 
 fords little relief - - - - a 92 
 
 268. To Mrs Dunlop. July 12. Bewails her lost 
 
 friendship. A la^t farewell - - - 92 
 
 269. To Mr James Burness. July 12. Requests the 
 
 loan of ten pounds - - - - d 92 
 
 270. To James Gracie, Esq. July 16. Declines the 
 
 offer of a coach to bring him home - e 92 
 
 271. To James Armour. July 18. Begs Mrs A. may 
 
 come to attend his wife. His strength gone e 92 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR GEORGE 
 THOMSON. 
 
 1792. 
 
 1. Mr Thomson to Burns. Desiring the bard to 
 
 furnish verses for some of the Scottish airs, 
 and to revise former songs - - - 93 
 
 2. Bums to Mr T. Promising assistance - 93 
 
 3. Mr T. to Bums. Sending some tunes - 94- 
 
 4. Burns to Mr T. With " The Lea-Rig," and 
 
 " Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary ?" - 94 
 
 5. Burns to Mr T. With " My wife's a winsome 
 
 wee thing," and " Oh saw ye bonnie Lesley ?" 94 
 
 6. Burns to Mr T. With " Highland Mary" - 95 
 
 7. Mr T. to Burns. Thanks, and critical observa- 
 
 tions -------95 
 
 8. Burns to Mr T. With an additional stanza to 
 
 "The Lea-rig" ----- 95 
 
 9. Burns to Mr T. With " Auld Rob Morris," and 
 " Duncan Gray" - - - 96 
 
 10. Bums to Mr T. With « Oh poortith cauld," &c., 
 
 and " Galla Water" - - - - 96 
 1793. 
 
 11. Mr T. to Bums. Jan. Desiring anecdotes on 
 
 the origin of particular songs. Tytler of 
 Woodhouselee. Pleyel. Sends Peter Pindar's 
 " Lord Gregory." Postscript from the Hon. A. 
 Erskine 96 
 
 12. Bums to Mr T. Has Mr Tytler's anecdotes, 
 
 and means to give his own. Sends his own 
 
 " Lord Gregory" 96 
 
 13. Burns to Mr T. With "Mary Morison" - 97 
 
 14. Burns to Mr T. With « Wandering Willie" - 97 
 15.* Mr T. to Bums. With a list of songs, and 
 
 " Wandering Willie," altered - - 97 
 
OONTENTa 
 
 Page 
 
 16. Burns to Mr T. Voice of Coila. Criticism. 
 
 Origin of " The Lass o' Patie's Mill" - .98 
 
 17. Mr T. to Bums . - - - 99 
 lo. Bums to Mr T. Simplicity requisite in a song. 
 
 One poet should not mangle the works of an- 
 other 99 
 
 19. Burns to Mr T. " Farewell thou stream that 
 
 winding flows." Wishes that the national 
 music may preserve its native features - 99 
 
 20. Mr T. to Burns. Thanks and observations 99 
 
 21. Burns to Mr T., with " Blithe hae I been on yon 
 
 hill" 100 
 
 22. Burns to Mr T. With " Oh Logan, sweetly didst 
 
 thou glide." " Oh gin my love were yon red 
 rose," &e. - - _ - _ _ IQO 
 
 23. Mr T. to Burns. Enclosing a note. Thanks 100 
 
 24. Burns to Mr T. With " There was a lass and she 
 
 was fair" _-_.__ 101 
 
 25. Burns to Mr T. Hurt at the idea of pecuniary 
 
 recompense. Remarks on songs - - 101 
 
 26. Mr T. to Bums. Musical expression - 101 
 
 27. Burns to Mr T. For Mr Clarke - - 101 
 
 28. Burns to Mr T. With " PhiUis the fair" - 101 
 
 29. Mr T. to Burns. Mr Allan. Drawing from 
 
 " John Anderson, my jo" _ _ _ 101 
 
 30. Burns to Mr T. With " Had I a cave," &c. Some 
 
 airs common to Scotland and Ireland - 102 
 
 31. Burns to Mr T. With "By Allan stream I chanced 
 
 to rove" ------- 102 
 
 32. Burns to Mr T. With « Whistle and I'll come to 
 
 you, my lad," and " Awa wi' your belles and 
 your beauties" ----- 102 
 
 33. Burns to Mr T. With " Come let me take thee 
 
 to my breast" ------ 102 
 
 34. Burns to Mr T. " Daintie Davie" - - 103 
 
 35. Mr T. to Burns. Delighted with the productions 
 
 of Burns's muse 103 
 
 36. Burns to Mr T. With " Bruce to his troops at 
 
 Bannockburn" ----- 103 
 
 37. Bums to Mr T. With "Behold the hour, the boat 
 
 arrive" - 103 
 
 38. Mr T. to Burns. Observations on " Bruce to his 
 
 troops" ------- 103 
 
 39. Bums to Mr T. Remarks on songs in Mr T.'s 
 
 list. His own method of forming a song. 
 " Thou hast left me ever, Jamie." " Where 
 are the joys I hae met in the morning." " Auld 
 lang syne" -_-.-_ 104 
 
 40. Burns to Mr T. With a variation of " Bannock- 
 
 burn" 105 
 
 41. Mr T. to Burns. Observations - - - 105 
 
 42. Bums to Mr T. On " Bannockburn." Sends 
 
 "Fair Jenny" ----- 105 
 
 43. Burns to Mr T. With « Deluded swain, the plea- 
 
 sure." Remarks ----- 106 
 
 44. Burns to Mr T. With " Thine am I, my faithful 
 
 fair." " Oh condescend, dear charming maid." 
 " The Nightingale." " Laura." The three 
 last by G. TurnbuU . - - - 106 
 
 45. Mr T. to Burns. Apprehensions. Thanks 107 
 
 1794. 
 
 46. Mr T. to Burns. Melancholy comparison be- 
 
 tween Burns and Carlini. Allan's sketch 
 from the " Cotter's Saturday Night" - 107 
 
 47. Burns to Mr T. Praise of Mr Allan. « Banks of 
 
 Cree" - - 107 
 
 48. Burns to Mr T. Pleyel in France. " Here, 
 
 where the Scottish Muse immortal lives," pre- 
 sented to Miss Graham of Fintry, with a copy 
 of Mr Thomson's Collection - - 108 
 
 49. Mr T. to Burns. Does not expect to hear from 
 
 Pleyel soon, but desires to be prepared with 
 the poetry - - - - - - 108 
 
 m. Burns to MrT. With "On the seas and far away" 108 
 
 51. Mr T. to Burns. Criticism - - - 108 
 
 52. Bums to Mr T. With " Ca' the ybwes to the 
 
 knowes" 108 
 
 53. Bums to Mr T. With " She savs she lo'es me best 
 
 of a." « Oh let me in," &c. Stanza to Dr 
 Maxwell 108 
 
 54. Mr T. to Burns. Advising him to write a Musical 
 
 Drama ------- 109 
 
 55. Mr T. to Burns. Has been examining Scottish 
 
 collections. Ritson. Difficult to obtain an- 
 cient melodies in their original state - 109 
 
 56. Burns to Mr T. Recipe for producing a love- 
 
 song. "Saw ye my Phely.?" Remarks and 
 anecdotes. "How long and dreary is the 
 night !" " Let not woman e'er complain." 
 " The Lover's morning salute to his mistress." 
 "The Auld Man" - - - - 110 
 
 57. Mr T. to Burns. Wishes he knew the inspiring 
 
 fair one. Ritson's historical essay not inte- 
 resting. Allan. Maggie Lauder - - 111 
 
 58. Burns to Mr T. Has begun his anecdotes, &e. 
 
 " My Chloris, mark how gi-een the groves." 
 Love. " It was the charming month of May." 
 " Lassie wi' the lint- white locks" - - 111 
 
 59. Burns to Mr T. " Farewell thou stream." 
 
 Miller. Clarke. The black keys. Instance 
 of the difficulty of tracing the origin of an- 
 cient airs --- _ _ -112 
 
 60. MrT. to Bums. With three copies of the Scottish 
 
 airs 112 
 
 61. Burns to Mr T. With " Oh Philly, happy be that 
 
 day." Starting-notat " Contented wi' little, 
 and cantie wi' raair" - - - - 112 
 
 62. Bums to Mr T. With " Canst thou leave me thus, 
 
 my Katy." Stock and horn, &c. - - 113 
 
 63. Mr T. to Burns. Praise. Desires more songs of 
 
 the humorous cast. Means to have a picture 
 from " The Soldier's Return" - - 113 
 
 64. Burns to Mr T. With " My Nannie's awa" - 114 
 
 1795. 
 
 65. Bums to Mr T. With " For a' that and a' that," 
 
 and " Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn" 114 
 
 66. Mr T. to Burns. Thanks - - - - 114 
 
 67. Burns to Mr T. Diatribe on Ecclefechan - 114 
 
 68. Mr T. to Burns. Thanks - - - 114 
 
 69. Burns to Mr T. "Address to the Woodlark." 
 
 " On Chloris being ill." " Their gToves o' 
 sweet myrtle." " 'Twas na her bonnie blue ee" 1 14 
 
 70. Mr T. to Burns. With Allan's design from " The 
 
 Cotter's Saturday Night" - - - 115 
 
 71. Burns to Mr T. With " How cmel are the pa- 
 
 rents," and " Mark yonder pomp" - - 115 
 
 72. Burns to Mr T. Thanks for Allan's designs 115 
 
 73. Mr T. to Burns. Compliment - - - 115 
 
 74. Burns to Mr T. With an improvement in " AVhistl e 
 
 and I'll come to you, my lad." " Oh this is 
 no my ain lassie." " Now spring has clad the 
 grove in green." " Oh bonny was yon rosy 
 brier." " 'Tis friendship's pledge, my young 
 fair friend" 115 
 
 75. Mr T. to Burns. Introducing Dr Brianton - 115 
 
 76. Bums to Mr T. " Forlorn my love, no comfort 
 
 near" ------- 116 
 
 77. Bums to Mr T. " Last May a braw wooer cam 
 
 down the lang glen." " Why, why tell thy 
 lover," a fragment - - - - -116 
 
 78. Mr T. to Burns 116 
 
 1796. 
 
 79. Mr T. to Burns. After an awful pause - 116 
 
 80. Burns to Mr T. Thanks for P. Pindar, &c. "Hey 
 
 for a lass wi' a tocher" - - - - 1 16 
 
 81. Mr T. to Burns. Allan has designed some plates 
 
 for an octavo edition - - - - 116 
 
 82. Burns to Mr T. Afflicted by sickness, but 
 
 pleased with Mr Allan's etchings - - 116 
 
 83. Mr T. to Burns. Sympathy. Encouragement 117 
 
 84. Burns to Mr T. With " Here's a health to ane I 
 
 lo'e dear" ----- - II7 
 
 85. Burns to Mr T. Introducing Mr Lewars. Has 
 
 taken a fancy to review his songs - - 117 
 
 86. Burns to Mr T. Dreading the horrors of a jail, 
 
 solicits the advance of five pounds, and en- 
 closes " Fairest maid on Devon Banks" - 117 
 
 87. Mr T. to Burns. Sympathy. Advises a volume 
 
 of poetry to be published by subscription. 
 Pope published the Iliad so - - - 117 
 
 Common-Place Books — ' 
 
 First Common-Place Book, begun in April 1783 118 
 Second Common-Place Book, begun in Edinburgh, 
 April 1787 122 
 
 Memoranda of Tours— 
 Border Tour, May 1787 . - - - 126 
 
 Highland Tour, August and September 1787 - 128 
 
 Notes to Johnson's? Scots Musical Museum - 130 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 TO * 
 
 LocMea, 1783. 
 I VERILY believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine 
 feelings of love are as rare in the world as the pure 
 genuine principles of virtue and piety. This, I hope, 
 will account for the uncommon style of all my letters to 
 you. By uncommon, I mean their being written in such 
 a hasty mannex-, which, to tell you the truth, has made 
 me often afraid lest you should take me for some zealous 
 bigot, who conversed with liis mistress as he would con- 
 verse with his minister. I don't imow how it is, my 
 dear, for though, except your company, there is nothing 
 on earth gives me so much pleasure as writing to you, yet 
 it never gives me those giddy raptures so much talked 
 of among lovers. I have often thought that if a well- 
 grounded affection be not really a part of virtue, 'tis some- 
 thing extremely aldn to it. Whenever the thought of 
 my E. warms my heart, every feeling of humanity, every 
 principle of generosity, Idndles in my breast. It extin- 
 guishes every dirty spark of malice and envy, which are 
 but too apt to infest me. I grasp evei-y creature in the 
 arms of universal benevolence, and equally participate 
 in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathise with the 
 miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, I 
 often look up to the divine disposer of events with an 
 eye of gratitude for the blessing which I hope he intends 
 to bestow on me in bestowing you. I sincerely wish 
 that he may bless my endeavours to make your life as 
 comfortable and happy as possible, both in sweetening 
 tlie rougher parts of my natural temper, and bettering 
 the unkindly circumstances of my fortune. This, my 
 dear, is a passion, at least in my view, Avorthy of a man, 
 and, I will add, worthy of a Christian. The sordid eax'th- 
 worm may profess love to a woman's person, whilst in 
 reality his affection is centered in her pocket ; and the 
 slavish drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the horse- 
 market, to choose one who is stout and firm, and, as we 
 may say of an old horse, one who will be a good drudge 
 and draw Idndly. I disdain their dirty, puny ideas. I 
 would be heartily out of humour with myself, if I thought 
 I were capable of having so poor a notion of the sex, 
 which were designed to crown the pleasures of society. 
 Poor devils ! I don't envy them their happiness Avho 
 liave such notions. For my part, I propose quite otlier 
 pleasures with my dear partner. R. B. 
 
 No. 11. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 LocMea, 1783. 
 
 My Dear E — I do not remember, in the course of 
 your acquaintance and mine, ever to have heard your 
 opinion on the ordinary way of falling in love, amongst 
 people of our station m life. I do not mean the persons 
 who proceed in the way of bargain, but those whose af- 
 fection is really placed on the person. 
 
 Though I be, as you knov/ very well, but a very awk- 
 ward lover myself, yet as I have some opportunities of 
 observing the conduct of others who are much better 
 skilled in the affair of courtship than I am, I often think 
 it is owing to lucky chance more than to good manage- 
 ment, that there are not more unhappy mari'iages than 
 usually are. 
 
 * [The name of the female addressed in this and the subsequent 
 letters is not known.] 
 
 It is natural for a young fellow to like the acquain- 
 tance of the females, and customary for him to keep 
 them company when occasion serves : some one of them 
 is more agreeable to him than the rest — there is some- 
 thing, he knows not what, pleases him, he knows not 
 how, in her company. This I take to be what is called 
 love with the greater part of us ; and I must own, my 
 dear E., it is a hard game such a one as you have to 
 play when you meet with such a lover. You cannot re- 
 fuse but he is sincere, and yet though you use him ever 
 so favourably, perhaps in a few months, or at farthest 
 in a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy may 
 make him as distractedly fond of another, whilst you 
 are quite forgot. I am aware, that perhaps the next 
 time I have the pleasure of seeing you, you may bid me 
 take my own lesson home, and tell me that the passion 
 I have professed for you is perhaps one of those tran- 
 sient flashes I have been describing ; but I hope, my 
 dear E., you will do me the justice to believe me, v/hen 
 I assure you that the love I have for you is founded on 
 the sacred principles of virtue and honour, and by con- 
 sequence so long as you continue possessed of those 
 amiable qualities which first inspired my passion for 
 you, so long must I continue to love you. Believe me, 
 my deal*, it is love like this alone which can render the 
 
 ! marriage state happy. People may talk of flames and 
 raptures as long as they please — and a warm fancy, with 
 
 I a flow of youthful spirits, may make them feel some- 
 thing like what they describe ; but sure I am, the nobler 
 
 j faculties of the mind, with kindred feelings of the heart, 
 can only be the foundation of friendship, and it has al- 
 ways been my opinion that the married life was only 
 friendship in a more exalted degree. If you Avill be so 
 good as to grant my Avishes, and it should please Pro- 
 vidence to spare us to the latest period of hfe, I can 
 look forward and see that even then, though bent down 
 
 I with wrinkled age — even then, when all other worldly 
 
 j circumstances will be indifferent to me, I will regard 
 my E. with the tenderest affection, and for this plain 
 reason, because she is still possessed of those noble 
 qualities, improved to a much higher degree, which first 
 inspired my affection for her. 
 
 Oh ! happy state, when souls each other draw, 
 AVhen love is liberty, and nature laAv. 
 I know were I to speak in such a style to many a girl^ 
 who thinks herself possessed of no small share of sense, 
 she would think it ridiculous ; but the language of the 
 heart is, my dear E,, the only courtship I shall ever 
 use to you. 
 
 When I look over what I have written, I am sensible 
 it is vastly different from the ordinary style of court- 
 ship, but I shall make no apblogy — I know your good 
 nature will excuse what your good sense may see amiss. 
 
 KB. 
 
 No. III. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 LocJilea, 1783. 
 I HAVE often thought it a peculiarly unlucky circum- 
 stance in love, that though, in every other situation in 
 life, telling the truth is not only the safest, but actually 
 by far the easiest way of proceeding, a lover is never 
 tinder greater difiiculty in acting, or more puzzled for 
 expression, than when his passion is sincere, and his 
 intentions are honourable. I do not think that it is 
 very difficult for a person of ordinary capacity to talk 
 
10 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS, 
 
 of love and fonaness which are not felt, and to make 
 vows of constancy and fidelity which are never intended 
 to be performed, if he be villain enough to practise such 
 detestable conduct ; but to a man whose heart glows 
 with the principles of integrity and truth, and who sin- 
 cerely loves a woman of amiable person, uncommon re- 
 finement of sentiment and purity of manners — to such 
 a one, in such circumstances, I can assure you, my dear, 
 from my own feelings at this present moment, courtship 
 is a task indeed. There is such a number of foreboding 
 fears and distrustful anxieties crowd into my mind 
 when I am in your company, or when I sit down to 
 write to you, that what to speak or what to write I am 
 altogether at a loss. 
 
 There is one rule which I have hitherto practised, 
 and which I shall invariably keep with you, and that is, 
 honestly to tell you the plain truth. There is some- 
 thing so mean and unmanly in the arts of dissimulation 
 and falsehood, that I am surprised they can be acted 
 by any one in so noble, so generous a passion, as vir- 
 tuous love. No, my dear E., I shall never endeavour 
 -to gain your favour by such detestable practices. If 
 you will be so good and so generous as to admit me 
 for your partner, your companion, your bosom friend 
 through life, there is nothing on this side of eternity 
 shall give me greater transport ; but I shall never think 
 of purchasing your hand by any arts unworthy of a 
 man, and, I will add, of a Christian. There is one thing, 
 my dear, which I earnestly request of you, and it is this, 
 that you would soon either put an end to my hopes by 
 a peremptory refusal, or cure me of my fears by a ge- 
 nerous consent. 
 
 It would obhge me much if you would send me a line 
 or two when convenient. I shall only add further, that, 
 if a behaviour regulated (though perhaps but very im- 
 perfectly) by the rules of honour and virtue, if a heart 
 devoted to love and esteem you, and an earnest endea- 
 vour to promote your happiness— if these are qualities 
 you would wish in a friend, in a husband, I hope you 
 shall ever find them in your real friend and sincere 
 lover, " R. B. 
 
 No. IV. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Lochlea, 1783. 
 
 I OUGHT, in good manners, to have acknowledged the 
 receipt of your letter before this time, but my heart was 
 so shocked with the contents of it, that I can scarcely 
 yet collect my thoughts so as to write you on the sub- 
 ject. I will not attempt to describe what I felt on re- 
 ceiving your letter. I read it over and over, agaih and 
 again, and though it was in the politest language of 
 refusal, still it was peremptory : " you were sorry you 
 could not make me a return, but you wish me" — what, 
 without you, I never can obtain — " you wish me all kind 
 of happiness." It would be weak and unmanly to say 
 that without you I neyer can be happy ; but sure I am, 
 that sharing life with you would have given it a relish, 
 that, wanting you, I can never taste. 
 
 Your uncommon personal advantages, and your supe- 
 rior good sense, do not so much strike me ; these, possi- 
 bly, may be met with in a few instances in others ; but 
 that amiable goodness, that tender feminine softness, that 
 endearing sweetness of disposition, with all the charm- 
 ing offspring of a warm feeling heart — these I never 
 again expect to meet with, in such a degree, in this 
 world. All these charming qualities, heightened by an 
 education much beyond any thing I have ever met in 
 any woman I ever dared to approach, have made an 
 impression on my heart that I do not think the world 
 can ever efface. My imagination has fondly flattered 
 myself with a wish, I dare not say it ever reached a 
 hope, that possibly I might one day call you mine. I 
 had formed the most delightful images, and my fancy 
 fondly brooded over them ; but now I am wretched for 
 the loss of what I really had no right to expect. I must 
 now think no more of you as a mistress ; still I presume 
 to ask to be admitted as a friend. As such I wish to 
 be allowed to wait on you j and as I expect to remove 
 
 in a few days a little farther off, and you, I suppose, will 
 soon leave this place, I wish to see or hear from you 
 soon : and if an expression should perhaps escape me, 
 rather too warm for friendship, I hope you will pardon 
 it in, my dear Miss— (pardon me the dear expression 
 for once) * * * * R. B. 
 
 No. V. 
 TO MR JOHN MURDOCH, SCHOOLMASTER, 
 
 STAPLES INN BUILDINGS, LONDON. 
 
 Lochlea, 15th January, 1783. 
 
 Dear Sir — As I have an opportunity of sending you 
 a letter without putting you to that expense which any 
 production of mine would but ill repay, I embrace it 
 with pleasure, to tell you that I have not forgotten, nor 
 ever will forget, the many obligations I lie under to your 
 kindness and friendship. 
 
 I do not doubt. Sir, but you will wish to know what 
 has been the result of all the pains of an indulgent 
 father and a masterly teacher, and I wish I coUld 
 gratify your curiosity with such a recital as you would 
 be pleased with ; but that is what I am afraid will not 
 be the case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious 
 habits, and, in this respect, I hope my conduct will 
 not disgrace the education I have gotten ; but, as a man 
 of the world, I am most miserably deficient. One would 
 have thought that, bred as I have been, under a father, 
 who has figured pretty well as tin homme des affaires, I 
 might have been what the world calls a pushing, active 
 fellow ; but to tell you the truth. Sir, there is hardly 
 any thing more my reverse. I seem to be one sent into 
 the world to see and observe ; and I very easily com- 
 pound with the loiave who tricks me of my money, if 
 there be any thing original about him, which shows me 
 human nature in a different light from any thing I have 
 seen before. In short, the joy of my heart is to " study 
 men, their manners, and their ways ;" and for this dar- 
 ling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other conside- 
 ration. I am quite indolent about those great concerns 
 that set the bustling, busy sons of care agog ; and if I 
 have to answer for the present hour, I am very easy 
 with regard to any thing further. Even the last, worst 
 shift of the unfortunate and the wretched* does not much 
 terrify me : I know that even then, my talent for what 
 country folks call a " sensible crack," when once it is 
 sanctified by a hoary head, would procure me so much 
 esteem, that, even then, I would learn to be happy. 
 However, I am under no apprehensions about that ; for 
 though indolent, yet so far as an extremely delicate con- 
 stitution permits, I am not lazy, and in many things, es- 
 pecially in tavern matters, I am a strict economist — 
 not, indeed, for the sake of the money, but one of the 
 principal parts in my composition is a kind of pride of 
 stomach ; and I scorn to fear the face of any man liv- 
 ing — above every thing, I abhor as hell the idea of 
 sneaking in a corner to avoid a dun — ^possibly some 
 pitiful, sordid wretch, who in my heart I despise and 
 detest. 'Tis this, and this alone, that endears economy 
 to me. In the matter of books, indeed, I am very pro- 
 fuse. My favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, 
 such as Shenstone, particularly his " Elegies ;" Thom- 
 son ; " Man of Feeling" — a book I prize next to the'Bible; 
 " Man of the World ;" Sterne, especially his " Senti- 
 mental Journey ;" Macpherson's " Ossian," &c. ; these 
 are the glorious models after which I endeavour to form 
 my conduct, and 'tis incongruous, 'tis absurd, to sup- 
 pose that the man whose mind glows with sentiments 
 lighted up at their sacred flame — the man whose heart 
 distends with benevolence to all the human race — he 
 " who can soar above this little scene of things" — can 
 he descend to mind the paltry concerns about which the 
 terreefilial race fret, and fume, and vex themselves ! Oh 
 how the glorious triumph swells my heart ! I forget 
 that I am a poor, insignificant devil, unnoticed and un- 
 known, stalking up and down fairs and markets, when 
 I happen to be in them, reading a page or two of man- 
 kind, and " catching the manners living as they rise," 
 * [Vagrant mendicancy.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 11 
 
 whilst the men of huslness jostle me on every side, as 
 an idle incumbrance in their way. But I dare say I 
 have by tliis time tired your patience ; so I shall con- 
 clude with begging you to give JMrs Murdoch — not my 
 compliments, for that is a mere commonplace story, 
 but ray warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare — and 
 accept of the same for yourself, from, dear Sir, yours, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. VI. 
 TO MR JAMES BURNESS, 
 
 W^RITEB, MONTROSE.* 
 
 Lochlea, 2\st June, 1783. 
 
 Dear Sir — My father received your favour of the 
 10th current, and as hd has been for some months very 
 poorly in health, and is in his own opinion (and, indeed, 
 in almost every body's else) in a dying condition, he has 
 only, with great difficulty, written a few farewell lines 
 to each of his brothers-in-law. For this melancholy 
 rea<?on, I now hold the pen for him to thank you for 
 your kind letter, and to assure you. Sir, that it shall not 
 be my fault if my father's correspondence in the north 
 die with him. My brother writes to John Caird, and 
 to him I must refer you for the news of our family. 
 
 I shall only trouble you with a few particulars relative 
 to the wretched state of this country. Our markets are 
 exceedingly high — oatmeal, 17d. and 18d. per peck, and 
 not to be got even at that price. We have indeed been 
 pretty well supplied with quantities of white peas from 
 England and elsewhere, but that resource is Hkely to 
 fail us, and what will become of us then, particularly 
 the very poorest sort. Heaven only knows. This coun- 
 try, till of late, was flourishing incredibly in the manu- 
 facture of silk, lawn, and carpet-weaving ; and we are 
 still carrying on a good deal in that way, but much re- 
 duced fi'om what it was. We had also a fine trade in 
 the shoe way, but now entirely ruined, and hundreds 
 driven to a starving condition on account of it. Farm- 
 ing is also at a very low ebb with us. Our lands, gene- 
 rally speaking, are mountainous and barren ; and our 
 landholders, full of ideas of farming gathered from the 
 English and the Lothians, and other I'ich soils in Scot- 
 land, make no allowance for the odds of the quality of 
 land, and consequently stretch us much beyond what 
 in the event we will be found able to pay. We are 
 also much at a loss for want of proper methods in our 
 improvements of farming. Necessity compels us to 
 leave our old schemes, and few of us have opportunities 
 of being well informed in new ones. In short, my dear 
 Sir, since the unfortunate beginning of this American 
 war, and its as unfortunate conclusion, this country has 
 heen, and still is, decaying very fast. Even in higher 
 life, a couple of our Ayrshire noblemen, and the major 
 part of our knights and squires, are all insolvent. A 
 miserable job of a Douglas, Heron, and Co.'s bank, which 
 no doubt you have heard of, has undone numbers of 
 them ; an-d imitating English and French, and other fo- 
 reign luxuries and fopperies, has .ruined as many more. 
 There is a great trade of smuggling carried on along 
 our coasts, which, however destructive to the interests 
 of the kingdom at large, certainly enriches this corner 
 of it, but too often at the expense of our morals. How- 
 ever, it enables individuals to make, at least .for a time, 
 a splendid appearance ; but Fortune, as is usual with 
 her when she is uncommonly lavish of her favours, is 
 generally even with them at the last ; and happy were it 
 for numbers of them if she would leave them no worse 
 than when she foxmd them. 
 
 My mother sends you a small present of a cheese ; 
 'tisbut a very Httle one, as our last year's stock is sold 
 off; but if you could fix on any correspondent in Edin- 
 burgh or Glasgow, we would send you a proper one in 
 the season. Mrs Black promises to take the cheese 
 imder her care so far, and then to send it to you by the 
 Stirling carrier. 
 
 I shall conclude this long letter with assuring you 
 
 * [Cousin-german to the poet. He was grandfather of Lieii- 
 tenant Burnes, author of Travels in Bokhara, published a few 
 years ago.] 
 
 that I shall be very happy to hear from you, or any of 
 our friends in your country, when opportunity serves. 
 
 My father sends you, probably for the last time in 
 this world, his warmest wishes for your welfare and 
 happiness ; and my mother and the rest of the family 
 desire to enclose their kmd compliments to you, Mrs 
 Burness, and the rest of your family, along with those 
 of, dear Sir, your affectionate cousin, R. B. 
 
 No. VII. 
 TO MR JAMES BURNESS, MONTROSE, 
 
 Lochlea, 17 th February, 1784. 
 
 Dear Cousin — I would have returned you my thanks 
 for your kind favour of the 13th of December sooner, 
 had it not been that I waited to give you an account of 
 that melancholy event, which, for some time past, we 
 have from day to day expected. 
 
 On the 1 3th current I lost the best of fathers. Though, 
 to be siu'e, we have had long warning of the impending 
 stroke, still the feelmgs of nature claim their part, and 
 I cannot recollect the tender endearments and parental 
 lessons of the best of friends and ablest of instructors, 
 without feeling what perhaps the calmer dictates of 
 reason would partly condemn. 
 
 I hope my father's friends in your country will not 
 let their connexion in this place die with him. For my 
 part I shall ever with pleasure, with pi'ide, acknow- 
 ledge my connexion with those who were allied by the 
 ties of blood and friendship to a man whose memory I 
 shall ever honour and revere. 
 
 I expect, therefore, my dear Sir, you will not negtect 
 any opportunity of letting me hear from you, which will 
 very much oblige, my dear cousin, yours sincerely, R. B. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 TO MR JAMES BURNESS, MONTROSE. 
 
 Mossgiel, August, 1784. 
 
 We have been surprised with one of the most extra- 
 ordinary phenomena in the moral worldj which, I dare 
 say, has happened in the course of this half century. 
 We have had a party of Presbytery relief, as they call 
 themselves, for some time in this country. A pretty 
 thriving society of them has been in the burgh of Irvine 
 for some years past, till about two years ago a IMrs 
 Buchan from Glasgow came among them, and began 
 to spread some fanatical notions of religion among them, 
 and, in a short time, made many converts ; and among 
 others their preacher, Mr White, who, upon that ac- 
 count, has been suspended and formally deposed by 
 his brethren. He contmued, however, to preach in 
 private to his party, and was supported, both he and 
 their spiritual mother, as they affect to call old Buchan, 
 by the contributions of the rest, several of whom were 
 in good circumstances ; till in spring last, the populace 
 rose and mobbed Mrs Buchan, and put her out of the 
 town ; on which all her followers voluntarily quitted 
 the place likewise, and with such precipitation, that 
 many of them never shut their doors behind them ; one 
 left a washing on the green, another a cow bellowing 
 at the crib without food, or any body to mind her, and 
 after several stages, they are fixed at present in the 
 neighbourhood of Dumfries. Their, tenets are a strange 
 jumble of enthusiastic jargon ; among others, she pre- 
 tends to give them the Holy Ghost by breathing on 
 them, which she does with postures and practices that 
 are scandalously indecent. They have likewise disposed 
 of all their effects, and hold a community of goods, and 
 live nearly an idle life, carrying on a great farce of pre- 
 tended devotion in barns and woods, where they lodge 
 and lie all together, and hold likewise a community of 
 women, as it is another of their tenets that they can 
 commit no moral sin. I am personally acquainted with 
 most of them, Jfed I can assure you the above mentioned 
 are facts. 
 
 This, my dear Sir, is one of the many instances of 
 the folly of leaving the guidance of sound reason and 
 common sense in matters of religion. 
 
12 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Whenever we neglect or despise these sacred moni- 
 tors, the whimsical notions of a perturbated brain are 
 taken for the immediate infiuenees of the Deity, and the 
 wildest fanaticism, and the most inconstant absurdities, 
 will meet with abettors and converts. Nay, I have often 
 thought, that the more out-of-the-way and ridiculous 
 the fancies are, if once they are sanctified under the 
 sacred name of religion, the unhappy mistaken votai'ies 
 are the more firmly glued to them. R, B. 
 
 No. IX. 
 TO MR JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH.^^ 
 
 Alossgiel, February 17, 178G, 
 ]My DEAR Sir — I have not time at present to upbraid 
 you for yom' silence and neglect ; I shall only say I re- 
 ceived yours with great pleasure. I have enclosed you a 
 piece of rhymmg w\are for your perusal. I have' been 
 very busy with the muses since I saw yoYi, and have 
 composed, among several others. The Ordination, a poem 
 on Mr M'Kinlay's being called to Kilmarnock ; Scotch 
 Drink, a poem ; The Cottar's Saturday Night ; An Ad- 
 dress to the Devil, &c. I have lilcewise completed my 
 poem on the Dogs, but have not shown it to the world. 
 My chief patron now is ISlv Ailvcn in Ayr, who is pleased 
 to express great approbation of my works. Be so good 
 as send me Fergusson, by Connel, and I will remit you 
 the money. I have no news to acquaint you with about 
 Mauchline ; they are just going on in the old way. I 
 have some very important news with respect to myself, 
 not the most agreeable — news that I am sure you can- 
 not guess, but I shall give you the particulars another 
 time. I am extremely happy with Smith ; he is the 
 only friend I have now in Mauchline. I can scarcely 
 forgive your long neglect of me, and I beg you will let 
 me hear from you regularly by Connel. If you would 
 act your part as a friend, I am sure neither good nor 
 bad fortune should strange or alter me. Excuse haste, 
 as I got yours but yesterday. I am, my dear Sir, yours, 
 
 Robert Burness. 
 
 But if, as I'm informed weel. 
 Ye hate, as ill's the vera deil, 
 The fiuaty heart that canna feel, 
 
 Come, Sir, here's tae you ! 
 Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you wecl, 
 
 And guid be wi' you ! 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. XL 
 
 TO 
 
 No. X. 
 MR JOHN KENNEDY. 
 
 Mossgiel, M March, 1786. 
 Sir — I have done myself the pleasure of complying 
 with your request in sending you my Cottager. If you 
 have a leisure minute, I should be glad you would copy 
 it and return me either the original or the ti'anscript, 
 as I have not a copy of it by me, and I have a friend 
 who wishes to see it. 
 
 Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 
 
 E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse,t 
 
 Lord, man, there's lasses there wad force 
 
 A hermit's fancy ; 
 And dowTi the gate, in faith, they're worse, 
 
 And mair unchancy. 
 But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dov.'s, 
 And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews. 
 Till some bit callan bring me news 
 
 That you are there ; 
 And if Ave dinna hand a bouze, 
 
 I'se ne'er drink mail-. 
 It's no I like* to sit and swallow. 
 Then like a swine to puke and wallow ; 
 But gie me just a true good fallow, 
 
 ^Vi' right engine, 
 And spunlde ance to make us mellow. 
 
 And then we'll shine. 
 Now, if ye're ane o' warld's folk, 
 ^Vha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
 And sldent on poverty their joke, 
 
 Wi' bitter sneer, 
 Wi' you no friendship will I troke, 
 
 Nor cheap nor dear. 
 
 * [A young Mauchline friend of Bums, who was now pursuing 
 legal studies in Edinburgh.] 
 t [The market-cross.] 
 
 TO MR ROBERT MUIR, KILMARNOCK. 
 
 Mossgiel, 2Qth March, I78G. 
 
 Dear Sir — I am heartily sorry I had not the plea- 
 sure of seeing you as you returned through JMauchline ; 
 but as I was engaged, I could not be in town before the 
 evening. " 
 
 I here enclose you my " Scotch Drinlc," and " may 
 
 the follow with a blessing for your edification." 
 
 I hope, some time before we hear the gowk, to have the 
 pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I intend 
 we shall have a gill between us m a mutchkin-stoup, 
 which -\\ill be a great comfort and consolation to, dear 
 Sir, your humble servant, Robert Burness. 
 
 No. XII. 
 TO MR AIKEN. 
 
 Alossgiel, Sd April, 1786. 
 Dear Sir — I received your land letter with double 
 pleasure on account of the second flattering instance of 
 Mrs C.'s notice and approbation. I assure you I 
 
 Turn out the brunt side o' my shin, 
 as the famous Ramsay, of jingUng memory, says, at 
 such a patroness. Present her my most grateful ac- 
 knowledgments, in your very best manner of telling 
 truth. I have inscribed the following stanza on the 
 blank leaf of Miss More's work : — 
 
 Thou flattering mark of friendship kind, 
 Still may thy pages call to mind 
 
 The dear the beauteous donor : 
 Though sweetly female every part, 
 Yet such a head, and more the heart. 
 
 Does both the sexes honour. 
 She show'd her taste refined and just 
 
 V/hen she selected thee, 
 Yet deviating own I must, 
 For so approving me ; 
 
 But kind still, I mind still. 
 
 The giver in the gift — 
 I'll bless her, and wiss her 
 A friend above the Lift. 
 
 My proposals for publishing I am just going to send 
 to press. I expect to liear from you by the first oppor- 
 tunity. I am, ever dear Sir, yours, Robert Burness. 
 
 No. XIII. 
 TO MR M'WHINNIE, WRITER, AYR. 
 
 Mossgiel, 17 th April, 1786. 
 
 It is injuring some hearts, those heai-ts that elegantly 
 bear the impression of the good Creator, to say to theui 
 you give them the trouble of obliging a friend ; for this 
 reason, I only tell you that I gratify my own feelings 
 in requesting your fi'iendly ofiices with respect to the 
 enclosed,* because I know it will gratify yours to assist 
 me in it to the utmost of }our power. 
 
 I have sent you four copies, as I have no less than 
 eight dozen, which is a great deal more than I shall 
 ever need. 
 
 Be sui'e to remember a poor poet militant in your 
 prayei-s. He looks forward with fear and trembling 
 to that, to him, important moment which stamps the 
 die with — with — A\ith, perhaps, the eternal disgrace of, 
 my dear Sir, your humble, afflicted, toraiented, 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 =^ [A prospectus of the poems.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 13 
 
 No. XIV. 
 TO MR JOHN KENNEDY. 
 
 ]\ross(jiel, 20t/i April, 1786. 
 
 Sir — By some uegleet in Mr Hamilton, 1 did not hear 
 of your kind request for a subscription paper till this 
 day. I will not attempt any acknowledgment for this, 
 nor the manner in Avhich I see your name in Mr Ha- 
 milton's subscription list. Allow me only to say, Sii", 
 I feel the weight of the debt. 
 
 I have here, likewise, enclosed a small piece, the very 
 latest of my productions.* I am a good deal pleased 
 with some sentiments myself, as they are just the native 
 querulous feeluigs of a heart, which, as the elegantly 
 melting Gray sa}s, " melancholy has marked for her 
 own." 
 
 Our race comes on apace — that much expected scene 
 of revelry and mii'th ; but to me it brings no joy equal 
 to that meeting with which you last flattered the ex- 
 pectation of, Sir, your indebted humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. XV. 
 TO MONS. JAMES SMITH, MAUCHLINE. 
 
 Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786. 
 My Dear Sir — I went to Dr Douglas yesterday, fully 
 resolved to take the opportunity of Captain Smith ; but 
 I found the Doctor with a j\Ir and I\Irs White, both 
 Jamaicans, and they have deranged my plans altogether. 
 The}- assure him that to send me from Savannah la ]^lar 
 to Port Antonio, will cost my master, Charles Douglas, 
 upwards of fifty povmds, besides running the risk of 
 throwing myself into a pleuritic fever in consequence 
 of hard travelling in the sun. On these accounts, he 
 refuses sending me with Smith ; but a vessel sails from 
 Greenock the 1st of September, right for the place of 
 my destination. The captain of her is an intimate friend 
 of Mr Gavin Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as heart 
 could wish : with him I am destined to go. Where I 
 shall shelter I know not, but I hope to weather the 
 storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears 
 them ! I know their worst, and am prepared to meet 
 it:— 
 
 I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg. 
 As lang's I dow. 
 On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much 
 self-denial as to be out of bed about seven o'clock, I 
 shall see you as I ride through to Cumnock After all, 
 Heaven bless the sex ! I feel there is still happiness 
 for me among them : — 
 
 Oh woman, lovely woman ! Heaven designed you 
 To temper man ! — we had been brutes without you ! 
 
 'r. b. 
 
 No. XVI. 
 
 TO MR DAVID BRICE.f 
 
 Mossgiel, June 12, 1786. 
 
 Dear Brice — I received your message by G. Pater- 
 son, and as I am not very throng at present, I just 
 wTite to let you know that there is such a worthless, 
 rhyming reprobate, as your humble servant, still in the 
 land of the living, though I can scarcely say in the place 
 of hope. I have no news to tell you that will give me 
 any pleasure to mention, or you to hear. 
 
 Poor ill-advised ungi-ateful Armour came home on 
 Friday last.J You have heard all the particulars of 
 that affair, and a black affau- it is. W^hat she thinlcs of 
 her conduct now I don't know ; one thing I do know-— 
 she has made me completely miserable. Never man 
 loved, or rather adored, a woman more than I did her ; 
 and, to confess a truth between you and me, I do stiil 
 love her to distraction after all, though I won't tell her 
 
 * The piece alluded to was the "3Ioimtain Daisy;" in the 
 MS. it is entitled, " The Gowan."— Mothekwell. 
 
 t [Shoemaker in Glasgow.] 
 
 i [From Paisley, whither she had gone to reside for some time 
 at the request of her pai'ents. Sec accompanying edition of 
 Currie'o Memoir."! 
 
 so if I were to see her, wliicli I don't want to do. BIy 
 poor dear unfoi'tunate Jean ! how happy have I been 
 in thy arms ! It is not the losing her that makes m^ 
 so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most severely : I 
 foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal rum. 
 
 I\lay Almighty God forgive her mgratitude and per- 
 jury to me, as I from my very soul forgive her ; and 
 may his grace be with her and bless her m aU her fu- 
 ture life ! I can have no nearer idea of the place of 
 eternal punishment than what I have felt in my own 
 breast on her account. I have tried often to forget 
 her ; I have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots, 
 mason-meetings, drinldng-matches, and other mischief, 
 to drive her out of my head, but all in vain. And now 
 for a grand cure : the ship is on her way home that is 
 to take me out to .Jamaica ; and then, farewell dear old 
 Scotland ! and farewell, dear ungrateful Jean I for never, 
 never v.iU I see you more. 
 
 You will have heard that I am going to commence 
 poet in print ; and to-morrow my works go to the press. 
 I expect it will be a volume of about 200 pages — it is 
 just the last foolish action I intend to do ; and then 
 turn a wise man as fast as possible. BeHeve me to be, 
 dear Brice, your friend and well-wisher, R. B. 
 
 No. XVII. 
 TO JOHN BALLANTINE, OF AYR. 
 
 June, 1786. 
 HoxorRED Sir — ily proposals came to hand last 
 night, and, knowing that you would wish to have it in 
 your power to do me a service as early as any body, I 
 enclose you half a sheet of them. I must consult you, 
 first opportiinity, on the propriety of sending my quon- 
 dam friend, Mr Aiken, a copy. If he is now reconciled 
 to my character as an honest man, I would do it with 
 all my soul ; but I would not be beholden to the noblest 
 being ever God created, if he imagined me to be a ras- 
 cal. Apropos, old Mr Armour prevailed with him to 
 mutilate that unlucky paper yesterday. "Would you 
 beheve it ? — though 1 had not a hope, nor even a wish, 
 to make her mine after her conduct, yet, when he told 
 me the names were all out of the papei', my heart died 
 within me, and he cut my veins with the news. Perdi- 
 dition seize her falsehood. R. B. 
 
 No. XVIII. 
 TO JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH. 
 
 Mossgiel, 9th Juhj, 1786. 
 
 With the sineerest gi'ief I read your letter. You are 
 truly a son of misfortune. I shall be extremely anxious 
 to hear from you how your health goes on — if it is any 
 way re-estabhshhig, or if Leith promises well — in short, 
 how you feel in the inner man. 
 
 I have waited on Armour since her return home ; 
 not from the least view of reconciHation, but merely to 
 ask for her health, and, to you I wiU confess it, from a 
 foolish hankering fondness, very ill placed indeed. The 
 mother forbade me the house, nor did .Jean show that 
 penitence that might have been expected. However, 
 the priest, I am informed, will give me a certificate as 
 a single man, if I comply with the rules of the church, 
 which for that very reason I intend to do. 
 
 I am going to put on sackcloth and ashes this day. I 
 am indulged so far as to appear in my own seat. Pec- 
 cavi, pater; miserere mei. J\Iy book will be ready in a 
 fortnight. If you have any subscribers, return them by 
 Connell. The Lord stand with the righteous — amen, 
 ameu. R. B. 
 
 No. XIX. 
 TO MR DAVID BRICE, 
 
 SHOE^LVKER, GLASGOW. 
 
 Mossgiel, 17 th July, 1786. 
 I HAVE been so throng printing my Poems, that I 
 could scarcely find as much time as to write to you. 
 Poor Armour is come back again to I\iaucliliue, and I 
 
14 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 went to call for her, and her mother forbade me the 
 house, nor did she herself express much sorrow for what 
 she has done. I have already appeared publicly in 
 church, and was indulged in the liberty of standing in 
 my own seat. I do this to get a certificate as a bache- 
 lor, which Mr Auld has promised me. I am now fixed 
 to go for the West Indies in October. Jean and her 
 friends insisted much that she should stand along with 
 me in the kirk, but the minister would not allow it, 
 which bred a great trouble, I assure you, and I am 
 blamed as the cause of it, though I am sure I am in- 
 nocent ; but I am very much pleased, for all that, not 
 to have had her company. I have no news to tell you 
 that I remember. I am really happy to hear of your 
 welfare, and that you are so well in Glasgow. I must 
 certainly see you before I leave the country. I shall 
 expect to hear from you soon, and am, dear Brice, 
 yours, R. B. 
 
 No. XX. 
 TO MR JOHN RICHMOND. 
 
 Old Rome Forest, BOth July, 1786. 
 My Dear Richmond — My hour is now come — you 
 and I will never meet in Britain more. I have orders, 
 within three weeks at farthest, to repair aboard the 
 Nancy, Captain Smith, from Clyde to Jamaica, and to 
 call at V^ntigua. This, except to our friend Smith, 
 whom God long preserve, is a secret about Mauchline. 
 Would you believe it? Armour has got a warrant to 
 throw me in jail till I find security for an enormous 
 sum. This they keep an entire secret, but I got it by 
 a channel they little dream of; and I am wandering 
 from one friend's house to another, and, like a true son 
 of the gospel, " have no where to lay my head." I know 
 you will pour an execration on her head, but spare the 
 poor, ill-advised girl, for my sake ; though may all the 
 furies that rend the injured, eni-aged lover's bosom, 
 await her mother until her latest hour ! I write in a 
 moment of rage, reflecting on my miserable situation — 
 exiled, abandoned, forlorn. I can write no more — let 
 me hear from you by the return of coach. I will write 
 you ere I go. I am, dear Sir, yours, here and here- 
 after, R. B. 
 
 No. XXI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP OF DUNLOP. 
 
 Ayrshire, July, 1786- 
 Madam — I am truly sorry I was not at home yester- 
 day, when I was so much honoured with your order for 
 my copies, and incomparably more by the handsome 
 comphments you are pleased to pay my poetic abilities. 
 I am fully persuaded that there is not any class of man- 
 kind so feelingly alive to the titillations of applause as 
 the sons of Parnassus : nor is it easy to conceive how 
 the heart of the poor bard dances with rapture, when 
 those whose character in life gives them a right to be 
 polite judges, honour him with their approbation. Had 
 you been thoroughly acquainted with me. Madam, you 
 could not have touched my darling heart-chord more 
 sweetly than by noticing my attempts to celebrate your 
 illustrious ancestor, the Saviour of his country. 
 
 Great patriot hero ! ill-requited chief ! 
 The first book I met with in my early years, which 
 I perused with pleasure, was " The Life of Hannibal ;" 
 the next was, " The History of Sir William Wallace ;" 
 for several of my earlier years I had few other authors ; 
 and many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the 
 laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their 
 glorious, but unfortunate stories. In those boyish days 
 I remember, in particular, being struck with that part 
 of Wallace's story where these lines occur : — 
 
 Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late. 
 
 To make a silent and a safe retreat. 
 I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line 
 >of liffe allowed, and walked half a dozen of miles to pay 
 my respects to the Leglen wood, with as much devout 
 enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto ', and as I cx- 
 
 i plored every den and dell where I could suppose my 
 heroic countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even 
 then I was a rhymer) that my heart glowed with a wish 
 to be able to make a song on him in some measure equal 
 to his merits. R. Jj. 
 
 No. XXII. 
 TO MR JOHN KENNEDY. 
 
 Kilmarnock, August, 1786. 
 My Dear Sir — Your truly facetious epistle of the 3d 
 instant gave me much entertainment. I was only sorry 
 I had not the pleasure of seeing you as I passed your 
 way, but we shall bring up all our lee-way on Wednes- 
 day, the 16th current, when I hope to have it in my 
 power to call on you, and take a land, very probably a 
 last adieu, before I go for Jamaica j and I expect orders 
 to repair to Greenock every day. I have at last made 
 my public appearance, and am solemnly inaugurated into 
 the numerous class. Could I have got a carrier, you 
 should have had a score of vouchers for my authorship ; 
 but, now you have them, let them speak for themselves. 
 Farewell, dear friend ! may guid luck hit you, 
 And 'mang her favourites admit you. 
 If e'er Detraction shore to smit you, 
 
 May nane believe him. 
 And ony deil that thinks to get you. 
 Good Lord, deceive him. 
 
 R. B.. 
 
 No. XXIII. 
 
 TO MR BURNESS, MONTROSE. 
 
 My Dear Sir — I this moment receive yours — receive 
 it with the honest hospitable warmth of a friend's wel- 
 come. Whatever comes from you wakens always up 
 the better blood about my heart, which your kind little 
 recollections of my parental friends carries as far as it 
 will go. 'Tis there that man is blest ! 'Tis there, my 
 friend, man feels a consciousness of something within 
 him above the trodden clod ! The grateful reverence to 
 the hoary (earthly) author of his being — the burning 
 glow when he clasps the woman of his soul to his bosom 
 — the tender yearnings of heart for the little angels to 
 whom he has given existence — these nature has poured 
 in milky streams about the human heart ; and the man 
 who ; never rouses them to action, by the inspiring 
 influences of their proper objects, loses by far the most 
 pleasurable part of his existence. 
 
 My departure is uncertain, but I do not think it will 
 be till after harvest. I will be on very short allowance 
 of time indeed, if I do not comply with your friendly 
 invitation. When it will be, I don't know, but if I can 
 make my wish good, I will endeavour to drop you a line 
 
 some time before. My best compliments to Mrs ; 
 
 I should [be] equally mortified should I drop in when 
 she is abroad ; but of that I suppose there is little chance. 
 
 What I have wrote Heaven knows ; I have not time 
 to review it : so accept of it in the beaten way of friend- 
 ship. With the ordinary phrase — perhaps rather more 
 than the ordinary sincerity — I am, dear Sir, ever yours. 
 
 Mossgiel, Tuesday noon, Sept. 26, 1786. 
 
 No. XXIV. 
 TO MR ROBERT MUIR, KILMARNOCK. 
 
 Mossgiel, Friday Morning, [Sept. 1786.] 
 My Friend, my Brother — Warm recollection of an 
 absent friend presses so hard upon my heart, that I send 
 him the prefixed bagatelle (The Calf), pleased with the 
 thought that it will greet the man of my bosom, and be 
 a kind of distant language of friendship. 
 
 You Aviil have heard that poor Armour has repaid 
 me double. A very fine boy and a girl have awakened 
 a thought and feelings that thrill, some with tender 
 pressure, and some with foreboding anguish, through 
 my soul. 
 
 The poem was nearly an extemporaneous produc- 
 tion, on a wager with Mr Hamilton, that I would not 
 produce a poem on the subject in a given time. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 15 
 
 If you think it wortli while, read it to Charles and 
 Mr W. Parker, and if they choose a copy of it, it is at 
 their service, as they are men whose friendship I shall 
 be proud to claim, both in this world and that which is 
 to come. 
 
 I believe all hopes of staying at home wUl be abor- 
 tive ; but more of this when, in the latter part of next 
 week, you shall be troubled with a visit from, my dear 
 
 Sir, your most devoted, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. XXV. 
 TO MR ROBERT AIKEN.* 
 
 Ayrshire, 1786. 
 
 Sir— I was with Wilson my prmter t'other day, and 
 settled all our bygone matters between us. After I had 
 paid him all demands, I made him the offer of the se- 
 cond edition, on the hazard of being paid out of the fii-st 
 and readiest, which he declines. By his account, the 
 paper of 1000 copies would cost about twenty-seven 
 pounds, and the printing about fifteen or sixteen ; he 
 offers to agree to this for the printing, if I wdll advance 
 for the paper, but this, you know, is out of my power ; 
 so farewell hopes of a second edition till I grow richer ! 
 an epocha which I think wiU arrive at the payment of 
 the British national debt. 
 
 There is scarcely any thing hurts me so much^ in 
 being disappointed of my second edition, as not having 
 it in my power to show my gratitude to Mr BaUantine, 
 by publishing my poem of The Brigs of Ayr. I would 
 detest myself as a wretch, if I thought I were capable 
 in a very long life of forgetting the honest, warm, and 
 tender delicacy with which he enters into my interests. 
 I am sometimes pleased with myself in my grateful 
 sensations ; but I believe, on the whole, I have very 
 little merit in it, as my gratitude is not a virtue, the 
 consequence of reflection, but sheerly the instinctive 
 emotion of my heart, too inattentive to allow worldly 
 maxims and views to settle into selfish habits. 
 
 I have been feeling all the various rotations and 
 movements within, respecting the excise. There are 
 many things plead strongly against it ; the uncertainty 
 of getting soon into business ; the consequences of my 
 follies, which may perhaps make it impracticable for 
 me to stay at home ; and besides, I have for some time 
 been pining under secret wretchedness, from causes 
 which you pretty well know — the pang of disappoint- 
 ment, the sting of pride, with some wandering stabs of 
 remorse, which never fail to settle on my vitals like 
 vultures, when attention is not called away by the calls of 
 society, or the vagaries of the muse. Even in the hour 
 of social mirth, my gkiety is the madness of an intoxi- 
 cated criminal under the hands of the executioner. All 
 these reasons urge me to go abroad, and to all these 
 reasons I have only one answer — ^the feelings of a father. 
 This, in the present mood I am in, overbalances every 
 thing that can be laid in the scale against it. 
 
 You may perhaps think it an extravagant fancy, but 
 it is a sentiment wliich strikes home to my very soul ; 
 though sceptical in some points of our current belief, 
 yet, I think, I have every evidence for the reality of a 
 life beyond the stinted bourne of our present existence : 
 if so, then, how should I, in the presence of that tre- 
 mendous Being, the Author of existence, how should I 
 meet the reproaches of those who stand to me in the 
 dear relation of cliildren, whom I deserted in the smil- 
 ing innocency of helpless infancy 1 Oh thou great un- 
 known Power ! — thou Almighty God ! who hast hghted 
 up reason in my breast, and blessed me with immor- 
 tality !— I have frequently wandered from that order 
 and regularity necessary for the perfection of thy works, 
 yet thou hast never left me nor forsaken me ! 
 
 Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen some- 
 thing of the storm of mischief thickening over my folly- 
 devoted head. Should you, my friends, my benefactors, 
 be successful in your appUcations for me,f perhaps it 
 
 * This letter was evidently written under the distress of mind 
 occasioned by our poet's separation from Mrs Bums.— Currie. 
 
 t [An effort was now making to obtain an excise appointment 
 for Burnd.] 
 
 may not be in my power in that \vay, to reap the fruit 
 of your friendly efforts. What I have written in the 
 preceding pages is the settled tenor of my present reso- 
 lution; but should inimical circumstances forbid me 
 closing with your kind offer, or enjoying it only threaten 
 to entail further misery — — 
 
 To teU the truth, I have little reason for complaint ; 
 as the world, in general, has been kind to me fully up 
 to my deserts. I was, for some time past, fast getting 
 into the pining, distrustful snarl of the misanthrope. I 
 saw myself alone, unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking 
 at every rising cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere 
 of fortune, while, all defenceless, I looked about in vain 
 for a cover. It never occurred to me, at least never 
 with the force it deserved, that this world is a busy 
 scene, and man a creature destined for a progressive 
 struggle ; and that, however I might possess a warm 
 heart and inoffensive manners (which last, by the bye, 
 was rather more than I could well boast), still, more 
 than these passive qualities, there was something to be 
 done. When all my school-fellows and youthful com- 
 peers (those misguided few excepted, who joined, to use 
 a Gentoo phrase, the "hallachores" of the human race) 
 were striking off with eager hope and earnest intent, in 
 some one or other of the many paths of busy life, I was 
 " standing idle in the market-place," or only left the 
 chase of the butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt 
 fancy from whim to whim. 
 
 You see. Sir, that if to know one's errors were apro- 
 babihty of men^g them, I stand a fair chance ; but 
 according to the reverend Westminster divines, though 
 conviction must precede conversion, it is very far from 
 always implying it. R. B, 
 
 No. XXVI. 
 TO DR MACKENZIE, MAUCHLINE ; 
 
 ENCLOSING HIM VEKSES ON DINING WITH LORD DAER. 
 
 Wednesday morning. 
 
 Dear Sir — I never spent an afternoon among great 
 folks with half that pleasure, as when, in company with 
 you, I had the honour of paying my devoirs to that plain, 
 honest, worthy man, the professor [Dugald Stewart]. 
 I would be delighted to see him perform acts of kind- 
 ness and friendship, though I were not the object ; he 
 does it with such a grace. I think his character, divided 
 into ten parts, stands thus — four parts Socrates — ^four 
 parts Nathaniel — and two parts Shakspeare's Brutus. 
 
 The foregoing vei'ses were really extempore, but a 
 httle corrected since. They may entertain you a little, 
 with the help of that partiality with which you are so 
 good as to favour the performances of, dear Sir, your 
 very humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. XXVII. 
 TO MRS STEWART, OF STAIR. 
 
 1786. 
 
 j\Iadam — The hurry of my preparations for going 
 abroad has hindered me from performing my promise 
 so soon as I intended. I have here sent you a parcel 
 of songs, &c., which never made their appearance, ex- 
 cept to a friend or two at most. Perhaps some of them 
 may be no great entertainment to you, but of that I am 
 far from being an adequate judge. The song to the 
 tune of Ettrick Banks [The Bonnie Lass of BaUoch- 
 myle] you will easily see the impropriety of exposing 
 much, even in manuscript. I think, myself, it has 
 some merit, both as a tolerable description of one of 
 nature's sweetest scenes, a July evening, and one of the 
 finest pieces of nature's workmanship, the finest indeed 
 we know any tiling of, an amiable, beautiful young 
 woman ;* but I have no common friend to procure me 
 that pemussion, without which I would not dare to 
 spread the copy. 
 
 I am quite aware. Madam, what task the world would 
 assign me in this letter. The obscure bard, when any 
 
 * Miss Alexander. 
 
16 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 of the great condescend to take notice of him, should 
 heap the altar with the incense of flattery. Their high 
 ancestry, their own great and god-like qualities and ac- 
 tions- should be recounted with the most exaggerated 
 description. This, Madam, is a task for which I am 
 altogether unfit. Besides a certain disquaHfying pride 
 of heart, I know nothing of your connexions in life, and 
 have no access to where your real character is to be 
 found — the company of your compeers ; and more, I 
 am afraid that even the most refined adulation is by no 
 means the road to your good opinion. 
 
 One feature of your character I shall ever with grate- 
 ful jileasure I'emember — the reception I got when I had 
 the honour of waiting on you at Stair. I am little ac- 
 quainted with politeness, but I know a good deal of 
 benevolence of temper and goodness of heart. Surely 
 did those in exalted stations know how happy they 
 could make some classes of their inferiors by conde- 
 scension and affability, they would never stand so high, 
 measuring out with every look the height of their ele- 
 vation, but condescend as sweetly as did Mrs Stewart 
 of Stair. R. B. 
 
 No. XXVIII. 
 In the name of the NINE. Amen. 
 
 We, Robert Burns, by virtue of a warrant from Na- 
 ture, bearing date the twenty-fifth day of January, anno 
 domini one thousand seven hundred and fifty-nme,''' 
 Poet Laureat, and Bar d-in- Chief, in and over the dis- 
 tricts and countries of Kyle, Cunningha-m, and Carrick, 
 of old extent. To our trusty and well-beloved William 
 Chalmers and John M'Adam, students and pi^actitioners 
 in the ancient and mysterious science of confounding 
 right and wrong. 
 
 Right TRUSir — Be it known unto you. That whereas 
 in the course of our care and watchings over the order 
 and police of all and sundry the manufacturers, retainers, 
 and venders of poesy ; bards, poets, poetasters, rhymers, 
 jinglers, songsters, ballad-singers, &c. &c. &c.&c., male 
 and female — We have discovered a certain nefarious, 
 abominable, and wicked song or ballad, a copy whereof 
 We have here enclosed ; Our Will therefore is, that ye 
 pitch upon and appoint the most execrable individual 
 of that most execrable species, known by the appella- 
 tion, phrase, and nickname of The Deil's Yell Nowte :f 
 and after having caused him to kindle a fire at the 
 Cross of Ayr, ye shall, at noon-tide of the day, put into 
 the said wretch's merciless hands the said copy of the 
 said nefarious and wicked song, to be consumed by fire 
 in presence of all beholders, in abhorrence of, and ter- 
 rorem to, all such compositions and composers. And 
 this in nowise leave ye undone, but have it executed in 
 every pomt as this our mandate bears, before the twenty- 
 fourth current, when in person We hope to applaud 
 your faithfulness and zeal. 
 
 Given at Mauchline this twentieth day of November, 
 anno domini one thousand seven hundred and eighty-six. 
 God save the Bard ! 
 
 No. XXIX. 
 
 TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq., MAUCHLINE. 
 Edinburgh, Dec. 7tli, 1786. 
 
 Honoured Sir — I have paid every attention to your 
 commands, but can only say, what perhaps you will have 
 heard before this reach you, that IMuirldrklands were 
 bought by a John Gordon, W. S., but for whom I know 
 not; Mauchlands, Haugh Miln, &c., by a Frederick 
 Fotheringham, supposed to be for Ballochmyle Laird ; 
 and Adam-hill and Shawood were bought for Oswald's 
 folks. This is so imperfect an account, and will be so 
 late ere it reach you, that were it not to discharge my 
 conscience I would not trouble you with it ; but after 
 all my diligence I could make it no sooner nor better. 
 
 For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of becoming 
 as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John Bunyan ; and 
 
 * Ilis birth-day. 
 
 t [Old bachelore.] 
 
 you may expect hencofoi'th to sec my birth-day inserted 
 among the wonderful events, in the Poor Robin's and 
 Aberdeen Almanacks, along with the black Monday, ami 
 the battle of Bothwell-bridge. My Lord Glencairn ancf 
 the Dean of Faculty, Mr H. Erskine, have taken me 
 under their wing ; and by all probability I shall soon 
 be the tenth worthy, and the eighth v/ise man of the 
 world. Through my lord's influence, it is uiseii;ed in 
 the records of the Caledonian Hunt, that they univer- 
 sally, one and all, subscribe for the second edition. 
 My subscription bills come out to-morrow, and you 
 shall have some of them next post. I have met in Mr 
 Dalrymple of Orangefield, what Solomon emphatically 
 calls " a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." 
 The warmth with which he interests himself in my af- 
 fairs is of the same enthusiastic kind which you, Mr 
 Aiken, and the few patrons that took notice of my 
 earlier poetic days, showed for the poor unlucky devil 
 of a poet. 
 
 I always remember Mrs Plamiltonand Miss Kennedy 
 in my poetic prayers, but you both in prose and verse. 
 
 May eauld ne'er catch you but a hap,'" 
 Nor hunger but in plenty's lap ! 
 
 Amen! R. B. 
 
 No. XXX. 
 TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq., BANKER, AYP^ 
 
 Edinburgh, Uth Dec. 1786. 
 
 My Honoured Friend — I would not write you till I 
 could have it in my power to give you some account of 
 myself and my matters, which, by the bye, is often no 
 easy task. I arrived here on Tuesday was se'nnight, 
 and have suffered ever smce I came to town with a 
 miserable head-ache and stomach complaint, but am 
 now a good deal better. I have found a worthy warm 
 friend in Mr Dalrymple of Orangefield, who introduced 
 me to Lord Glencairn, a man whose worth and bro- 
 therly kindness to me I shall remember when time shall 
 be no more. By his interest it is passed in the " Cale- 
 donian Hunt," and entered in their books, that they 
 are to take each a copy of the second edition, for which 
 they are to pay one guinea. I have been introduced to 
 a good many of the noblesse, but my avowed patrons 
 and patronesses are, the Duchess of Gordon — the Coun- 
 tess of Glencairn, with my Lord, and Lady Bettyf — 
 the Dean of Faculty — Sir John Whitefoord. I hav© 
 likewise warm friends among the literati ; Professors 
 Stewart, Blair, and Mr Mackenzie — the " Man of Feel- 
 ing." An unknown hand left ten guineas for the Ayr^ 
 shire bard with Mr Sibbald, which I got. I since 
 have discovered my generous unknovm friend to be 
 Patrick Miller, Esq., brother to the Justice Clerk ; and 
 drank a glass of claret with him by invitation at his 
 own house yeslernight. I am nearly agreed with Creech 
 to print my book, and I suppose I will begin on Mon- 
 day. I will send a subscription bill or two, next post ; 
 when I intend ^vriting my first kind patron, Mr Aiken. 
 I saw his son to-day, and he is very Avell. 
 
 Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned fi'iends, put 
 me in the periodical paper called the Lounger, J a copy 
 of which I here enclose you. I was. Sir, when I was 
 first honoured with your notice, too obscure ; now I 
 tremble lest I should be I'uined by being dragged too 
 suddenly into the glare of polite and learned observa- 
 tion. 
 
 I shall certainly, my ever-honoured patron, write 
 you an account of my every step ; and better health 
 and more spirits may enable me to make it something 
 better than this stupid matter-of-fact epistle. I have 
 the honour to be, good Sir, your ever grateful humble 
 servant, R- B. 
 
 If any of my friends write me, my direction is, care 
 of Mr Creech, bookseller. 
 
 * [Without a cloak or upper coat.] 
 t Lady Betty Cunningham. 
 
 X The paper here alluded to was written by Mr Mackenzie, taa 
 author of the •' Man of Feeling." 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 17 
 
 XXXI. 
 TO MR WILLIAM CHALMERS, WRITER, AYR. 
 
 Edinburgh, Dec. 21th, 1786. ^ 
 
 My Dear Friend — I confess I have sinned the sin 
 for which there is hardly any forgiveness — ingratitvide 
 to friendship — in not writing you sooner ; but of all men 
 living, I had intended to have sent you an entertaining 
 letter ; and by all the plodding, stupid powers, that in 
 nodding conceited majesty preside over the dull routine 
 of business — a heavily-solemn oath this ! — I am and have 
 been, ever since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit to write 
 a letter of humour as to write a commentaiy on the 
 Revelation of St John the Divine, who was banished to 
 the Isle of Patmos by the cruel and bloody Domitian, 
 son to Vespasian and brother to Titus, both emperors 
 of Rome, and who was himself an emperor, and raised 
 the second or third persecution, I forget which, against 
 the Christians, and after throwing the said Apostle John, 
 brother to the Apostle James, commonly called James 
 the Greater, to distinguish him from another James, 
 who was on some account or other known by the name 
 of James the Less — after throwing him into a caldron of 
 boiling oil, from which he was miraculously preserved, 
 he banished the poor son of Zebedee to a desei't island 
 in the Archipelago, where he was gifted with the second 
 sight, and saw as many wild beasts as I have seen since 
 I came to Edinburgh ; which, a circumstance not very 
 uncommon in story-telling, brings me back to where I 
 set out. 
 
 To make you some amends for what, before you 
 reach this paragraph, you will have suffered, I enclose 
 you two poems I have carded and spun since I passed 
 Glenbuck. 
 
 One blank in the Addi'ess to Edinburgh — " Fair 
 
 B ," is heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to Lord 
 
 Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honour to 
 be more than once. There has not been anything nearly 
 like her in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and 
 goodness, the great Creator has formed, since Milton's 
 Eve on the first day of her existence. 
 
 My direction is — care of Andrew Bruce, merchant. 
 Bridge Street. R. B. 
 
 No. XXXII. 
 TO THE EARL OF EGLINTON. 
 
 Edinburgh, Januarij, 1787. 
 My Lord — As I have but slender pretensions to 
 philosophy, I caimiot rise to the exalted ideas of a citizen 
 of the world, but have all those national prejudices, 
 which I believe glow peculiarly strong in the breast of 
 a Scotchman. There is scarcely any thing to which I 
 am so feelmgly alive as the honour and welfare of my 
 country ; and as a poet, I have no higher enjoyment 
 than singing her sons and daughters. Fate had cast my 
 station in the veriest shades of life ; but never did a 
 heart pant more ardently than mine to be distinguished, 
 though till very lately I looked in vain on every side for 
 a ray of light. It is easy, then, to guess how mvich I was 
 gratified with the countenance and approbation of one 
 of my country's most illustrious sons, when Mr Wau- 
 chope called on me yesterday on the part of your lord- 
 ship. Your munificence, my lord, certainly deserves 
 my very grateful acknowledgments ; but your patron- 
 age is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings. I am 
 not master enough of the etiquette of life to know, 
 whether there be not some impropriety in troubling 
 your lordship with my thanks, but my heart whispered 
 me to do it. From the emotions of my inmost soul I do 
 it. Selfish ingratitude, I hope, I am incapable of; and 
 mercenary servility, I trust, I shall ever have so much 
 honest pride as to detest. R. B. 
 
 No. XXXIII. 
 TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. 
 
 Edinburgh, Jan. \Uh, 1787. 
 My Honoured Friend — It gives me a secret comfort 
 to observe in myself that I am not yet so far gone as 
 B 
 
 Willie Gaw's Skate, " past redemption ;"* for I have 
 still this favourable symptom of grace, that when my 
 conscience, as in the case of this letter, tells me I ara 
 leaving something undone that I ought to do, it teazes 
 me eternally till I do it. 
 
 I am still " dark as was chaos" in respect to futurity. 
 My generous friend, Mr Patrick Miller, has been; talk- 
 ing v/itli me about a lease of some farm or other in an 
 estate called Dalswinton, which he has lately bought 
 near Dumfries. Some life-rented embittering recollec- 
 tions whisper me that I will be happier any where tham 
 in my old neighbourhood, but Mr Miller is no judge of 
 land ; and though I dare say he means to favour me,„ 
 yet he may give me, in his opinion, an advantageous, 
 bargain that may ruin me. I am to take a tour by- 
 Dumfries as I return, and have promised to meet Mr 
 Miller on his lands some time in May. 
 
 I went to a mason-lodge yesternight, where the most 
 Worshipful Grand Master Chartres, and all the Grand 
 Lodge of Scotland, visited. The meeting was numerous 
 and elegant ; aU the different lodges about town wei-e 
 present, in all their pomp. The Grand Master, who pre- 
 sided with great solemnity and honour to himself as a 
 gentleman and mason, among other general toasts, gave 
 " Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, Brother Burns,'* 
 which rang through the whole assembly with multiplied 
 honours and repeated acclamations. As I had no idea 
 such a thing, would happen, I Avas downright thunder- 
 struck, and, trembling in every nerve, made the best 
 return in my power. Just as I had finished, some of 
 the grand officers said so loud that I could hear, with 
 a most comforting accent, " Very well, indeed !" which 
 set me something to rights again. 
 
 I have to-day corrected my 152d page. My best good 
 wishes to Mr Aiken. I am ever, dear Sii'^ your much 
 indebted humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. XXXIV. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 January, 1787. 
 While here I sit, sad and solitary, by the side of a 
 fire in a little country inn, and drying my wet clothes, 
 in pops a poor fellow of a sodger, and tells me he is 
 going to A}T. By heavens ! say I to myself, with a tide 
 of good spirits which the magic of that sound, auld 
 toon o' Ayr, conjured up, I will send my last song to 
 Mr Ballantuie. Here it is^ — 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 
 
 How can ye blume sae fair ; 
 How can ye chant, ye httle birds, 
 
 And I sae fu' o' care ! — &c. 
 
 No. XXXV. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Edinburgh, I5th January, 1787. 
 
 Madam — Yours of the 9th current, which I am this 
 moment honoured with, is a deep I'eproach to me for 
 ungrateful neglect. I will tell you the real truth, for 
 I am miserably awkward at a fib, I wished to have 
 written to Dr Moore before I wrote to you ; but, though 
 every day since I received yours of December 30th, the 
 idea, the wish to write to him has constantly pressed 
 on my thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set about 
 it. I know his fame and character, and I am one of 
 " the sons of little men." To write him a mere matter- 
 of-fact affair, like a merchant's order, would be disgrac- 
 ing the little character I have ; and to write the author 
 of " The View of Society and Manners" a letter of sen- 
 timent — I declare every artery runs cold at the thought. 
 I shall try, however, to write to him to-morrow or next 
 day. His kind interposition in my behalf I have already 
 experienced, as a gentleman waited on me the other 
 day, on the part of Lord Eglinton, with ten guineas, by 
 way of subscription for two copies of my next edition. 
 
 * [This is one of a great number of old saws, which Burns, 
 when a lad, had picked up from his mother, who had a vast 
 collection of such fragments of traditionary wisdom.] 
 
18 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 The word you object to in the mention I have made 
 of my glorious countryman and your immortal ancestor, 
 is indeed borrowed from Thomson ; but it does not 
 strike me as an improper epithet. I distrusted my own 
 judgment on your finding fault with it, and applied for 
 the opinion of some of the hterati here who honour me 
 with their critical strictures, and they all allow it to be 
 proper. The song you ask I cannot recollect, and I 
 have not a copy of it. I have not composed any thing 
 on the great Wallace, except what you have seen in 
 print, and the enclosed, which I will print in this edi- 
 tion.* You will see I have mentioned some others of 
 the name. When I composed my Vision long ago, I 
 had attempted a description of Kyle, of which the addi- 
 tional stanzas are a part as it originally stood. My 
 heart glows with a wish to be able to do justice to the 
 merits of the "• saviour of his country," which, sooner 
 or later, I shall at least attempt. 
 
 You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my pro- 
 sperity as a poet : alas ! Madam, I know myself and the 
 world too well. I do not mean any airs of affected 
 modesty ; I am wilhng to beheve that my abilities de- 
 serve some notice ; but in a most enlightened, informed 
 age and nation, when poetry is and has been the study 
 of men of the first natural genius, aided with all the 
 powers of polite learning, polite books, and polite com- 
 pany — to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned 
 and poHte observation, with all my imperfections of 
 awkward rusticity and crude unpolished ideas on my 
 head — I assure you. Madam, I do not dissemble when 
 I tell you I tremble for the consequences. The novelty 
 of a poet in my obscure situation, without any of those 
 advantages which are reckoned necessary for that cha- 
 ractex', at least at this time of day, has raised a partial 
 tide of public notice which has borne me to a height, 
 where I am absolutely, feeUngly certain, my abihties 
 are inadequate to support me ; and too surely do I see 
 that time when the same tide will leave me, and recede, 
 perhaps, as far below the mark of truth. I do not say 
 this in the ridiculous affectation of self-abasement and 
 modesty. I have studied myself, and know what ground 
 I occupy ; and however a friend or the world may differ 
 from me in that particular, I stand for my o^vn opinion, 
 in silent resolve, with all the tenaciousness of property. 
 I mention this to you once for all, to disburden my 
 mind, and I do not wish to hear or say more about it. 
 But, 
 
 When proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes, 
 
 you will bear me witness, that when my bubble of fame 
 was at the highest, I stood unintoxicated, with the in- 
 ebriating cup in my hand, looking forward with rueful 
 resolve to the hastening time, when the blow of calumny 
 should dash it to the ground, with all the eagerness of 
 vengeful triumph. 
 
 Your patronising me, and interesting yourself in my 
 fame and character as a poet, I rejoice in — it exalts me 
 in my own idea — and whether you can or cannot aid 
 me in my subscription, is a trifle. Has a paltry sub- 
 scription-bill any charms to the heart of a bard, com- 
 pared with the patronage of the descendant of the im- 
 mortal Wallace 2 KB, 
 
 No. XXXVI. 
 TO JAMES DALRYMPLE, Esq. 
 
 ORAJ^GEFIELD. 
 
 Edinburgh, 1787. 
 
 Bear Sir — I suppose the devil is so elated with his 
 success with you, that he is determined, by a coup de 
 main, to complete his purposes on you all at once, in 
 making you a poet. I broke open the letter you sent 
 me — hummed over the rhymes — and as I saw they 
 were extempore, said to myself, they were very well ; 
 but when I saw at the bottom a name that I shall ever 
 value with grateful respect, " I gapit wide, but naething 
 spak." I was nearly as much struck as the friends of 
 Job, of affliction-bearing memory, when they sat down 
 
 * Stanzas in The Vision, beginning, " By stately tower or 
 palace fair," and ending with the first Duaa. 
 
 with hhn seven days and seven nights, and spake not a 
 word. 
 
 I am naturally of a superstitious cast, and as soon as 
 my wonder-scared imagination regamed its conscious- 
 ness, and resumed its functions, I cast about what this 
 mania of yours might portend. My foreboding ideas 
 had the wide stretch of possibiUty ; and several events, 
 great in their magnitude, and important in their eon- 
 sequences, occurred to my fancy. The downfall of the 
 conclave, or the crushing of the Cork rumps— a ducal 
 coronet to Lord George Gordon, and the Protestant in- 
 terest — or St Peter's keys to * * * * *. 
 
 You want to know how I come on. I am just in statu 
 quo, or, not to insult a gentleman with my Latin, in 
 "auld use and wont." The noble Earl of Glencairn 
 took me by the hand to-day, and interested himself in 
 my concerns, with a goodness like that benevolent being 
 whose image he so richly bears. He is a stronger proof 
 of the immortahty of the soul than any that philosophy 
 ever produced. A mind like his can never die. Let 
 the worshipful squire H. L., or the reverend Mass J. 
 M. go into their primitive nothing. At best, they are 
 but ill-digested lumps of chaos, only one of them strongly 
 tinged with bituminous particles and sulphureous efflu- 
 via. But my noble patron, eternal as the heroic swell 
 of magnanimity, and the generous throb of benevolence, 
 shall look on with princely eye at " the war of elements, 
 the wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds." 
 
 R.B. 
 
 No. XXXVII. 
 
 TO DR MOORE.* 
 
 Edinburgh, Jan. 1787. 
 Sir— Mrs Dunlop has been so kind as to send me 
 extracts of letters she has had from you, where you do 
 the rustic bard the honour of noticing him and his works. 
 
 * [Dr Moore's letter, to which the above was a reply, is as fol- 
 lows :— 
 
 " Cliford Street, January 2M, 1787- 
 Sir — I have just received your letter, by which I find I have 
 reason to complain of my friend Mrs Dunlop, for transmitting to 
 you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too 
 carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, 
 in consideration of her good intention, as you will forgive me, I 
 hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consider- 
 ation of my admu-ation of the poems in general. If I may judge 
 of the author's disposition from his works, with all the other 
 good qualities of a poet, he has not the irritable temper ascribed 
 to that race of men by one of their own number, whom you have 
 the happiness to resemble in ease and curious felicity of expres- 
 sion. Indeed, the poetical beauties, however original and bril- 
 liant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I admire in your works ; 
 the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the 
 objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes 
 through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the 
 poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the 
 poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing 
 the author, last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I 
 have been for many years. 
 
 I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at 
 Edinburgh, and I think j'ou peculiarly fortimate in the patronage 
 of Dr Blair, who, I am informed, interests himself very much for 
 you. I beg to be remembered to him ; nobody can have a warmer 
 regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of 
 the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory 
 
 of our common friend, the late Mr George B e. 
 
 Before I received your letter, I sent enclosed in a letter to 
 
 a sonnet by Miss "Williams, a young poetical lady, which she wrote 
 on reading your ' Mountain-Daisy ;' perhaps it may not displease 
 you :— 
 
 While soon ' the garden's flaunting flowers' decay 
 
 And scatter'd on the earth neglected lie. 
 The ' Mountain-Daisy,' cherish'd by the ray 
 A poet drcAv from heaven, shall never die. 
 Ah, like that lonely flower the poet rose ! 
 'Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale ; 
 He felt each storm that on the mountain blows. 
 
 Nor ever kncAv the shelter of the vale. 
 By genius in her native vigour nurst. 
 On nature with impassion'd look he gazed ; 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 19 
 
 Those who have felt the anxieties and solicitudes of 
 authorship, can only knov/ what pleasure it gives to be 
 noticed in such a mannei', hy judges of the first charac- 
 ter. Your criticisms. Sir, I receive with reverence ; 
 only I am sorry they mostly came too late ; a peccant 
 passage or two that I would certainly have altered, were 
 gone to the press. 
 
 The hope to be admired for ages, is, in by far the 
 greater part of those even who are authors of repute, 
 an unsubstantial dream. For my part, my first ambition 
 was, and still my strongest wish is, to please my corn- 
 peel's, the rustic inmates of the hamlet, while ever-chang- 
 ing language and manners shall allow me to be rehshed 
 and understood. I am vex*y willing to admit that I have 
 some poetical abilities ; and as few, if any Avriters, either 
 moral or poetical, are intimately acquainted with the 
 classes of mankind among whom I have chiefly mingled, 
 I may have seen raen and manners ia a different phasis 
 from what is common, which may assist origioality of 
 thought. Still I know very well the novelty of my cha- 
 racter has by far the greatest share in the learned and 
 poUte notice I have lately had ; and in a language where 
 Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh, and Shen- 
 stone and Gray draAvn the tear ; where Thomson and 
 Beattie have painted the landscape, and Lyttleton and 
 Collins described the heart, I am not vain enough to 
 hope for distinguished poetic fame, R. B. 
 
 No. XXXVIII. 
 TO THE REV. G. LAWRIE, 
 
 KEWMILLS, NEAR KILJIARNOCK. 
 
 Edinburgh) Feb. oth, 1787. 
 
 Reverent) axd Dear Sib — When I look at the date 
 of your kind letter, my heart reproaches me severely 
 with ingratitude in neglecting so long to answer it. I 
 will not trouble you with any account, by way of apo- 
 logy, of my hunied life and distracted attention ; do me 
 the justice to beheve that my delay by no means pro- 
 ceeded from want of respect. I feel, and ever shall feel 
 for you, the mingled sentiments of esteem for a friend, 
 and reverence for a father. 
 
 I thank you. Sir, with all my soul, for your fi'iendly 
 hints, though I do not need them so much as my friends 
 are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper 
 accounts and distant reports ; but, in reaUty, I have no 
 great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of pro- 
 sperity. Novelty may attract the attention of mankind 
 a w^hile ; to it I owe my present eclat ; but I see the 
 time not far distant when the popular tide which has 
 borne me to a height of which I am perhaps unworthy, 
 shall recede with silent celerity, and leave me a barren 
 waste of sand, to descend at my leisure to my former 
 station. I do not say this in the affectation of modesty ; 
 I see the consequence is unavoidable, and am prepared 
 for it. I had been at a good deal of pains to form a 
 just, impartial estunate of my intellectual powers be- 
 fore I came here ; I have not added, siace I came to 
 Edinburgh, any thmg to the account ; and I trust I 
 shall take every atom of it back to my shades, the 
 coverts of my unnoticed early years. 
 
 In Dr Blacklock, whom I see very often, I have found 
 what I would have expected in our friend, a clear head 
 and an excellent heart. 
 
 By far the most agreeable hours I spend in Edin- 
 burgh must be placed to the account of Miss Lawrie 
 and her piano-forte. I caimot help repeating to you 
 and Mrs Lawi-ie a compHment that Mr JNIackenzie, the 
 celebrated " Man of Feeling," paid to Miss Lawrie, the 
 other night, at the concert. I had come in at the in- 
 terlude, and sat down by hun till I saw jNIiss Lawaue in 
 
 Then through the cloud of adverse fortune burst 
 
 Indignant, and in light unborrowed blazed. 
 Scotia ! from rude afiSiction shield thy bai-d ; 
 His heaven-taught numbers Fame herself will guard. 
 I have been trying to add to the number of your subscribers, 
 but find many of my acquaintance are already among them. I 
 have only to add, that, with every sentiment of esteem, and the 
 most cordial good ■wishes, I am, your obedient hiunble servant, 
 
 J. MoOKIi." 
 
 a seat not very distant, and went up to pay my respects 
 to her. On my return to Mr Mackenzie, he asked me 
 who she was ; I told him 'twas the daughter of a reve- 
 rend friend of mine in the west country. He returned, 
 there was something very striking, to his idea, in her 
 appearance. On my desii'ing to know what it was, he 
 was pleased to say, " She has a great deal of the ele- 
 gance of a well-bred lady about her, with all the sweet 
 simpHcity of a country girl." 
 
 My compliments to ail the happy inmates of St Mar- 
 garet's. I am, my dear Sir, yours, most gratefully, 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 No. XXXIX. 
 TO DR MOORE. 
 
 Edinburgh, \Bth February^ VJ^I . 
 
 Sir — Pardon my seeming neglect in delaying so long 
 to acknowledge the honour you have done me, in your 
 kind notice of me, January 23d. Not many months ago 
 I knew no other employment than following the plough, 
 nor could boast any thing higher than a distant ac- 
 quaintance with a country clergyman. Mere greatness 
 never embarrasses me ; I have nothing to ask from the 
 great, and I do not fear their judgment ; but genius, 
 polished by learning, and at its proper point of elevation 
 in the eye of the world, this of late I frequently meet 
 with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the affec- 
 tation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That 
 I have some merit, I do not deny; but I see with frequent 
 wTingings of heart, that the novelty of my character, 
 and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, 
 have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my 
 abilities. 
 
 For the honour Miss Williams has done me, please, 
 Sir, return her in my name my most grateful thanks. 
 I have more than once thought of pacing her in kind, 
 but have liitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despon- 
 dency. I had never before heard of her ; but the other 
 day I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some 
 belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the 
 heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little 
 pretensions to critic lore ; there are, I think, two cha- 
 racteristic features in her poetry — the unfettered wild 
 flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre ten- 
 derness of " time-settled sorrow." 
 
 I only know what pleases me, often without being 
 able to tell why. R. B.* 
 
 * The anffwer of Dr Moore to the foregoing was as follows : — 
 " Clifford Street, 28th February, 1787- 
 
 Dkar Sir — Your letter of the 15th gave me a great deal of 
 pleasure. It is not surprising that you improve in correctness 
 and taste, considering where you have been for some time past. 
 And I dare swear there is no danger of your admitting any polish 
 which might weaken the vigour of your native powers. 
 
 I am glad to perceive that you disdain the nauseous affectation 
 of decrying your o^ti merit as a poet, an afifectation which is dis- 
 played Avith most ostentation by those who have the greatest share 
 of self-conceit, and which only adds imdeceiving falsehood to dis- 
 gusting vanity. For you to deny the merit of yoiu: poems, would 
 be arraigning the fixed opinion of the public. 
 
 As the new edition of my ' View of Society' is not yet ready, 
 I have sent you the former edition, Avhich I beg you will accept 
 as a small mark of my esteem. It is sent by' sea to the care of 
 Mr Creech ; and, along with these four volumes for yom'self , I 
 have also sent my ' Medical Sketches' in one volvmie, for my 
 friend 31rs Dimlop of Dunlop ; this you will be so obliging as to 
 transmit, or, if you chance to pass soon by Dimlop, to give to her. 
 
 I am happy to hear that your subscription is so ample, and 
 shall rejoice at every piece of good fortvme that befalls you. For 
 you are a very great favourite in my family ; and this is a higher 
 compliment than perhaps you are awai-e of. It includes almost 
 all the professions, and, of course, is a proof that your writings 
 are adapted to various tastes and situations. My youngest son, 
 who is at Winchester school, -WTites to me, that he is translating 
 some stanzas of your ' Hallowe'en' into Latin verse, for the bene- 
 fit of his comrades. This union of taste partly proceeds, no doubt, 
 from the cement of Scottish partiality, with which they are all 
 somewhat tinctured. Even your translator, who left Scotland 
 too early in Ufe for recollection, is not without it. I remain, with 
 great sincerity, your obedient servant, J. Moore." 
 
20 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. XL. 
 TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. 
 
 Edinburgh, Feb. 24, 1787. 
 My Honoured Friend — I will soon be with you now, 
 in guid black prent — in a week or ten days at farthest. 
 I am obliged, against my own wish, to print subscribers' 
 names ; so if any of my Ayr fi'iends have subscription 
 bills, they must be sent into Creech directly. I am 
 getting my phiz done by an eminent engraver, and if it 
 ean be ready in time, I will appear in my book, looking, 
 like all other fools, to my title-page. R. B. 
 
 No. XLI. 
 TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 
 
 Edinburgh, February, 1787. 
 
 My Lord — I wanted to purchase a profile of your 
 lordship, which I was told was to be got in town ; but 
 I am truly sorry to see that a blundering painter has 
 spoiled a " human face divine." The enclosed stanzas 
 I intended to have written below a pictm'e or profile of 
 your lordship, could I have been so happy as to procure 
 one with any thing of a likeness. 
 
 As I will soon return to my shades, I wanted to have 
 something like a material object for my gratitude ; I 
 wanted to have it in my power to say to a friend, there 
 is my noble patron, my generous benefactor. Allow 
 ine, my lord, to publish these verses. I conjure your 
 lordship, by the honest throe of gratitude, by the gene- 
 rous wish of benevolence, by all the powers and feelings 
 which compose the magnanimous mind, do not deny me 
 this petition. I owe much to your lordship : and, what 
 has not in some other instances always been the case 
 with me, the weight of the obligation is a pleasing load. 
 I trust I have a heart as mdependent as your lordship's, 
 than wliich I can say nothing more : and I would not 
 be beholden to favours that would crucify my feelings. 
 Your dignified character in life, and manner of support- 
 ing that character, are flattering to my pride ; and I 
 would be jealous of the purity of my grateful attach- 
 ment, where I was under the patronage of one of the 
 much favoured sons of fortune. 
 
 Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, parti- 
 cularly when they were names dear to fame, and illus- 
 trious in their country ; allow me, then, my lord, if you 
 think the verses have intrinsic merit, to tell the Avorld 
 how much I have the honour to be, your lordship's 
 highly indebted, and ever gi'ateful humble servant, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. XLII. 
 TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 
 
 ]\Iy Lord — The honour your lordship has done me, 
 by your notice and advice in yours of the 1st instant, 
 I shall ever gratefully remember : — , 
 
 Praise from thy lips 'tis mine vni\\ joy to boast, 
 They best can give it Avho deserve it most. 
 
 Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart, 
 when you advise me to fire my muse at Scottish story 
 and Scottish scenes. I wish for nothing more than to 
 make a leisurely pilgrimage through my native country ; 
 to sit and muse on those once hard-contended fields, 
 v/here Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne 
 through broken i*anlvs to victory and fame ; and, catch- 
 ing the inspiration, to pour the deathless names in song. 
 But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic reveries, 
 a long-visaged, dry moral- looking phantom strides 
 across my imagination, and pronounces these emphatic 
 words : — 
 
 " I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not 
 come to open the ill-closed wounds of your follies and 
 misfortunes, merely to give you pain : I wish through 
 these wounds to imprint a lasting lesson on your heart. 
 I will not mention how many of my salutary advices 
 you have despised ; I have given you line upon line and 
 precept upon precept ; and while I was chalking out to 
 you the straight way to wealth and character, with 
 
 audacious effrontery you have zigzagged across the 
 path, contemning me to my face : you know the con- 
 sequences. It is not yet three months since home was 
 so hot for you that you were on the wing for the wes- 
 tern shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, but 
 to hide your misfortune. 
 
 Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power 
 to return to the situation of your forefathers, will you 
 follow these will-o'-wisp meteors of fancy and whim, 
 till they bring you once more to the brink of ruin ? I 
 grant that the utmost ground you can occupy is but 
 half a step from the veriest poverty ; but still it is half 
 a step from it. If all that I can urge be ineffectual, 
 let her who seldom calls to you in vain, let the call of 
 pride, prevail with you. You know how you feel at the 
 iron gripe of ruthless oppression : you know how you 
 bear the galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I 
 hold you out the conveniences, the comforts of life, in- 
 dependence, and character, on the one hand ; I tender 
 you servility, dependence, and wretchedness, on the 
 other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding 
 you make a choice." 
 
 This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to 
 my humble station, and woo my rustic muse, in my 
 wonted way, at the plough-tail. Still, my lord, while 
 the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to that dear- 
 loved country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude 
 to those her distinguished sons, who have honoured me 
 so much with their patronage and approbation, shall, 
 while stealing through my humble shades, ever distend 
 my bosom, and at times, as now, draw forth the swelling 
 tear. R. B. 
 
 No. XLIIL 
 TO MR WILLIAM DUNBAR.* 
 
 Lawn-market, Monday morning. 
 
 Dear Sir — Injustice to Spenser, I must acknowledge 
 that there is scarcely a poet in the language could have 
 been a moi'e agreeable present to me ; and in justice to 
 you, allow me to say. Sir, that I have not met with a 
 man in Edinburgh to whom I would so willingly have 
 been indebted for the gift. The tattered rhymes I here- 
 with present you, and the handsome volumes of Spen- 
 ser for which I am so much indebted to your goodness, 
 may perhaps be not in proportion to one another ; but 
 be that as it may, my gift, though far less valuable, is 
 as sincere a mark of esteem as yours. 
 
 The time is approaching when I shall return to my 
 shades; and I am afraid my numerous Edinburgh friend- 
 ships are of so tender a construction, that they will not 
 bear carriage with me. Yours is one of the few that 
 I could wish of a more robust constitution. It is indeed 
 very probable that when I leave this city, we part never 
 more to meet in this sublunary sphere ; but I have a 
 strong fancy that in some future eccentric planet, the 
 comet of happier systems than any with which astro' 
 nomy is yet acquainted, you and I, among the harum- 
 scarum sons of imagination and whim, with a hearty 
 sliake of a hand, a metaphor and a laugh, shall recog- 
 nise old acquaintance : 
 
 Where wit may sparkle all its raj's, 
 
 Uncurst with caution's fears ; 
 That pleasure, basking in the blaze, 
 Rejoice for endless years. 
 
 I have the honour to be, with the warmest sincerity, 
 dear Sir, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. XLIV. 
 TO MR JAMES CANDLISH, 
 
 STUDENT IN PHYSIC, GLASGOW COLLEGE. 
 
 Edinburgh, March 2\st, 1787. 
 
 My Ever Dear Old Acquaintance — I was equally 
 
 surprised and pleased at your letter, though I dare say 
 
 you will think, by my delaying so long to write to you, 
 
 that I am so drowned in the intoxication of good fortune 
 
 * [Writer to the signet in Edinburgh, and the subject of the 
 song ' ' Rattling, Roaring Willie."] 
 
GENEHAL COKRESPONDENCE. 
 
 21 
 
 as to be indifferent to old, and once dear connexions. | 
 The truth is, I was determined to ^\Tite a good letter, j 
 full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as Bayes 
 says, all that. I thought of it, and thought of it, and 
 bv my soul I could not ; and, lest you should mistake 
 the cause of my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. 
 Don't give yourself credit, though, that the strength of 
 your logic scai-es me : the truth is, I never mean to 
 meet you on that ground at all. You have shown me 
 one thing which was to be demonstrated : that strong 
 pride of reasoning, with a Uttle affectation of singulai'ity, 
 may mislead the best of hearts. I lilvewise, since vou 
 and I were fii'st acquainted, in the pride of despisuig 
 old women's stories, ventured in "the daring path Spi- 
 nosa trod ;" but experience of the weakness, not the 
 strength, of human powers, made me glad to grasp at 
 revealed reUgion. 
 
 I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, " The old man 
 with his deeds," as when we were sporting about the 
 " Lady Thorn." I shall be four weeks here yet at least, 
 and so I shall expect to hear from you ; welcome sense, 
 welcome nonsense. I am, with the warmest sincerity, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. XLV. 
 
 TO , 
 
 ON fergusson's headstone. 
 
 Edinburgh, March, 1787. 
 Mr Dear Sir — You may think, and too justly, that I 
 am a selfish, ungrateful fellow, ha\'ing received so many 
 repeated instances of kindness from you, and yet never 
 putting pen to paper to say thank you ; but if you knew 
 what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that 
 account, your good heart would think yourself too much 
 avenged. By the bye, there is nothing in the whole 
 frame of man which seems to be so unaccountable as 
 that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelp- 
 ing cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might 
 be of use ; but at the beginning of the business, his 
 feeble efforts are to the workings of passion as the in- 
 fant frosts of an autunmal morning to the unclouded 
 fervour of the rising sun : and no sooner are the tumul- 
 tuous doings of the wicked deed over, than, amidst the 
 bitter native consequences of folly in the very vortex 
 of our horrors, up starts conscience, and haiTOWs us 
 with the feehngs of the damned. 
 
 I have enclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse 
 and prose, that, if they merit a place in your truly en- 
 tertaining miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose 
 extract is Kterally as Mr Sprott sent it me. 
 The inscription on the stone is as follows : — 
 " HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET, 
 Bom, September 5th, 1751— Died, 16th October, 1774. 
 No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, 
 
 ' rso storied urn, nor animated bust ;' 
 This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
 To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust." 
 
 On the other side of the stone is as follows : — 
 " By special grant of the managers to Robert Bums, who 
 
 erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever sacred 
 
 to the memory of Robert Fergusson." 
 
 Some memorial to direct tlie steps of the lovers of 
 Scottish song, when they wish to shed a tear over the 
 ' narrow house' of the bard who is no more, Ls sui*ely a 
 tribute due to Fergussou's memory — a tribute I wish 
 to have the honour of paying. 
 
 I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit me to lay 
 a simple stone over his revered ashes, to remain an uu- 
 aUenable propei-ty to his deathless fame. I have the 
 honour to be, gentlemen, your very humble servant, 
 (sic subscrihitur ) Robert Burns." 
 
 Therefore the said managers, in consideration of the 
 laudable and disinterested motion of Mr Burns, and the 
 propriety of his request, did, and hereby do, unani- 
 mously, grant power and hberty to the said Robert 
 Burns to erect a headstone at the grave of the said 
 Robert Fergusson, and to keep up and preserve the same 
 to his memory in all time coming. Extracted forth of 
 the records of the managers, by 
 
 William Sprott, Clerk. 
 
 Session-house ivithin the kirk ofCanongate, the twenty- 
 second day of February, one thousand sevenhun- 
 dred eighty-seven years. 
 Sederunt of the IVIanagers of the Kirk and Kii'k-yard 
 fimds of Canongate. 
 Which day, the treasurer to the said funds produced 
 a letter from 31 r Robert Burns, of date the 6th current, 
 which was read and appointed to be engrossed in their 
 sederunt book, and of which letter the tenor follows : — 
 
 " To the honourable bailies of Canongate, Edinburgh. 
 — Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains of 
 Robert Fergusson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man 
 whose talents for ages to come will do honour to our 
 Caledonian name, he in your church-yard among the 
 ignoble dead, unnoticed and unkno\Mi. 
 
 No. XLVI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Edinburgh, March '21d, 1787. 
 Madam — I read your letter with v%atery eyes. A 
 little, very httle while ago, I had scarce a friend but 
 the stubborn pride of my own bosom ; now I am dis- 
 tinguished, patronised, befriended by you. Your friendly 
 advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, 
 I receive with reverence. I have made some small al- 
 terations in what I before had printed. I have the ad- 
 vice of some very judicious friends among the literati 
 here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to 
 claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble 
 Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any 
 man, does me the honour of giving me liis strictures ; 
 his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I 
 follow implicitly. 
 
 You Idndly interest yourself in my future A-iews and 
 prospects ; there I can give you no light. It Is all 
 
 Dark as was chaos ere the infant sun . 
 
 "Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams 
 
 Athwart the gloom profoimd. 
 The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far iny high- 
 est pi'ide ; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted 
 ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the 
 themes I could wish to sing. 1 have no dearer aim than 
 to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of 
 business, for which. Heaven knows, I am unfit enough, 
 to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia ; to sit 
 on the fields of her battles, to wander on the romantic 
 banks of her rivers, and to muse by the stately towers 
 or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her 
 heroes. 
 
 But these are all Utopian thoughts ; I have dallied, 
 long enough with life ; 'tis time to be in earnest. I 
 have a fond, an aged mother to care for, and some otheir 
 bosom ties perhaps equally tender. Where the indi- 
 Aadual only sufiers by the consequences of his own 
 thoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excus- 
 able — nay, shining abilities, and some of the' nobler vir- 
 tues, may half sanctify a heedless cliaracter ; but v^here 
 God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to 
 liis care — where the trust is sacred, and the ties are 
 dear — that man must be far gone in selfishness, or 
 strangely lost to reflection, whom these connexions \\-ili 
 not rouse to exertion. 
 
 I guess that I shall clear between two and three hun- 
 dred pounds by my authorship ; \^-ith that sum I intend, 
 so far as I may be said to have any intention, to return 
 to my old acquaintance, the plough, and, if I can meet 
 with a lease by which I can Uve, to commence farmer, 
 I do not intend to give up poetry ; being bred to labour 
 secures me independence, and the muses are my chief, 
 sometimes have been my only enjo^-ment. If my prac- 
 tice second my resolution, I shaiT have principally at 
 heart the serious business of Hfe ; but v.-lule follo\ving 
 my plough, or building up my shocks, I shall cast a 
 leisure glance to that dear, that only feature of ray cha- 
 
22 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 racter, which gave me the notice of my country, and 
 the patronage of a Wallace. 
 
 Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you the bard, 
 his situation, and his views, native as they are in his 
 own bosom. R. B. 
 
 No. XLVII, 
 
 TO MISS 
 
 My Deae Countrywoi\ian— I am so impatient to show 
 you that I am once more at peace with you, that I send 
 you the book I mentioned directly, rather than wait the 
 uncertain time of my seeing you. I am afraid I have 
 mislaid or lost CoUins's Poems, which I promised to 
 Miss Irvin. If I can find them, I wdll forward them 
 by you ; if not, you must apologise for me. 
 
 I know you'will laugh at it when I tell you that your 
 piano and you together have played the deuce somehow 
 about my heart. My breast has been widowed these 
 many months, and I thought myself proof against the 
 fascinating witchcraft ; but I am afraid you will " feel- 
 ingly convince me what I am." I say, I am afraid, 
 Ibecause I am not sure what is the matter with me. I 
 3iave one miserable bad symptom ; when you wliisper, 
 or look kindly to another, it gives me a draught of dam- 
 nation. I have a kind of wayward wish to be with you 
 ten minutes by yourself, though what I would say, 
 Heaven above knows, for I am sure I know not. I 
 have no formed design in all this, but just, in the naked- 
 ness of my heart, WTite you down a mere matter-of-fact 
 story. You may perhaps give yourself airs of distance 
 on this, and that will completely cure me ; but I wish 
 you would not — ^just let us meet, if you please, in the 
 old beaten way of friendship. 
 
 I will not subscribe myself your humble servant, for 
 that is a phrase, I think, at least fifty miles off from 
 the heart ; but I will conclude with sincerely wishing 
 that the Great Protector of innocence may shield you 
 from the barbed dart of calumny, and hand you by the 
 covert snare of deceit. R. B. 
 
 No. XLVIII. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Edinburgh, \6th April, 1787. 
 
 Madam — There is an affectation of gratitude which 1 
 tlislike. The periods of Johnson and the pauses of 
 Sterne may hide a selfish heart. For my part, Madam, 
 I trust I have too much pride for servility, and too 
 little prudence for selfishness. I have this moment 
 broken open your letter, but 
 
 Rude am I in speech. 
 And therefore little can I grace my cause 
 In speaking for myself— 
 so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and 
 hunted figures. I shall just lay my hand on my heart 
 and say, I hope I shall ever have the truest, the warm- 
 est sense of your goodness. 
 
 I come abroad, in print, for certain on Wednesday. 
 Your orders I shall punctually attend to ; only, by the 
 way, I must tell you that I was paid before for Dr 
 Moore's and Miss Williams's copies, through the me- 
 dium of Commissioner Cochrane in this place, but that 
 ■we can settle when I have the honour of waiting on 
 you. 
 
 Dr Smith t was just gone to London the morning be- 
 fore I received your letter to him. R. B. 
 
 * [IVIr Cromek supposed this letter to have been written in 
 1784, and probably to the Peggy mentioned in the poet's common- 
 place book. There are reasons for doubting this, and, amongst 
 others, the allusion to the piano, which instrument, we are told 
 by Gilbert Bums, Robert did not hear played till autumn 1786, 
 %vhen he was spending an evening in the house of Dr Lawrie at 
 Loudon. It seems to the present Editor more likely that this 
 letter was addressed, in 1787, to the lady whom the poet alludes 
 to in his letter to James Smith, descriptive of his first Highland 
 tour, and inserted in Dr Currie's Memoir— p. 39 of the accom- 
 panying reprint of that work.] 
 
 i The author of the «* Wealth of Nations," &c. 
 
 No. XLIX. 
 TO DR MOORE. 
 
 Edinburgh, 23d April, ITBT". 
 
 I RECEIVED the books, and sent the one you mentioned 
 to Mrs Dunlop. I am ill sldlled in beating the coverts 
 of imagination for metaphors of gratitude. I thank you, 
 Sir, for the honour you have done me, and to my latest 
 hour will warmly remember it. To be highly pleased 
 Avith your book, is what I have in common with the 
 world, but to regard these volumes as a mark of the 
 author's friendly esteem, is a still more supreme grati- 
 fication. 
 
 I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fort- 
 night, and, after a few pilgrimages over some of the 
 classic ground of Caledonia, Cowden Knowes, Banks of 
 Yarrow, Tweed, &c., I shall return to my rural shades, 
 in all likelihood never more to quit them. I have formed 
 many intimacies and friendships here, but I am afraid 
 they are all of too tender a construction to bear carriage 
 a hundred and fifty miles. To the rich, the great, the 
 fashionable, the polite, I have no equivalent to offer ; 
 and I am afraid my meteor appearance will by no means 
 entitle me to a settled correspondence with any of you, 
 who are the permanent lights of genius and literature. 
 
 My most respectful compMments to Miss Williams. 
 If once this tangent flight of mine were over, and I were 
 returned to my wonted leisurely motion in my old cu'cle, 
 I may probably endeavour to return her poetic compli- 
 ment in kind. R. B.* 
 
 * [The answer of Dr Moore was as follows :— 
 
 " Clifford Street, May 23, 1787. 
 
 Dear Sir— I had the pleasure of your letter by Mr Creech, and 
 soon after he sent me the new edition of your poems. You seem 
 to think it incumbent on you to send to each subscriber a num- 
 ber of copies proportionate to his subscription money, but you 
 may depend upon it, few subscribers expect more than one copy, 
 whatever they subscribed ; I must inform you, however, that I 
 took twelve copies for those subscribers, for whose money you 
 were so accurate as to send me a receipt, and Lord Eglinton told 
 me he had sent for six copies for himself, as he wished to give 
 five of them as presents. 
 
 Some of the poems you have added in this last edition are very 
 beautiful, particularly the * Winter Night,' the * Address to 
 Edinburgh,' ' Green grow the rashes,' and the two songs imme- 
 diately following- the latter of which is exquisite. By the way, 
 I imagine you have a peculiar talent for such compositions, which 
 you ought to indulge. No kind of poetry demands more delicacy 
 or higher polishing. Horace is more admired on account of his 
 Odes than all his other writings. But nothing now added is equal 
 to your ' Vision' and ' Cotter's Saturday Night.' In these are 
 united fine imagery, natural and pathetic description, with su- 
 blimity of language and thought. It is evident that j-ou already 
 possess a great variety of expression and command of the English 
 language ; you ought therefore to deal more sparingly for the 
 future in the provincial dialect— why should you, by using that, 
 limit the number of your admirers to those who understand the 
 Scottish, when you can extend it to all persons of taste who un- 
 derstand the English language ? In my opinion, you should plan 
 some larger work than any you have as yet attempted. I mean, 
 reflect upon some proper subject, and arrange the plan in your 
 mind, without beginning to execute any part of it tUl you have 
 studied most of the best English poets, and read a little more of 
 history. The Greek and Roman stories you can read in some 
 abridgement, and soon become master of the most brilliant facts, 
 which must highly delight a poetical mind. You should also, 
 and very soon may, become master of the heathen mythology, 
 to which there are everlasting allusions in all the poets, and 
 which in itself is charmingly fanciful. What will require to be 
 studied with more attention, is modem history ; that is, the his- 
 tory of France and Great Britain, from the beginning of Henry 
 VII. 's reign. I know very well you have a mind capable of at- 
 taining knowledge by a shorter process than is commonly itsed, 
 and I am certain you are capable of making a better use of it, 
 when attained, than is generally done. , 
 ~ I beg you will not give yourself the trouble of writing to me 
 when it is inconvenient, and make no apology when you do write 
 for having postponed it— be assured of this, however, that I shall 
 
 always be happy to hear from you. I think my friend Mr 
 
 told me that you had some poems in manuscript by you, of a 
 satirical and humorous nature (in which, by the way, I think 
 you very strong) , which your prudent friends prevailed on you to 
 omit, particularly one called * Somebody's Confession ;' if you 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 sa 
 
 Ko. L. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Edinburgh, ^Oth April, 1787. 
 
 ■ Your criticisms, Madam, I vmderstand very 
 
 Well, and could have wished to have pleased you better. 
 You are right ia your guess that I am not very amen- 
 able to coimsel. Poets, much my superiors, have so 
 flattered those who possessed the adventitious quahties 
 of wealth and power, tliat I am determined to flatter no 
 created being, either in prose or verse. 
 
 I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics, &c., as 
 all these respective gentry do by my hardship. I know 
 what I may expect from the world by and bye — iUiberal 
 abuse, and perhaps contemptuous neglect. 
 
 I am happy, ]\Iadam, that some of my ovm favourite 
 pieces are distinguished by your particular approbation. 
 For my " Dream,"* which has unfortunately incurred 
 your loyal displeasure, I hope in four weeks, or less, to 
 have the honour of appearing, at Dunlop, in its defence 
 in pei-son. R. B. 
 
 No. LI. 
 TO THE REV. DR HUGH BLAIR. 
 
 Lawnmarket, Edinburgh, ?)d May, 1787. 
 
 Rev. axd much-respected Sir — I leave Edinburgh 
 to-morrow morning, but CQuld not go without troubling 
 you with half a Hue, sincerely to thank you for the kind- 
 ness, patronage, and friendship, you have shown me. I 
 often felt the embarrassment of my singular situation ; 
 drawn forth from the veriest shades of life to the glare 
 of remai'k, and honoured by the notice of those illus- 
 trious names of my country, whose works, wliile they 
 are applauded to the end of time, will ever instruct and 
 mend the heart. However the meteor-like novelty of 
 my appearance in the world might attract notice, and 
 honour me with the acquaintance of the permanent 
 lights of genius and Hterature, those who are truly be- 
 nefactors of the immortal nature of man, I knew very 
 well that my utmost merit was far unequal to the task 
 of preserving that character when once the novelty was 
 over ; I have made up my mind that abuse, or almost 
 even neglect, will not surprise me in my quarters. 
 
 I have sent you a proof impression of Beugo's work^* 
 for me, done on Indian paper, as a trifling but sincere 
 testimony with what heart-warm gratitude I am, &e. 
 
 R. B.J 
 
 will entrust me with a sight of any of these, I will pawn my 
 word to give no copies, and will be obliged to you for a perusal 
 of them. 
 
 I imderstand you intend to take a farm, and make the useful 
 and respectable business of husbandry your chief occupation : 
 this I hope will not prevent your making occasional addresses to 
 the nine ladies who have shown you such favour, one of whom 
 visited you in the "• auld clay biggin.' Virgil, before you, proved 
 to the world that there is nothing in the business of husbandry 
 inimical to poetry ; and I sincerely hope that you may afford an 
 example of a good poet being a successful farmer. I fear it will 
 not be in my power to visit Scotland this season ; when I do, I'll 
 endeavour to find you out, for I heartily -n-ish to see and converse 
 with you. If ever your occasions call you to this place, I make 
 no doubt of your pajing me a visit, and you may depend on a 
 very cordial welcome from this family. I am, dear Sir, your 
 friend and obedient servant, J. Moore."] 
 
 * [The well-kno'wn poem, beginning, " Guid morning to your 
 majesty." Mrs Dunlop had probably recommended its being 
 omitted in the second edition, on the score of prudence.] 
 
 t The portrait of the poet after Nasmyth. 
 
 % [The answer of Dr Blair was as follows :— 
 
 " ArgyU Square, Edinburgh, Ath May, 1787. 
 
 Dear Sir— I was favoured this forenoon with your very oblig- 
 ing letter, together •ndth an impression of j'our portrait, for which 
 I return you my best thanks. The success you have met vrifh I 
 do not think was beyond your merits ; and if I have had anj' 
 smaU hand in contributing to it, it gives me great pleasure. I 
 know no way in which literary persons who are advanced in 
 years can do more service to the world, than in forwarding the 
 efforts of rising genius, or bringing fort'a imkno-v\-n merit from 
 obscurity. I was the first person who brought out to the notice 
 
 No. LII. 
 TO JAMES JOHNSON, 
 
 EDITOR OF THE SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM. 
 
 LawnmarTcet, Friday noon, M May, 1787. 
 
 Dkvr Sir — I have sent you a song never before 
 known, for your collection ; the air by M'Gibbon, but I 
 know not the author of the words, as I got it from Dr 
 Blaeklock. 
 
 Farewell, my dear Sir ! I ^^•ished to have seen yon, 
 but I have been dreadfully throng,* as I march to-mor- 
 row, f Had my acquaintance vdih you been a Uttle 
 older, I would have asked the favour of your corres- 
 pondence, as I have met with few people whose com- 
 pany and conversation gave me so much pleasure, 
 because I have met with few whose sentiments are so 
 congenial to my own. 
 
 When Dunbar and you meet, tell him that I left 
 Edinburgh with the idea of him hanging somewhere 
 about my heart. 
 
 Keep the original of this song till we meet again, 
 whenever that may be. R. B. 
 
 No. LIII. 
 TO WILLIAM CREECH, Esq., EDINBURGH, 
 Selkirk, Uth May, 1787. 
 My Honoured rRTE>T> — The enclosed I have just 
 wrote,^ nearly extempore, in a soHtary inn in Selkirk, 
 
 of the world the poems of Ossian ; first, by the ' Fragments of 
 ancient Poetry,' which I published, and afterwards, by my set- 
 ting on foot the undertaking for collecting . and publishing the 
 ' Works of Ossian ;' and I have always considered this as a meri- 
 torious action of my life. 
 
 Your situation, as you say, was indeed very singular ; and in 
 being brought out, all at once, from the shades of deepest privacy 
 to so great a share of public notice and observation, you had to 
 stand a severe trial. I am happy that you have stood it so weU ; 
 and, as far as I have kno^vn or heard, though in the midst of 
 many temptations, without reproach to your character and be- 
 haviour. 
 
 You are now, I presume, to retire to a more private walk of life ; 
 and I trust -will conduct yourself there with industry, prudence, 
 and honour. You have laid the foundation for just public esteem. 
 In the midst of those emplojTnents which your situation will 
 render proper, you ■^\-iU not, I hope, neglect to promote that 
 esteem, by cultivating j'our genius, and attending to such pro- 
 ductions of it as may raise your character still higher. At the 
 same time, be not in too great a haste to come forward. Take 
 time and leisure to improve and mature your talents ; for on any 
 second production you give the world, your fate, as a poet, wiU 
 very much depend. There is no doubt a gloss of novelty, which 
 time wears off. As you very properly hint 30urself, you are not 
 to be surprised, if in your rural retreat you do not fini yourself 
 surrounded with that glare of notice and applause which here 
 shone upon you. No man can be a good poet without being some- 
 what of a philosopher. He must lay his account, that any one, 
 who exposes himself to public observation, wiU occasionally meet 
 with the attacks of illiberal censure, which it is always best to 
 overlook and despise. He will be inclined sometimes to court 
 retreat, and to disappear from public \ie\v. He will not affect 
 to shine always, that he may at proper seasons come forth with 
 more advantage and energy. He will not think himself neglected 
 if he be not always praised. I have taken the liberty, you see, of 
 an old man to give advice and make reflections, which your own 
 good sense will, I dare say, render unnocessarj-. 
 
 As you mention your being just about to leave town, you aro 
 going, I should suppose, to Diunfriesshire, to look at some of Mr 
 MiUer's farms. I heartily wish the offers to be made you there 
 may answer, as I am persuaded you will not easily find a more 
 generous and better-hearted proprietor to live under than 3Ir 
 Miller. When you return, if you come this way, I will be happy 
 to see you, and to know concerning your future plans of life. 
 You will find me by the 22d of this month, not in my house in 
 Argjie Square, but at a country-house at Restalrig, about a mile 
 east from Edinburgh, near the Musselburgh road. Wishing you 
 all success and prosperity, I am, with real regard and esteem, 
 dear Sir, yours sincerely, Hugh Blair."] 
 
 * [Busy.] t [On his tour of the Border.] 
 
 :; [The poetical address to Mr Creech, beginning, " Auld 
 chuckle Reekie's sair distrest." See the accompanying reprint 
 of the Poetical Works, p. 6?.] 
 
24 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 after a miserably wet day's riding. I have been over 
 most of PJast Lothian, Bermck, Roxburgh, and Selkirk 
 shires, and next week I begin a tour through the north 
 of England. Yesterday I dined with Lady Harriet, sis- 
 ter to my noble pati'on, * Quern Dens conservet ! I would 
 write till I would tire you as much with dtdl prose, as 
 I daresay by tliis time you are with wretched verse ; 
 but I am jaded to death ; so, with a grateful farewell, 
 I have the honour to be, good Sir, yours sincerely, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LIV. 
 TO MR PATISON, BOOKSELLER, PAISLEY. 
 
 Berry-well, near Dunse, May 17th, 1787. 
 Dear Sir — I am sorry I was out of Edinburgh, mak- 
 ing a slight pilgrimage to the classic scenes of this 
 country, when I was favoured with yours of the 11th 
 "instant, enclosing an order of the Paisley banking com- 
 pany on the Royal bank, for twenty -two pounds seven 
 shillmgs sterling, payment iu full, after carriage de- 
 ducted, for ninety copies of my book I sent you. Ac- 
 cording to your motions, I see you will have left Scotland 
 before this reaches you, other-nise I would send you 
 "Holy Willie" with all my heart. I was so hurried that 
 I absolutely forgot several things I ought to have minded, 
 among the rest, sending books to Mr Cowan ; but any 
 order of yours will be answered at Creech's shop. You 
 will please remember that non-subsci'ibers pay six shil- 
 lings, this is Creech's profit ; but those who have sub- 
 scribed, though their names have been neglected in the 
 pi'iuted list, which is very incorrect, are suppUed at the 
 subscription price. I was not at Glasgow, nor do I in- 
 tend for London ; and I tliink Mrs Fame is very idle 
 to teU so many Hes on a poor poet. When you or Mr 
 Cowan Avrite for copies, if you should want any, direct 
 to j\Ir Hill, at Mr Creech's shop,t and I Avi-ite to Mr 
 Hill by this post, to answer either of your orders. Hill 
 as Mr Creech's first clerk, and Creech himself is pre- 
 sently in London. I suppose I shall have the pleasure 
 against your return to Paisley, of assuring you how 
 mucli I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LV. 
 TO MR W. NICOL, 
 
 MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. 
 
 Carlisle, June 1, 1787. 
 
 Kind Honest-hearted Willie — I'm sitten down here, 
 after seven and forty miles ridin', e'en as forjesket and 
 forniaw'd as a forfoughteu cock, to gie you some notion 
 o' my land-lowper-Uke stravaguin sin' the sorroA\'fu' hour 
 that I sheuk hands and parted wi' Auld Reekie. 
 
 My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchyall'd up 
 hill and dowTi brae, in Scotland and England, as teugh 
 and birnie as a very devil wi' me. It's true she's as 
 poor's a sangmaker and as hard's a kirk, and tipper- 
 taipers when she taks the gate, first like a lady's gentle- 
 woman in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle ; but 
 she's a yauld, poutherie giri'an for a' that, and has a 
 stomack like Wilhe Stalker's meere that wad hae dis- 
 geested tumbler- wheels, for she'll whip me afF her five 
 stimparts o' the best aits at a down-sittin, and ne'er fash 
 her thumb. When ance her ringbanes and spa\'ies, her 
 crucks and cramps, are faii'ly soupl'd, she beets to, beets 
 to, and aye the hindmost hour the tightest. I could 
 wager her price to a threttie pennies, that for twa or 
 i^hree wooks ridin' at fifty mile a-day, the deil-sticket a 
 five gallopers acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast 
 jsauton her tail, j 
 
 * James, Earl of Glencairn. 
 
 t [Mr Peter Hill, afterwards in business for himself as a book- 
 seller, and honoured by the poet's correspondence. Reared with 
 Mr Creech, he was in his turn master to Mr Constable. He died 
 at an advanced age in 1836.] 
 
 ± [This wonderful beast had been named Jenny Geddes by the 
 poet, in honour of the old vroman to whom tradition assigns the 
 er£dit of having cast the first stool at the dean's head in St Giles's 
 cfearch, July 23, 1637, when the litufgy imposed on Scotland by 
 Charies I. was first read.] 
 
 I hae dander'd o\ATe a' the kintra frae Dumbar to Sel- 
 craig, and hae forgather'd wi' mony a guid fallow, and 
 mony a weelfar'd hizzie. I met wi' twa dink quines iu 
 particlar, ane o' them a sonsie, fine, fodgel lass, baith braw 
 and bonnie ; the tither was a elean-shankit, straught, tight, 
 weel-far'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a flowerie 
 thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new-blawn plum- 
 rose in a hazle shaw. They were baith bred to mainers 
 by the beuk, and onie ane o' them had as muckle smed- 
 dum and rumblegumption as the half o' some presbj'tries 
 that you and I baith ken. They play'd me sick a deevil 
 o' a sha\de, that I daur say, if my harigals were turn'd 
 out, ye wad see twa nicks i' the heart o' me hke the 
 mark o' a kaU-whittle in a castock. 
 
 I was gaun to A\Tite you a lang pystle, but, guid forgie 
 me, I gat mysel sae noutouriously bitchify'd the day, 
 after kail-tune, that I can hardly stoiter but and ben. 
 
 My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our common 
 friens, especiall Mr and ]\Irs Cruilcshank, and the ho- 
 nest guidman o' Jock's Lodge. 
 
 I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the 
 fore, and the brauks bide hale. Guid be \W you, Willie ! 
 Amen! R. B. 
 
 No. LVI. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Mauchline, June 18, 1787. 
 
 My Dear Friexd-— I am now arrived safe m m}- na- 
 tive country, after a very agreeable jaunt, and have the 
 pleasure to find all my friends well. I breakfasted with 
 your grey-headed, reverend friend, Mr Smith ; and was 
 highly pleased both with the cordial welcome he gave 
 me, and his most excellent appearance and sterling good 
 sense. 
 
 I have been with Mr Miller at Dalswinton, and am 
 to meet him again in August. From my view of the 
 lands, and his reception of my hardship, my hopes in 
 that business are i-ather mended ; but still they are but 
 slender. 
 
 I am quite charmed Avith Dumfries folks — Mr Burn- 
 side, the clerg}Tnan, in particular, is a man whom I 
 shall ever gratefully remember ; and his wife, guid for- 
 gie me! I had almost broke. the tenth commandment 
 on her account. Simplicity, elegance, good sense, sweet- 
 ness of disposition, good humour, kind hospitahty, are 
 the constituents of her manner and heart : in short — 
 but if I say one word more about her, I shall be directly 
 in love with her. 
 
 I never, my friend, thought mankind very capable of 
 any thing generous ; but the stateliness of the patricians 
 in Edinburgh, and the civiUty of my plebeian brethren 
 (who perhaps formerly eyed me askance) since I re- 
 turned home, have nearly put me out of conceit alto- 
 gether with my species. I have bought a pocket Milton, 
 which I carry perpetually about with ^me, in order to 
 study the sentiments, the dauntless magnanimity, the in- 
 trepid, unyielding independence, the de.sperate daruig, 
 and noble defiance of hardship in that great personage, 
 Satan. 'Tis truCj I have just now a little cash ; but I am 
 afraid the star that hitherto has shed its mahgnant, pur- 
 pose-blasting rays full in my zenith ; that noxious planet, 
 so baneful in its influences to the rhj-ming tribe, I much 
 dread it is not yet beneath my horizon. Misfortune 
 dodges the path of human life ; the poetic mind finds it- 
 self miserably deranged in, and unfit for the walks of 
 business ; add to all, that thoughtless follies and hair- 
 brained wliims, like so many ignes fatui eternally di- 
 verging from the right line of sober discretion, sparkle 
 with step-bewitcliing blaze in the idly-gazing eyes of the 
 poor heedless bard, till pop, " he falls like Lucifer, never 
 to hope again." God grant this may be an um-eal pic- 
 ture with respect to me ! but should it not, I have very 
 little dependence on mankind. I will close my letter 
 with this tribute my heart bids me pay you — the many 
 ties of acquaintance and friendsliip wliich I have, or 
 think I have in life, I have felt along the lines, and, 
 damn them, they are almost all of them of such frail 
 contexture, that I am sure they would not stand the 
 breath of the least adverse breeze of fortune ; but from 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 25 
 
 you, my ever dear SIi*, I look with confidence for the 
 apostoh'c love that shall wait on me " through good re- 
 port and bad report" — the love w^liieh Solomon empha- 
 tically says " is strong as death.'' IMy compliments to 
 Mrs Nicol, and all the circle of our common friends. 
 
 P. S. I shall be in Edinburgh about the latter end of 
 July. R. B. 
 
 Ko. LVII. 
 TO MR JAMES CANDLISH. 
 
 Edinburgh, 1787. _ 
 My Dear Friend — If once I were gone from this 
 scene of hurry and dissipation, I promise myself the 
 pleasvire of that correspondence being renewed wliich 
 has been so long broken. At present 1 have time for no- 
 thmg. Dissipation and busmess engross every moment. 
 I am engaged m assisting an honest Scotch enthusiast,* 
 a friend of mine, who is an engraver, and has taken it 
 into his head to publish a collection of all our songs set 
 to music, of which the words and music are done by 
 Scotsmen, This, you \n\l easily guess, is an undertaking 
 exactly to my taste. I have collected, begged, borrowed, 
 and stolen, all the songs I could meet with. Pompey's 
 Ghost, words and music, I beg from you immediately, 
 to go into his second number — the first is already pub- 
 lished. I shall show you the first number when I see 
 you in Glasgow, which wiil be in a fortnight or less. 
 Do be so kind as to send me the song in a day or two — 
 you cannot imagine how much it will obhge m.e. 
 
 Du-ect to me at Islv W. Cruikshank's, St James's 
 Square, New Town, Edinburgh. R. B. 
 
 No. LVIII. 
 TO WILLIAM NICOL, Esq. 
 
 AucMertyre^ Monday, June, 1787. 
 
 My Dear Sir — I find myself very comfortable here, 
 neither oppressed by ceremony, nor moitified by ne- 
 glect. Lady Augusta is a most engaging woman, and 
 very happy in her family, which makes one's outgoings 
 and incomings very agreeable. I caUed at Mr Ram- 
 say's of Auchtertyre^: as I came up the country, and 
 am so delighted with him, that I shall certainly accept 
 of his invitation to spend a day or two with him as I 
 return. I leave this place on Wednesday or Thursday. 
 
 Make my kind compliments to Mr and Mrs Cruik- 
 shank and Mrs Nicol, if she is returned. I am ever, 
 dear Sir, your deeply indebted R. B. 
 
 No. LIX. 
 TO WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK,§ 
 
 ST JAilES'S SQUARE, EDI>-BURGn. 
 
 Auclitertyre, Monday, June, 1787. 
 I HAVE nothing, my dear Sir, to write to you, but that 
 I feel myself exceedingly comfortably situated in this 
 good family — ^just notice enough to make me easy but 
 not to embarrass me. I was storm-staid two days at 
 the foot of the Ochill Hills, with I\Ir Tait of Hervey- 
 ston and Mr Johnston of Alva, but was so well pleased 
 that I shall certainly spend a day on the banks of the 
 Devon as I return. I leave this place I suppose on 
 Wednesday, and shall devote a day to j\Ir Ramsay at 
 Auchtertyre, near Stirhng — a man to whose worth I 
 cannot do justice. ^My respectful kind compliments to 
 
 * Jolinson, the publisher and proprietor of the Musical IMu- 
 Beum. 
 
 t [The seat of Sir William Murray, Bart. — delightfully situated 
 in Stratheam, two miles from Crieff. Sir \V. and Lady Augusta 
 Murray were the parents of Sir George Murray, at one time se- 
 cretary for the colonies.] 
 
 ± [AuchtertjTe, on the Teith, near Stirling. Mr Ramsay was 
 an enthusiast in classical literature, somewhat after the manner 
 of the Baron of Bradwardiue, joining to it a keen relish of the 
 homely literature of his native country.] 
 
 § [Of the High School, Edinburgh, and father of " the Rose- 
 bud,"] 
 
 Mrs Cruikshank, and my dear little Jeanie, and if you 
 see Mr Masterton, please remember me to him. I am 
 ever, my dear Sir, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. LX. 
 
 TO MR JOHN RICHMOND. 
 
 Mossgiel, 7th Jul?', 1787. 
 My Dear Richiiond — I am aU impatience to hear of 
 your fate since the old confounder of right and v*Tong 
 has turned you out of place, by his journey to answer 
 his indictment at the bar of the other world. He will 
 find the practice of the court so difi'erent from the prac- 
 tice in which he has for so many years been thoroughly 
 haclaieyed, that his friends, if he had any connections 
 truly of that kind, which I rather doubt, may well 
 tremble for his sake. His chicane, his left-handed wis- 
 dom, wiiich stood so firmly by him, to such good pur- 
 pose, here. Like other accomplices in robbery and 
 plunder, will, now the piratical business is blown, in all 
 probability turn king's evidences, and then the devil's 
 bagpiper will touch him ofl" " Bundle and go 1" 
 
 If he has left you any legacy, I beg your pardon for 
 all this ; if not, I know you will swear to every word I 
 said about him. 
 
 I have lately been rambling over by Dumbarton 
 and Inverary, and running a drunken race on the 
 side of Loch Lomond •with a wild Highlandman ; his 
 horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron 
 or leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd 
 hunter,' whose name is Jenny Geddes, and down came 
 the Highlandman, horse and all, and do'mi came Jenny 
 and my hardship ; so I have got such a skinful of 
 bruises and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks 
 before I dare venture on my journey to Edinburgh. 
 
 Not one new thing under the sun has happened in 
 IMauchline since you left it. I hope this will find you 
 as comfoi'tably situated as formerly, or, if Heaven 
 pleases, more so ; but, at aU events, I trust you will let 
 me know, of course, how matters stand with you, well 
 or iU. 'Tis but poor consolation to tell the world when 
 matters go %\Tong ; but you know very well your con- 
 nection and mine stands on a different footing. I am 
 ever, my dear friend, yours, R. B. 
 
 No. LXI. 
 TO ROBERT AINSLIE.* 
 
 Mauchline, 22d July, 1787. 
 My Dear Aixslie — There is one thing for which I 
 set great store by you as a friend, and it is this, that I 
 have not a friend upon earth, besides yourself, to whom 
 I can talk nonsense A\ithout forfeiting some degree of 
 his esteem. Now, to one like me, who never cares for 
 speaking any thing else but nonsense, such a friend as 
 you is an invaluable treasure. I was never a rogue, 
 but have been a fool all my hfe ; and, in spite of all my 
 endeavours, I see now plainly that I shall never be 
 wise. Now it rejoices my heart to have met -nith such 
 a fellow as you, who, though you are not just such a 
 hopeless fool as I, jet I trust you wiU never listen so 
 much to the temptations of the devil as to grow so very 
 wise that you ^^ill in the least disrespect an honest fel- 
 low because he is a fool. In short, I have set you down 
 as the staff of my old age, when the whole list of my 
 friends will, after a decent share of pity, have forgot 
 me. 
 
 Though in the mom comes sturt and strife. 
 
 Yet joy may come at noon ; 
 And I hope to live a merry merry life 
 When a' thir days are done. 
 Write me soon, were it but a few hues just to tell me 
 
 * [Mr Ainslie, who had been Bums's travelling companion 
 through a great part of his Border excursion, was at this time 
 little more than twenty years of age. He subsequently became 
 a writer to the signet in Edinburgh, where he died, April 11, 
 1833, at the age of seventy-two.] 
 
26 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 how that good sagacious man your father is — that iind 
 dainty body your mother — that strapping chiel your 
 brother Douglas — and my friend Rachel, who is as far 
 before Rachel of old, as she was before her blear-eyed 
 Bister Leah. R. B. 
 
 No. LXII. 
 TO ROBERT AINSLIE, Esq. 
 
 Mauchline, July, 1787. 
 
 My Dear Sir — My life, since I saw you last, has been 
 one continued hurry; that savage hospitality which 
 knocks a man down with strong liquors, is the devil. I 
 have a sore warfare in this world ; the devil, the world, 
 and the flesh, are three formidable foes. The first I 
 generally try to fly from ; the second, alas ! generally 
 flies from me ; but the third is my plague, worse than 
 the ten plagues of Egypt. 
 
 I have been looking over several farms in this coun- 
 try ; one in particular, in Nithsdale, pleased me so well, 
 that, if my offer to the proprietor is accepted, I shall 
 commence farmer at Whitsunday. If farming do not 
 appear eligible, I shall have recourse to my other shift ;* 
 but this to a friend. 
 
 I set out for Edinburgh on Monday morning ; how 
 long I stay there is uncertain, but you will know so soon 
 as I can inform you myself. However I determine, 
 poesy must be laid aside for some time ; my mind has 
 been vitiated with idleness, and it will take a good deal 
 of effort to habituate it to the routine of business. I am, 
 my dear Sir, yours smcerely, R. B. 
 
 No. LXIII. 
 TO MR ROBERT MUIR. 
 
 Stirling, 26th August, 1787. 
 
 My Dear Sir — I intended to have written you fi-om 
 Edinburgh, and now ^vrite you from Stirling to make 
 an excuse. Here am I, on my way to Inverness, with 
 a truly original, but very worthy man, a Mr Nicol, 
 one of the masters of the High-school in Edinburgh. 
 —I left Auld Reekie yesterday morning, and have 
 passed, besides by-excursions, Linlithgow, Borrowstou- 
 ness, Falkirk, and here am I undoubtedly. This morn- 
 ing I knelt at the • tomb of Sir John the Graliam, the 
 gallant friend of the immortal Wallace ; and two hours 
 ago I said a fervent prayer for old Caledonia over the 
 hole in a blue whinstone, where Robert de Bruce fixed 
 his royal standard on the banks of Bannockburn ; and 
 just now, from Stirling Castle, I have seen by the set- 
 ting sun the glorious prospect of the windings of Forth 
 through the rich carse of Stirling, and skirting the 
 equally rich carse of Falkirk. The crops are very 
 strong, but so very late that there is no harvest except 
 a ridge or two perhaps in ten miles, all the way I have 
 travelled from Edinburgh. 
 
 I left Andrew Bruce t and family all well. I will 
 be at least three weeks in making my tour, as I shall 
 return by the coast, and have many people to call 
 for. 
 
 My best compliments to Charles, our dear kinsman 
 and fellow-saint ; and Messrs W. and H. Parkers. I 
 hope Hughoc J is going on and prospering with God and 
 Miss M'Causlin. 
 
 If I could think on any thing sprightly, I should let 
 you hear every other post ; but a dull, matter-of-fact 
 business like this scrawl, the less and seldomer one 
 writes the better. 
 
 Among other matters-of-fact I shall add this, that I 
 am and ever shall be, my dear Sir, your obliged 
 
 R. B. 
 * [The excise.] 
 
 t [Of the North Bridge, Edinburgh.] 
 t [The Hughoc of " Poor Mailie."] 
 
 No. LXIV. 
 TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. 
 
 Stirling, 28th August, 1787. 
 My Dear Sir — Here am I on my way to Inverness. 
 I have rambled over the rich, fertile carses of Falkirk 
 and StMing, and am delighted with their appearance : 
 richly waving crops of wheat, barley, &c., but no har- 
 vest at all yet, except in one or two places an old-wife's 
 ridge. Yesterday morning I rode from this town up 
 the meandering Devon's banks, to pay my respects to 
 some Ayrshire folks at Harvieston. After breakfast, 
 we made a party to go and see the famous Caudron-linn, 
 a remarkable cascade in the Devon, about five miles 
 above Harvieston ; and after spending one of the most 
 pleasant days I ever had in my life, I returned to Stir- 
 ling in the evening. They are a family, Sir, though I 
 had not had any prior tie — though they had not been the 
 brother and sisters of a certain generous friend of mine — . 
 I would never forget them. I am told you have not seen 
 them these several years, so you can have very Uttle 
 idea of what these young folks are now. Your brother 
 is as tall as you are, but slender rather than otherwise ; 
 and I have the satisfaction to inform you that he is 
 getting the better of those consumptive symptoms which 
 I suppose you know were threatening him. His make, 
 and particularly his manner, resemble you, but he will 
 still have a finer face. (I put in the word still, to please 
 Mrs Hamilton.) Good sense, modesty, and at the same 
 time a just idea of that respect that man owes to man, 
 and has a right in his turn to exact, are striking fea- 
 tures in his character ; and, what with me is the Alpha 
 and Omega, he has a heart that might adorn the breast 
 of a poet ! Grace has a good figure, and the look of 
 health and cheerfulness, but nothing else remarkable in 
 her person. I scarcely ever saw so striking a likeness 
 as is between her and your little Beenie ; the mouth 
 and chin particularly. She is reserved at first ; but as 
 we grew better acquainted, I was delighted with the 
 native frankness of her manner, and the sterling sense 
 of her observation. Of Charlotte I cannot speak in 
 common terms of admiration : she is not only beautiful 
 but lovely. Her form is elegant ; her features not re- 
 gular, but they have the smile of sweetness and the 
 settled complacency of good nature, in the highest degree ; 
 and her complexion, now that she has happily recovered 
 her wonted health, is equal to Miss Burnet's. After 
 the exercise of our riding to the Falls, Charlotte was 
 exactly Dr Donne's mistress : — ■■ 
 
 '■ Her pure and eloquent blood 
 
 Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought. 
 That one would almost say her body thought. 
 Her eyes are fascinating ; at once expressive of good 
 sense, tenderness, and a noble mind.* 
 
 I do not give you all this account, my good Sir, to 
 flatter you. I mean it to reproach you. Such relations 
 the first peer in the realm might own with pride ; then 
 why do you not keep up more correspondence with these 
 so amiable young folks ? I had a thousand questions to 
 answer about you. I had to describe the little ones 
 with the minuteness of anatomy. They were highly 
 delighted when I told them that Johnf was so good a boy, 
 and so fine a scholar, and that Willie was going on still 
 very pretty : but I have it in commission to tell her 
 from them that beauty is a poor silly bauble without 
 she be good. Miss Chalmers I had left in Edinburgh, 
 but I had the pleasure of meeting with Mrs Chalmers, 
 only Lady Mackenzie being rather a little alarmingly 
 ill of a sore throat, somewhat marred our enjoyment. 
 
 I shall not be in Ayrshire for four weeks. My most 
 respectful compliments to Mrs Hamilton, Miss Kennedy, 
 and Doctor Mackenzie. I shall probably write him 
 from some stage or other. I am ever. Sir, yours most 
 gratefully, R. B. 
 
 * [Miss Charlotte Hamilton was celebrated by Bums in hig 
 song, " The Banks of the Devon." She became the wife of Dr 
 Adair, physician in Harrowgate, and has been for some years 
 dead.] 
 
 t [Son of Mr Hamilton— the *' wee cnrlie Johnnie" of TJic Dc- 
 dioation,'} 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 27 
 
 No. LXV. 
 TO MR WALKER, BLAIR OF ATHOLE.*^ 
 
 Inverness, 5th September, 1787. 
 
 My Dear Sir — I have just time to write the forego- 
 ing,+ and to tell you that it was (at least most part of 
 it) the eflFusion of a half-hour I spent at Bruar. I do 
 not mean it was extempore, for I have endeavoured to 
 brush it up as well as Mr Nicol's chat and the jogging 
 of the chaise would allow. It eases my heart a good 
 deal, as rhyme is the coin with which a poet pays his 
 debts of honour or gratitude. What I owe to the noble 
 family of Athole, of the first kind^ I shall ever proudly 
 boast — what I owe of the last, so help me God in my 
 hour of need ! I shall never forget. 
 
 The "little angel-band !" I declare I prayed for them 
 very sincerely to-day at the Fall of Fyers. I shall never 
 forget the fine family-piece I saw at Blair ; the amiable, 
 the truly noble duchess,J with her smiling little seraph 
 in her lap, at the head of the table — the lovely " olive 
 plants," as the Hebrew bard finely says, round the 
 happy mother — the beautiful Mrs G — ; the lovely, 
 sweet Miss C, &c. I wish I had the powers of Guide to 
 do them justice ! My Lord Duke's kind hospitality — 
 markedly kind indeed. Mr Graham of Finti-y's channs 
 of conversation — SirW. Murray's friendship. In short, 
 the recollection of all that polite, agreeable company 
 raises an honest glow in my bosom. 
 
 No. LXVL 
 TO MR GILBERT BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, 17th September, 1787. 
 
 My Dear Brother — I arrived here safe yesterday 
 evening, after a tour of twenty-two days, and travelling 
 near 600 miles, windings included. My farthest stretch 
 was about ten miles beyond Inverness. I went through 
 the heart of the Highlands by Crief, Taymouth, the fa- 
 mous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among 
 cascades and Druidical circles of stones, to Dunkeld, a 
 seat of the Duke of Athole ; thence across Tay, and up 
 one of. his tributary streams to Blair of Athole, another 
 of the duke's seats, where I had the honour of spending 
 nearly two days with his grace and family ; thence many 
 miles through a wild country among cliffs grey with 
 eternal snows and gloomy savage glens, till I crossed 
 Spey and went down the stream through Strathspey, so 
 famous in Scottish music ;§ Badenoch, &c. till I reached 
 Grant Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James 
 Grant and family ; and then crossed the country for 
 Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, the an- 
 cient seat of Macbeth ; there I saw the identical bed in 
 which tradition says king Duncan was murdered; lastly, 
 from Fort George to Inverness. 
 
 I returned by the coast, through Nairn, Forres, and 
 so on, to Aberdeen, thence to Stonehive,|| where James 
 Burness, from Montrose, met me by appointment. I 
 spent two days among our relations, and found our 
 aunts, Jean and Isabel, still alive, and hale old women. 
 John Caird, though born the same year with our father, 
 walks as vigorously as I can — they have had several 
 letters from his son in New York. V/illiam Brand is 
 likewise a stout old fellow ; but further particulars I 
 delay till I see you, which will be in two or three weeks. 
 
 * [Mr Walker was tutor to the children of the Duke of Athole, 
 at whose house of Blair, Bums had formed his acquaintance a 
 few days before the penning of this letter. He afterwards became 
 Professor of Humanity (classical literature) in the University of 
 Glasgow, and died in 1831.] 
 
 t CThe Address of Bruar Water to the Duke of Athole.] 
 
 Hf. CJane, daughter of Charles, ninth Lord Cathcart. The " little 
 angel hand" consisted of Lady Charlotte Murray, aged twelve, 
 afterwards the wife of Sir John Menzies of Castle-Menzies ; Lady 
 Amelia, aged seven, now Viscountess Strathallan ; and Lady 
 Elizabeth, an infant of five months, now Lady Macgregor Mur- 
 ray of Lanrick.] 
 
 § [A quick kind of dancing tunes are called Strathspeys, from 
 this vale, the place of their nativity.] 
 
 U [Stonehaven.] 
 
 The rest of my stages are not worth rehearsing ; warm 
 as I was from Ossian's country, where I had seen his 
 very grave, what cared I for fishing-towns or fertile 
 carses ? I slept at the famous Brodie of Brodle's one 
 night, and dined at Gordon Castle next day, with the 
 duke, duchess, and family. I am thinliing to cause my 
 old mare to meet me, by means of John Ronald, at 
 Glasgow ; but you shall hear farther from me before I 
 leave Edinbui'gh. My duty and many compliments from 
 the north to my mother ; and my brotherly compli- 
 ments to the rest. I have been trying for a bei'th for 
 William, but am not likely to be successful. Farewell. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 ^ No. LXVII. 
 TO MISS MARGARET CHALMERS.* 
 
 Sept. 26, 1787. 
 
 I SEND Charlotte the first number of the songs ; I 
 would not wait for the second number ; I hate delays 
 in little marks of fx^iendship, as I hate dissimulation in 
 the language of the heart. I am determined to pay 
 Charlotte a poetic compliment, if I could hit on some 
 glorious old Scotch air, in number second .+ You will 
 see a small attempt on a shred of paper in the book ; 
 but though Dr 'Blacklock commended it very highly, 
 I am not just satisfied with it myself. I intend to make 
 it a description of some kind : the whining cant of love, 
 except in real passion, and by a masterly hand, is to me 
 as insufferable as the preaching cant of old Father 
 Smeaton, whig-ncnnister at Kilmaurs. Darts, flames, 
 Cupids, loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a 
 Mauchline a senseless rabble. 
 
 I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight from the 
 old venerable author of " TuUochgorum,"^ " John of 
 Badenyon," &c.J I suppose you know he is a clergy- 
 man. It is by far the finest poetic compliment I ever 
 got. I will send you a copy of it. 
 
 I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to wait on 
 Mr Miller about his farms. Do tell that to Lady Mac- 
 kenzie, that she may give me credit for a little wisdom. 
 " I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence." What a blessed 
 fire-side! How happy should I be to pass a winter 
 evening under their venerable roof; and smoke a pipe 
 of tobacco, or drink water-gruel with them ! With 
 solemn, lengthened, laughter-quashing gravity of phiz ! 
 What sage remarks on the good-for-nothing sons and 
 daughters of indiscretion and folly ! And what frugal 
 lessons, as we straitened the fire-side circle, on the uses 
 of the poker and tongs ! 
 
 Miss N. is very well, and begs to be remembered in 
 the old way to you. I used all my eloquence, all the 
 persuasive flourishes of the hand, and heart-melting 
 modulation of periods in my power, to urge her out to 
 Harvieston, but all in vain. My rhetoric seems quite 
 to have lost its effect on the lovely half of mankind. I 
 have seen the day — but this is a " tale of other years." 
 In my conscience I beHeve that my heart has been so 
 oft on fire that it is absolutely vitrified. I look on the 
 sex mth something like the admiration with which I 
 regard the starry sky in a frosty December night. I 
 admire the beauty of the Creator's workmanship ; I am 
 charmed with the wild but graceful eccentricity of their 
 motions, and — wish them good night. I mean this with 
 respect to a certain passion dont fai eu Vhonneur d'etre 
 un miserable esclave: as for friendship, you and Char- 
 lotte have given me pleasure, permanent pleasure, 
 " which the world cannot give, nor take away," I hope, 
 and which will outlast the heavens and the earth. 
 
 R. B, 
 
 * [The youngest daughter of the deceased James Chalmers, 
 Esq. of Fingland. She married, December 9, 1788, Lewis Hay, 
 Esq., of the banking firm of Sir William Forbes, James Hunter, 
 and Company, Edinburgh. Mrs Hay now resides at Pau, in the 
 south of France.] 
 
 t [Of the Scots Musical Museum.] 
 
 ^ [The Rev. John Skinner, episcopal minister at Longside, near 
 Peterhead.] 
 
28 
 
 BURNSS PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. LXVIII. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Without date. 
 
 1 HAVE been at Dumfries, and at one visit more shall 
 be decided about a farm in that county. I am rather 
 hopeless in it ; but as my brother is an excellent farmer, 
 and is, besides, an exceedingly prudent sober man (qua- 
 lities which are only a younger brother's fortune in our 
 family), I am determined, if my Dumfries business faU 
 me, to remove into partnership with him, and at our 
 leisure take another farm in the neighbourhood. 
 
 I assure you I look for high compliments from you 
 and Charlotte on this very sage instance of my unfa- 
 thomable, incomprehensible wisdom. Talking of Char- 
 lotte, I must tell her that I have, to the best of my 
 power, paid her a poetic compliment now completed.* 
 The air is admirable ; true old Highland. It was the 
 tune of a Gaelic song which an Inverness lady sang me 
 when I was there ; I was so charmed with it, that I 
 begged her to write me a set of it from her singing, for 
 it had never been set before. I am fixed that it shall 
 go in Johnson's next number ; so Charlotte and you 
 need not spend your precious time in contradicting me. 
 I won't say the poetiy is first-rate, though I am con- 
 vinced it is very well ; and, what is not always the case 
 with compliments to ladies, it is not only sincere, but 
 just. R. B. 
 
 No. LXIX. 
 TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER. 
 
 Edinburgh, October 25, 1787. 
 
 Reverend and Venerable Sir — Accept, in plain dull 
 prose, my most sincere thanks for the best poetical com- 
 pliment I ever received. I assure you. Sir, as a poet, 
 you have conjured up an airy demon of vanity in my 
 fancy, which the best abilities in your other capacity 
 would be ill able to lay. I regret, and while I live I 
 shall regret, that when I was in the north, I had not 
 the pleasure of paying a younger brother's dutiful re- 
 spect to the author of the best Scotch song ever Scot- 
 land saw — " Tullochgorum's my delight !" The woi'ld 
 may think slightingly of the craft of song-making, if 
 they please ; but, as Job says, " Oh that mine adversary 
 had written a book !" — let them try. There is a cer- 
 tain something in the old Scotch songs, a wild happi- 
 ness of thought and expression, which peculiarly marks 
 them, not only from English songs, but also from the 
 modern efforts of song-wrights, in our native manner 
 and language. The only remains of this enchantment, 
 these spells of the imagination, rest with you. Our 
 true brother, Ross of Lochlee, was likewise " owre can- 
 nie" — " a wild warlock" — but now he sings among the 
 " sons of the morning." 
 
 I have often wished, and will certainly endeavour, to 
 form a kind of common acquaintance among all the 
 genuine sons of Caledonian song. The world, busy in 
 low prosaic pursuits, may overlook most of us ; but 
 " reverence thyself." The world is not our peers, so 
 we challenge the jury. We can lash that world, and 
 find ourselves a very great source of amusement and 
 happiness independent of that world. 
 
 There is a work going on in Edinburgh just now, 
 which claims your best assistance. An engraver in this 
 town has set about collecting and publishing all the 
 Scotch songs, with the music, that can be found. Songs 
 in the English language, if by Scotchmen, are admitted, 
 but the music must all be Scotch. Drs Beattie and 
 Blacklock are lending a hand, and the first musician in 
 town presides over that department. I have been ab- 
 solutely crazed about it, collecting old stanzas, and every 
 information remaining respecting their origin, authors, 
 &;c. &c. This last is but a very fragment business ; but 
 at the end of his second number — the first is already 
 published — a small account will be given of the authors, 
 particularly to preserve those of latter times. Your 
 
 * [The song of •♦ The Banks of the Devon."] 
 
 three songs, « Tuilochgorum," "John of Badenyon,*' 
 and « Ewie wi' the Crookit Horn," go in this second 
 number. I was determined, before I got your letter, to 
 write you, begging that you would let me know where 
 the editions of these pieces may be found, as you would 
 wish them to continue in future times ; and if you would 
 be so kind to this undertakmg as send any songs, of 
 your own or others, that you would think proper to 
 publish, your name will be inserted among the other 
 authors— " Nill ye, will ye." One-half of Scotland al- 
 ready give your songs to other authors. Paper is done. 
 I beg to hear from you ; the sooner the better, as I leave 
 Edinburgh in a fortnight or three weeks. I am, with 
 the warmest sincerity, Sii-, your obliged humble ser- 
 vant, li, B. 
 
 No. LXX. 
 TO JAMES HOY, Esq., 
 
 GORDON CASTLE.* 
 
 Edinburgh, SOth October, 1787. 
 
 Sir — I will defend my conduct in giving you this 
 trouble, on the best of Christian principles — " Whatso- 
 ever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even. 
 so unto them." I shall certainly, among my legacies, 
 leave my latest curse to that unlucky predicament which 
 hurried — tore me away from Castle Gordon. May that 
 obstinate son of Latin prose [Nicol] be curst to Scotch 
 mile periods, and damned to seven league paragraphs ; 
 while Declension and Conjugation, Gender, Number, 
 and Tense, under the ragged banners of Dissonance 
 and Disarrangement, eternally rank against him in 
 hostile array. 
 
 Allow me. Sir, to strengthen the small claim I have 
 to your acquaintance, by the following request. An 
 engraver, James Johnson, in Edinburgh, has, not from 
 mercenary views, but from an honest Scotch enthu- 
 siasm, set about collecting all our native songs, and set- 
 ting them to music, particularly those that have never 
 been set before. Clarke, the we'll- known musician, pre- 
 sides over the musical arrangement, and Drs Beattie 
 and Blacklock, Mr Tytler of Woodliouselee, and your 
 humble servant to the utmost of his small power, assist 
 in collecting the old poetry, or sometimes, for a fine air, 
 make a stanza when it has no words. The brats, too 
 tedious to mention, claim a parental pang from my 
 hardship. I suppose it will appear in Johnson's second 
 number — the first was published before my acquaint- 
 ance with him. My request is — " Cauld Kail in Aber- 
 deen" is one intended for this number, and I beg a 
 copy of his Grace of Gordon's words to it, which you 
 were so kind as to repeat to me.'f' You may be sure 
 we wont prefix the author's name, except you like, 
 though I look on it as no small merit to this work that 
 the names of so many of the authors of our old Scotch 
 songs, names almost forgotten, will be inserted. I do 
 not well know where to write to you — I rather write 
 at you ; but if you will be so obliging, immediately on 
 receipt of this, as to write me a few lines, I shall per- 
 haps pay you in kind, though not in quality. Johnson's 
 terms are : — each number a handsome pocket volume, 
 to consist at least of a hundred Scotch songs, with basses 
 for the harpsichord, &c. The price to subscribers 5*. ; 
 to non-subscribers 6s. He will have three numbers, I 
 conjecture. 
 
 My direction for two or three weeks will be at Mr 
 William Cruikshank's, St James's Square, New Town, 
 Edinburgh. I am, Sir, yours to command, R. B. 
 
 * [Hoy was librarian to the duke for forty-six years antecedent 
 to his death in 1828. He was a simple, pure-hearted man, of the 
 Dominie Sampson genus, and had attracted the regard of Burns 
 during the short stay of the poet at Gordon Castle.] 
 
 t [Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon, who entertained Bums 
 at Gordon Castle, possessed considerable abilities for song-writing, 
 though few of his verses have been made public The song alluded 
 to by Bums seems to have been obtained from Mr Hoy, as it ap- 
 pears in .Johnson's second volume.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 29 
 
 No. LXXI. 
 TO JAMES HOY, Esq., 
 
 GORDON CASTLE, 
 
 Edinburgh, 6(h November, 1787. 
 
 De.vr Sir — I would have A\Tote you immediately on 
 receipt of your kind letter, but a mixed impulse of gra- 
 titude and' esteem whispered to me that I ought to send 
 you something by way of return. When a poet owes any 
 thing, particularly when he is indebted for good offices, 
 the paj-ment that usually recurs to him— the only com 
 indeed in which he is probably conversant — is rhyme. 
 Johnson sends the boolcs by the fly, as directed, and 
 begs me to enclose his most grateful thanks ; mv return 
 I intended should have been one or two poetic baga- 
 telles which the world have not seen, or, perhaps, for 
 ob\'ious reasons, cannot see. These I shall send you 
 before I leave Edmburgh. They may make you laugh 
 a little, which, on the whole, is no bad way of spending 
 one's precious hours and stiU more precious breath ; at 
 any rate, thev will be, though a small, yet a very sin- 
 cere, mark of my respectful esteem for a gentleman 
 whose farther acquaintance I should look upon as a 
 pecuhar obligation. 
 
 The duke's song, independent totally of his dukeship, 
 charms me. There is I know not what of ^\ild happi- 
 ness of thought and expression pecuUarly beautiful in 
 the old Scottish song style, of which his Grace, old ve- 
 nerable Skinner, the atithor of *•' Tullochgorum," &c., 
 and the late Ross, at Lochlee, of true Scottish poetic 
 memory, are the only modern instances that I recollect, 
 since Ramsay vdih his contemporaries, and poor Bob 
 Fergusson, went to the world of deathless existence 
 and truly immortal song. The mob of mankind, that 
 many-headed beast, would laugh at so serious a speech 
 about an old song ; but as Job says, " Oh that mine ad- 
 versary had NVTitten a book !" Those who think that 
 composing a Scotch song is a trifling business, let them 
 try. 
 
 I wish my Lord Duke would pay a proper attention 
 to the Christian admonition — " Hide not your candle 
 under a bushel," but " Let your light sliine before men." 
 I could name half a dozen dukes that I guess are a 
 devilish deal worse employed ; nay, I question if there 
 are half a dozen better : perhaps there are not half that 
 scanty number whom Heaven has favoui'ed with the 
 tuneful, happy, and, I will say, glorious gift. I am, 
 dear Sir, your obliged humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. LXXII. 
 TO ROBERT AINSLIE, Esq., EDINBURGH. 
 
 Edinburgh, Sunday morning, Nov. 23, 1787. 
 
 I BEG, my dear Sir, you would not make any appoint- 
 ment to take us to Mr Ainslie's to-night. On looking 
 over my engagements, constitution, present state of my 
 health, 'some little vexatious soul concerns, &c., I find 
 I can't sup abroad to-night. I shall be in to-day till 
 one o'clock, if you have a leisure hour. 
 
 You will think it romantic when I tell you, that I 
 find the idea of vour friendship almost necessary to my 
 existence. You assume a proper length of face in my 
 bitter hours of blne-devihsm, and you laugh fully up to 
 my highest wishes at my good things. I don't know, 
 upon the whole, if you are one of the first fellows in 
 God's world, but you are so to me. I teU you this just 
 now, in the conviction that some inequalities in my 
 temper and maimer may perhaps sometimes make you 
 suspect that I am not so warmly as I ought to be vour 
 friend, R. B. 
 
 No. LXXIII. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 
 
 Edinburgh, 1787. 
 
 My Lord — I know your lordship will disapprove of my 
 
 ideas in a request I am going to make to you ; but I have 
 
 weighed, long and seriously weighed, my situation, my 
 
 liopes, and tui'n of mind, and am fully fixed to my scheme, 
 
 if I can possibly effectuate it. I wish to get ihito tlie 
 Excise : I am told that your lordship's interest \d\\ easily 
 procure me the grant from the commissioners ; and your 
 lordship's patronage and goodness, which have already 
 rescued me from obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, 
 embolden me to ask that interest. You have likewise 
 put it in my power to save the little tie of home that 
 sheltered an aged mother, two brothers, and three sis- 
 ters, from destruction. There, ray lord, you have bound 
 me over to the highest gratitude. 
 
 Sly brother's farm is but a wretched lease, but I think 
 he will probably weather out the remaining seven years 
 of it ; and after the assistance which I have given, and 
 will give him, to keep the family together, I think, by 
 my guess, I shall have rather better than tAvo hundred 
 pounds, and instead of seeking, what is almost impossible 
 at present to find, a farm that I can certainly five by, 
 with so small a stock, I shall lodge this sum in a bank- 
 ing-house, a sacred deposit, excepting only the calls of 
 uncommon distress or necessitous old age. 
 
 These, my lord, are my views : I have resolved from 
 the matui'est deliberation ; and now I am fixed, I shall 
 leave no stone imturned to cairy my resolve into exe- 
 cution. Your lordship's patronage is the strength of 
 my hopes ; nor have I yet applied to any body else. In- 
 deed, my heart sinks within me at the idea of apphing 
 to any other of the great who have honoured me with 
 their 'countenance. I am ill quahfied to dog the heels 
 of greatness with the impertinence of sohcitation, and 
 tremble nearly as much at the thought of the cold pro- 
 mise as the cold denial ; but to your lordship I have not 
 only the honour, the comfort, but the pleasure of being 
 your lordship's much obhged and deeply indebted 
 humble servant, R. B, 
 
 No. LXXIV. 
 TO CHARLES HAY, Esq., ADVOCATE.* 
 
 (e>TLOSIXG verses ox THE DEATH OF THE LORD 
 PRESIDENT.) 
 
 Sir — The enclosed poem was wTitten in consequence 
 of your suggestion, last time I had the pleasure of see- 
 ing you. It cost me an hour or twD of next morning's 
 sleep, but did not please me ; so it lay by, an ill-digested 
 efi'ort, till the other day that I gave it a critic brush. 
 These kind of subjects are much hackneyed ; and, be- 
 sides, the wailings of the rh\-ming tribe over the ashes 
 of the great are cursedly suspicious, and out of all cha- 
 racter for sincerity. These ideas damped my muse's 
 fire ; however, I have done the best I could, and, at all 
 events, it gives me an opportunity of declaring that I 
 have the honour to be, Sii-, vour obhged humble servant, 
 
 R, B. 
 
 No. LXXV. 
 TO MISS M— 
 
 -N. 
 
 Saturday noon, No. 2, St James's Square, 
 New Toii-n, Edinburgh. 
 
 Here have I sat, my dear Madam, in the stony alti- 
 tude of perplexed study for fifteen vexatious minutes, 
 my head askew, bending over the intended card ; my 
 fixed eye insensible to the very light of day poured 
 around'; my pendulous goose-feather, loaded with ink, 
 hanging over the future letter, all for the important 
 purpose of writing a complimentary card to accompany 
 your trinket. 
 
 Comphment is such a miserable Greenland expres- 
 sion, lies at such a chiUy polar distance from the torrid 
 zone of my constitution, that I cannot, for the very soul 
 of me, use it to any person for whom I have the twen- 
 tieth part of the esteem every one must have for you 
 who knows you. 
 
 As I leave towTi in three or four days, I can give my- 
 seK the pleasure of calhng on you only for a minute. 
 
 * [Ultimately a judge, under the designation of Lord Newton. 
 He died, Octolier 19, 1811, leaving a strong reputation for his 
 bacchanalianism, of which many whimsical anecdotes are told.] 
 
30 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Tuesday evening, some time about seven or after, I 
 shall wait on you for your farewell commands. 
 
 The hinge of your box I put into the hands of the 
 proper connoisseur. The broken glass, likewise, went 
 under review ; but deliberative wisdom thought it would 
 too much endanger the whole fabric. I am, dear Ma- 
 dam, with all sincerity of enthusiasm, your very obe- 
 dient servant, H, B. 
 
 No. LXXVI. 
 
 TO MISS CHALMERS. 
 
 Edinburgh, Nov. 21, 1787. 
 I HAVE one vexatious fault to the kindly welcome, 
 well-filled sheet which I owe to your and Charlotte's* 
 goodness — it contains too much sense, sentiment, and 
 good-spelUug. It is impossible that even you two, whom 
 I declare to my God I will give credit for any degree 
 of excellence the sex are capable of attaining, it is im- 
 possible you can go on to coiTespond at that rate ; so, 
 like those who, Shenstone says, retire because they have 
 made a good speech, I shall, after a few letters, hear 
 no more of you. I insist that you shall write whatever 
 comes first : what you see, what you read, what you 
 hear, what you admire, what you dislike, trifles, baga- 
 telles, nonsense ; or to fill up a corner, e'en put down 
 a laugh at full length. Now, none of your polite hints 
 about flattery ; I leave that to your lovers, if you have 
 or shall have any ; though, thank Heaven, I have found 
 at last two girls who can be luxuriantly happy in their 
 own minds and with one another, without that com- 
 monly necessary appendage to female bliss — a lovee. 
 
 Charlotte and you are just two favourite resting- 
 places for my soul in her wandei'ings through the weary, 
 thorny wilderness of this world. God knows, I am ill- 
 fitted for the struggle : I glory in being a poet, and I 
 want to be thought a wise man — I would fondly be ge- 
 nerous, and I wish to be rich. After all, I am afraid 
 I am a lost subject. "Some folk hae a hantle o' fauts, 
 and I'm but a ne'er-do-weel." 
 
 Afternoon. — To ;close the melancholy reflections at 
 the end of last sheet, I shall just add a piece of devotion, 
 commonly known in Carrick by the title of the " Wab- 
 ster's grace :" — 
 
 Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we, 
 
 Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we ! 
 
 Oude forgie us, and I hope sae will he ! 
 
 •-— — Up and to your looms, lads ! 
 
 11. B. 
 
 No. LXXVII. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Edinhu7^h, Dec. 12, 1787. 
 
 I AM here under the care of a surgeon, with a bruised 
 limb extended on a cushion ; and the tints of my mind 
 vying with the livid horror preceding a midnight thun- 
 der-storm. A drunken coachman was the cause of the 
 first, and incomparably the lightest evil ; misfortune, 
 bodily constitution, hell, and myself, have formed a 
 *^ quadruple alHance" to guarantee the other. I got 
 my fall on Saturday, and am getting slowly better. 
 
 I have taken tooth and nail to the Bible, and am'got 
 through the five books of Moses, and half way in Jo- 
 shua. It is really a glorious book. I sent for my book- 
 binder to-day, and ordered him to get me an octavo 
 Bible in sheets, the best paper and print in town, and 
 bind it with all the elegance of his craft. 
 
 I would give my best song to my worst enemy — I 
 mean the merit of making it — to have you and Char- 
 lotte by me. You are angelic creatures, and would pour 
 oil and wine into my wounded spirit. 
 
 I enclose you a proof copy of the " Banks of the De- 
 von," which present with my best wishes to Charlotte. 
 The " Ochil-hills"+ you shall probably have next week 
 for yourself. None of your fine speeches I R. B. 
 * [Miss Hamilton.] 
 
 t [The song in honour of Miss Chalmers, beginning «' A\Tiere 
 "braving angry winter's storms."] 
 
 No. LXXVIII. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Edinburgh, 19th Dec. 1787. 
 
 I BEGIN this letter in answer to yours of the 17th cur- 
 rent, which is not yefc cold since I read it. The atmo- 
 sphere of my soul is vastly clearer than when I wrote 
 you last. For the first time, yesterday I crossed the 
 room on crutches. It would do your heart good to see 
 my hardship, not on my poetic, but on my oaken stilts ; 
 throwing my best leg with an air ! and with as much 
 hilarity in my gait and countenance, as a May frog leap- 
 ing across the newly harrowed ridge, enjoying the fra- 
 grance of the refreshed earth, after the long-expected 
 shower ! 
 
 I can't say I am altogether at my ease when I see 
 any where in my path that meagre, squalid, famine- 
 faced spectre, poverty ; attended as he always is, by iron 
 fisted oppression, and leering contempt; but I have 
 sturdily withstood his bufifetings many a hard-laboured 
 day already, and still my motto is — I dare ! My worst 
 enemy is moi meme. I lie so miserably open to the in- 
 roads and incursions of a mischievous, Hght-armed, well- 
 mounted banditti, under the banners of imagination, 
 whim, caprice, and passion ; and the heavy-armed vete- 
 ran regulars of wisdom, prudence, and forethought move 
 so very, very slow, that I am almost in a state of per- 
 petual warfare, and, alas ! frequent defeat. There are 
 just two creatures I would envy ; a horse in his wild 
 state traversing the forests of Asia, or an oyster on some 
 of the desert shores of Europe. The one has not a wish 
 without enjoyment, the other has neither wish nor fear, 
 
 R. B, 
 
 LXXIX. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Edinburgh, Dec. 1787. 
 
 My Dear Madam — I just now have read yours. The 
 poetic compliments I pay cannot be misunderstood. 
 They are neither of them so particular as to point you 
 out to the world at large ; and the circle of your ac- 
 quaintances will allow ail I have said. Besides, I have 
 compHmented you chiefly, almost solely, on your mental 
 charms. Shall I be plain with you ? I will ; so look to 
 it. Personal attractions. Madam, you have much above 
 par ; wit, understandiog, and worth, you possess in the 
 first class. This is a cursed flat way of telUng you 
 these truths, but let me hear no more of your sheepish 
 timidity. I know the Avorld a little. I know what they 
 will say of my poems — ^by second sight, I suppose — ^for 
 I am seldom out in my conjectures ; and you may be- 
 lieve me, my dear Madam, I would not run any risk of 
 hurting you by any ill-judged compliment. I wish to 
 show to the world the odds between a poet's friends 
 and those of simple prosemen. More for your infor- 
 mation, both the pieces go in. One of them, "Where 
 braving angry winter's storms,'* is already set — the tune 
 is Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny ; the other is 
 to be set to an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's collec- 
 tion of ancient Scots music ; the name is ^'Ha a Chail- 
 lich air mo DheithJ^ My treacherous memory has forgot 
 every circumstance about Les Incas; only, I think you 
 mentioned them as being in Creech's possession. I shall 
 ask him about it. I am afraid the §ong of "Somebody" 
 will come too late — as I shall for certain leave town in 
 a week for Ayrshire, and from that to Dumfries, but 
 there my hopes are slender. I leave my direction in 
 town ; so any thing, wherever I am, will reach me. 
 
 I saw yours to ; it is not too severe, nor did 
 
 he take it amiss. On the contrary, like a whipt spaniel, 
 he talks of being with you in the Christmas days. Mr 
 has given him the invitation, and he is deter- 
 
 mined to accept of it. Oh selfishness ! he owns, in his 
 sober moments, that from his own volatility of inclina- 
 tion, the circumstances in which he is.«ituated, and his 
 knowledge of his father's disposition, the whole affair is 
 chimerical — yet he will gratify an idle penchant at the 
 enormous, cruel expense, of perhaps ruining the peace 
 of the very woman for whom he professes the generous 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 31 
 
 passion of love ! He is a gentleman in his mind and 
 manners — tant pis! He is a volatile school-boy — the 
 heir of a man's fortune who well knows the value of 
 two times two ! 
 
 Perdition seize them and their fortunes, before they 
 
 should make the amiable, the lovely , the derided 
 
 object of their purse-proud contempt ! 
 
 I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs 's recovery, 
 
 because I really thought all was over with her. There 
 are days of pleasure yet awaiting her : — 
 As I came in by Glenap, 
 I met with an aged woman ; 
 She bade me cheer up my heart. 
 For the best o' my days was comin'.* 
 This day will decide my affairs with Creech. Things 
 are, hke myself, not what they ought to be ; yet better 
 than what they appear to be. 
 
 Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himself— 
 That hideous sight— a naked human heart. 
 Farewell ! remember me to Charlotte. E. B. 
 
 No. LXXX. 
 
 TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD. 
 
 Edinburgh, December, 1787. 
 Sib — Mr Mackenzie, in Mauchline, my very warm 
 and worthy friend,+ has informed me how much you 
 are pleased to interest yourself in my fate as a man, and 
 (what to me is incomparably dearer) my fame as a poet. 
 I have. Sir, in one or two instances, been patronised by 
 those of your character in life, when I was introduced 
 to their notice by ***** friends to them, and ho- 
 noured acquaintances to me ; but you are the first gentle- 
 man in the country .whose benevolence and goodness of 
 heart has interested himself for me, unsolicited and un- 
 known. I am not master enough of the etiquette of 
 these matters to know, nor did I stay to inquire, whether 
 formal duty bade, or cold propriety disallowed, my 
 thanking you in this maimer, as I am convinced, from 
 the light in which you kindly view me, that you will do 
 me the justice to believe this letter is not the manoeuvre 
 of the needy, sharping author, fastening on those in up- 
 
 Eer Ufe, who honour him with a little notice of him or 
 is works. Indeed, the situation of poets is generally 
 such, to a proverb, as may, in some measure, palliate 
 that prostitution of heart and talents they have at times 
 been guilty of. I do not think prodigahty is, by any 
 means, a necessary concomitant of a poetic turn, but I 
 beheve a careless, indolent attention to economy is al- 
 most inseparable from it ; then there must be in the 
 heart of every bard of Nature's making a certain mo- 
 dest sensibility, mixed with a Idnd of pride, that mil 
 ever keep him out of the way of those windfalls of for- 
 tune which frequently light on hardy impudence and 
 foot-licking servihty. It is not easy to imagine a more 
 helpless state than his whose poetic fancy unfits him for 
 the world, and whose character as a scholar gives him 
 some pretensions to the politesse of life — ^yet is as poor 
 as I am. 
 
 For my part, I thank Heaven my star has been kinder ; 
 learning never elevated my ideas above the peasant's 
 shed, and I have an independent fortune at the plough- 
 tail. 
 
 I was surprised to hear that any one who pretended 
 in the least to the manners of the gentleman, should be 
 so foolish, or worse, as to stoop to traduce the morals 
 of such a one as I am, and so unhumanly cruel, too, as 
 to meddle with that late most unfortunate, unhappy 
 part of my story. With a tear of gratitude, I thank 
 you, Sir, for the warmth with which you interposed in 
 
 * [This is an old popularrhyme— a great favoiurite, Blr Lock- 
 hart tells us, with the poet. Glenap is in the south of Ayrshire.] 
 
 t [This excellent man afterwards practised for many years as 
 a surgeon in Irvine, where he attained the highest honours of the 
 magistracy. In 1827, he retired to Edinburgh, where he died, 
 January 11, 1837, at an advanced age. It will be recollected that 
 Burns was introduced by Dr Mackenzie to the notice of IMr 
 Dugald Stewart. See the accompanying reprint of Currie's Me- 
 moir, p. 32.] 
 
 behalf of my conduct. I am, I acknowledge, too fre- 
 quently the sport of whim, caprice, and passion ; but 
 reverence to God, and integrity to my fellow-creatures, 
 I hope I shall ever preserve. I have no return. Sir, 
 to make you for your goodness but one — a retm*n which, 
 I am persuaded, will not be unacceptable — the honest, 
 warm wishes of a grateful heart for your happiness, and 
 every one of that lovely flock, who stand to you in a 
 fihal relation. If ever calumny aim the poisoned shaft 
 at them, may friendship be by to ward the blow ! 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXI. 
 TO MISS WILLIAMS,* 
 
 ON READING THE POEM OF THE SLAVE TRADE. 
 
 Edinburgh^ Dec. 1787. 
 
 I liNOW very Httle of scientific criticism, so all I can 
 pretend to in that inti-icate art is merely to note, as I 
 read along, what passages strike me as being uncom- 
 monly beautiful, and where the expression seems to_be 
 perplexed or faulty. 
 
 The poem opens finely. There are none of those idle 
 prefatory lines which one may skip over before one 
 comes to the subject. Verses 9th and 10th in particu- 
 lar. 
 
 Where ocean's unseen bound 
 Leaves a drear world of waters round, 
 are truly beautiful. The simile of the hurricane is like- 
 wise fine ; and, indeed, beautiful as the poem is, almost 
 all the similes rise decidedly above it. From verse 31st 
 to verse 50th is a pretty eulogy on Britain. Verse 36th, 
 *' That foul drama deep with wrong," is nobly expres- 
 sive. Verse 46th, I am afraid, is rather unworthy of 
 the rest ; " to dare to feel," is an idea that I do not alto- 
 gether like. The contrast of valour and mercy, from 
 the 46th verse to the 50th, is admirable. 
 
 Either my apprehension is dull, or there is something 
 a little confused in the apostrophe to Mr Pitt. Verse 
 55th is the antecedent to verses 57th and 58th, but in 
 verse 58 th the connection seems ungrammatical :— - 
 Powers * * * 
 
 * * * * 
 With no gradations mark'd their flight. 
 But rose at once to glory's height. 
 
 Ris'n should be the word instead of rose. Try it in 
 prose. Powers — their flight marked by no gradations, 
 but [the same powers] risen at once to the height of 
 glory. Likewise, verse 53d, " For this," is evidently 
 meant to lead on the sense of the vex'ses 594il, 60th, 61st, 
 and 62d ; but let us try how the thread of connection 
 runs — 
 
 For this * * * 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The deeds of mercy, that embrace 
 
 A distant sphere, an alien race. 
 
 Shall virtue's lips record, and claim 
 
 The fairest honours of thy name. 
 I beg pardon if I misapprehend the matter, but this 
 appears to me the only imperfect passage in the poem. 
 The compai'ison of the sun-beam is fine. 
 
 The compliment to the Duke of Richmond is, I hope, 
 as just as it is certainly elegant. The thought, 
 
 Virtue * * * 
 
 * -St * * 
 
 Sends from her unsullied source. 
 
 The gems of thought their purest force, 
 
 is exceeding beautiful. The idea, from verse 81st to 
 
 the 85th, that the " blest decree" is lilfe the beams of 
 
 morning ushering in the glorious day of liberty, ought 
 
 * [Miss Williams had in the previous June addressed a letter 
 of compliment to Burns, which may be found in the Edinburgh 
 MagazineioT September 1817, where the above letter also appeared 
 for the first time, along with the following note by the editor, 
 Mr Thomas Priugle :— " The critique, though not without some 
 traits of his usual sound judgment and discrimination, appears 
 on the whole to be much in the strain of those gallant and flatter- 
 ing responses which men of genius usually find it incumbent to 
 issue, when consulted upon the productions of their female ad- 
 mirers."] 
 
32 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 not to pass unnoticed or nnapplauded. From verse 85th 
 to verse 108th, is an animated contrast between the un- 
 feehng selfishness of the oppressor on the one hand, and 
 tlie misery of the captive on the other. Verse 88th 
 might perhaps be amended thus : — *' Nor ever quit her 
 narrow maze." We are said to pass a bound, but we 
 quit a maze. Verse 100th is exquisitely beautiful: — 
 
 They, whom wasted blessings tire. 
 Verse 1 10th is I doubt a clashing of metaphors ; " to load 
 a span" is, I am afraid, an unwarrantable expression. 
 In verse 114th, " Cast the universe in shade," is a fine 
 idea. From the 115th verse to the 142d is a striking 
 description of the wrongs of the poor African. Verse 
 r20th, " The load of unremitted pain," is a remarkable, 
 strong expression. The address to the advocates for 
 abolishing the slave-trade, from verse 143d to verse 
 208th, is animated with the true Ufe of genius. The 
 picture of oppression — 
 
 While she links her impious chain,. 
 And calculates the price of pain ; 
 Weighs agony in sordid scales, 
 And marks if death or life prevails— 
 is nobly executed. 
 
 What a tender idea is in verse 180th ! Indeed that 
 whole description of home may vie with Thomson's de- 
 scription of home, somewhere in the beginning of his 
 Autumn. I do not remember to have seen a stronger 
 expression of misery than is contained in these verses : — 
 Condemned, severe extreme, to live 
 When all is fled that life can give. 
 The comparison of our distant joys to distant objects is 
 equally original and striking. 
 
 The character and manners of the dealer in the infer- 
 nal traffic is a well done though a horrid picture. I am 
 not sxu'e how far introducing the sador was right ; for 
 though the sailor's common characteristic is generosity, 
 yet, in this case, he is certainly not only an unconcerned 
 witness, but, in some degree, an efficient agent in the 
 business. Verse 224th is a nervous . . . expressive — 
 " The heart convulsive anguish breaks." The descrip- 
 tion of the captive wretch when he arrives in the West 
 Indies, is carried on with equal spirit. The thought 
 that the oppressor's sorrow on seeing the slave pine, 
 is like the butcher's regret when his destined lamb dies 
 a natural death, is exceedingly fine. 
 
 I am got so much into the cant of criticism, that I 
 begin to be afraid lest I have nothing except the cant 
 of it ; and instead of elucidating my author, am only 
 benighting myself. For this reason, I will not pretend 
 to go through the whole poem. Some few remaining 
 beautiful lines, however, I cannot pass over. Verse 
 280th is the strongest description of selfishness I ever 
 saw. The comparison in verses 285th and 286th is new 
 and fine ; and the line, " Your arms to penury you lend," 
 is excellent. 
 
 In verse 317th, "like" should certainly be "as" or 
 " so j" for instance — 
 
 His sway the hardened bosom leads 
 
 To cruelty's remorseless deeds : 
 
 As (or, so) the blue lightning when it springs 
 
 With fury on its livid wings, 
 
 Darts on the goal with rapid force. 
 
 Nor heeds that ruin marks its course. 
 
 If you insert the word " like" where I have placed 
 " as," you must alter "darts" to "darting," and "heeds" 
 to " heeding," in order to make it grammar. A tem- 
 pest is a favourite subject with the poets, but I do not 
 remember any thing, even in Thomson's Winter, supe- 
 rior to your verses from the 347th to the 351st. In- 
 deed, the last simile, beginning with " Fancy may dress," 
 &c., and ending with the 350th verse, is, in my opinion, 
 the most beautiful passage in the poem ; it would do 
 honour to the greatest names that ever graced our pro- 
 fession. 
 
 I will not beg your pardon, Madam, for these stric- 
 tures, as my conscience tells me, that for once in my 
 life I have acted up to the duties of a Christian, in do- 
 ing as I would be done by. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXIL 
 TO MR RICHARD BROWN, IRVINE.* 
 
 Edinburgh, SOth Dec. 1787. 
 My dear Sir — I have met with few things in life which 
 have given me more pleasure than Fortune's kindness 
 to you since those days in which we met in the vale of 
 misery ; as I can honestly say, that I never knew a man 
 who more truly deserved it, or to whom my heart more 
 truly wished it. I have' been much indebted since that 
 time to your story and sentiments for steeling my mind 
 .against evils, of which I have had a pretty decent share. 
 My will-o'-wisp fate you know : do you recollect a Sun- 
 day we spent together in Eglinton woods ? You told me, 
 on my repeating some verses to you, that you Avondered 
 I could resist the temptation of sending verses of such 
 merit to a magazine. It was from this remark I de- 
 rived that idea of my own pieces which encouraged me 
 to endeavour at the character of a poet. I am happy 
 to hear that you will be two or three months at home. 
 As soon as a bruised limb will permit me, I shall return 
 to Ayrshh'e, and we shall meet; "and faith, I hope 
 we'll not sit dumb, nor yet cast out !" 
 
 I have much to tell you " of men, their manners, and 
 their ways," perhaps a httle of the other sex. Apropos, 
 I beg to be remembered to Mrs Brown. There, I doubt 
 not, my dear friend, but you have found substantial 
 happiness. I expect to find you something of an altered 
 but not a different man ; the wild, bold, generous young 
 fellow composed into the steady aff"ectionate husband, 
 and the fond careful parent. For me, I am just the 
 same will-o'-wisp being I used to be. About the first 
 and fourth quarters of the moon, I generally set in for 
 the trade wind of wisdom ; but about the full and change, 
 I am the luckless victim of mad tornadoes, which blow 
 me into chaos. Almighty love still reigns and revels in 
 my bosom ; and I am at this moment ready to hang my- 
 self for a young Edinburgh widow,f who has wit and 
 Avisdom more murderously fatal than the assassinating 
 stiletto of the Sicilian bandit, or the poisoned arrow 
 of the savage African. My highland dirk, that used to 
 hang beside my crutches, I have gravely removed into 
 a neighbouring closet, the key of which I cannot com- 
 mand in case of spring-tide paroxysms. You may guess 
 of her wit by the following verses, which she sent me 
 the other day : — 
 
 TaUc not of love, it gives me pain, 
 
 For love has been my foe ; 
 He bound rae with an iron chain. 
 And plimged me deep in woe ! 
 But friendship's pure and lasting joys, 
 
 My heart was formed to prove- 
 There, welcome, win and wear the prize. 
 
 But never talk of love ! 
 Youi' friendship much can make me blest— 
 
 Oh, why that bless destroy ? 
 Why urge the odious one request, 
 You know I must deny ? 
 My best compliments to our friend Allan. Adieu \ 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXIII. 
 
 TO MR GAVIN HAMILTON. 
 
 Edinburgh, Dec. 1787. 
 My DEAR Sir — It is indeed with the highest pleasure 
 that I congratulate you on the return of days of ease 
 and nights of pleasure, after the horrid hours of misery 
 in which I saw you suffering existence when last in 
 Ayrshire. I seldom pray for anybody — " I'm baith dead- 
 sweer and wretched ill o't ;" but most fervently do I 
 beseech the Power that directs the world, that you may 
 
 * [This was the individual whom Burns, in his autobiographi- 
 cal letter to Dr Moore, describes as his companion at Irvine — 
 whose mind was fraught with every manly virtue, and who, 
 nevertheless, was the means of making him regard illicit love 
 with levity. See the accompanying reprint of Currie's JMemoir, 
 p. 14.] 
 
 t [Clarinda.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 33 
 
 live long and be happy, but live no longer than you are 
 happy. It is needless for me to advise you to have a 
 reverent care of your health. I know you will make it 
 a point never at one time to drink moi'e than a pint of 
 wine (I mean an English pint), and that you will never 
 be witness to more than one bowl of punch at a time, 
 and that cold drams you will never more taste ; and, 
 above all things, I am convinced, that after drinking 
 perhaps boiling punch you will never mount your horse 
 and gallop home in a chill late hour. Above all things, 
 as I understand you are in the habits of intimacy with 
 that Boanerges of gospel powers. Father Auld, be ear- 
 nest with him that he will wrestle in prayer for you, that 
 you may see the vanity of vanities in trusting to, or even 
 practising, the casual moral works of charity, hvmaauity, 
 generosity, and forgiveness of things, which you practised 
 so flagrantly, that it was evident you delighted in them, 
 neglecting, or perhaps profanely despising, the whole- 
 some doctrine of faith ^\-ithout works, the only author 
 of salvation. A h^-mu of thanksgiving would, in my 
 opinion, be highly "^becoming from you at present, and 
 in my zeal for your well-being, I earnestly press on you 
 to be diligent in chaimting over the two enclosed pieces 
 of sacred poesy. My best compUments to Mrs Hamil- 
 ton and Miss Kennedy. Yours, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXIV. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Edinburgh, January 21, 1788. 
 
 After six weeks' confinement, I am beginning to 
 walk across the room. They have been six horrible 
 weeks ; anguish and low spirits made me unfit to read, 
 write, or think. 
 
 I have a liundred times wished that one could resign 
 life as an officer resigns a commission : for I would not 
 take in any poor, ignorant wretch, by selling out. Lately 
 I was a sixpenny private, and, God knows, a miserable 
 soldier enough ; now I march to the campaign, a starv- 
 ing cadet — a little more conspicuously wretched. 
 
 I am ashamed of all this ; for though I do want 
 bravery for the warfare of life, I could wish, like some 
 other soldiers, to have as much fortitude or cunning as 
 to dissemble or conceal my cowardice. 
 
 As soon as I can bear the journey, which will be, I 
 suppose, about the middle of next week, I leave Edin- 
 burgh ; and soon after I shall pay my grateful duty at 
 DunJop-House. R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXV. 
 TO MISS CHALMERS. 
 
 No date. 
 
 Now for that wayward, unfortunate thing, myself. I 
 have broke measures with Creech, and last week I 
 wrote him a frosty, keen letter. He replied in terms of 
 chastisement, and promised me upon his honour that I 
 should have the account on ^Monday ; but this is Tues- 
 day, and yet I have not heard a word from him. God 
 have mercy on me ! a poor damned, incautious, duped, 
 unfortunate fool ! The sport, the miserable victim of 
 rebellious pride, h}'pochondriac imagination, agonising 
 sensibility, and bedlam passions ! 
 
 " I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to die !" 
 I had lately "a hairbreadth 'scape in th' imminent 
 deadly breach" of love too. Thank my stars, I got off 
 heart-whole, " waur fleyd than hurt." — Interruption. 
 
 I have this moment got a hint; I fear I am some- 
 thing like — undone — but I hope for the best. Come, 
 stubborn pride and unshrinking resolution ; accompany 
 me through this, to me, miserable world ! You must 
 not desert me. Your friendship I think I can count 
 on, though I should date my letters from a marching 
 regiment. Early in life, and all my life, I reckoned on 
 a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope. Seriously though, 
 life at presents me with but a melancholy path : but — 
 my limb will soon be sound, and I shall struggle on. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXVI. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Edinburgh, February 12, 1788. 
 Some things in your late letters hurt me : not that you 
 say them, but that you mistake me. Religion, my ho- 
 noured Madam, has not only been all my life my chief 
 dependence, but my dearest enjoyment. I have, indeed, 
 been the luckless victim of wayward folUes ; but, alas 1 
 I have ever been " more fool than knave." A mathe- 
 matician without rehgion is a probable character ; an 
 irrehgious poet is a monster.. R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXVII. 
 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. 
 
 OP FIIsTRAY. 
 
 Sir — When I had the honour of being introduced to 
 you at Athole-house, I did not think so soon of asking 
 a favour of you. When Lear, in Shakspeare, asked old 
 Kent why he wished to be in his service, he answers, 
 " Because you have that in your face which I would 
 fain call master." For some such reason. Sir, do I now 
 sohcit your patronage. You know, I dare say^ of an 
 appUcation I lately made to your Board to be admitted 
 an officer of Excise. I have, according to form, been 
 examined by a supervisor, and to-day I gave in his cer- 
 tificate, with a request for an order for instructions. In 
 this affair, if I succeed, I am afraid I shall but too much 
 need a patronising friend. Pi'opriety of conduct as a 
 man, and fidehty and attention as an officer, I dare en- 
 gage for ; but with any thing like business, except 
 manual labour, I am totally unacquainted. 
 
 I had intended to have closed my late appearance on 
 the stage of life in the character of a country farmer ; 
 but after discharging some filial and fraternal claims, 
 I find I could only fight for existence in that miserable 
 manner, which I have lived to see throw a venerable 
 parent into the jaws of a jail ; whence death, the poor 
 man's last and often best friend, rescued him. 
 
 I know. Sir, that to need yotu" goodness, is to have a 
 claim on it ; may I, therefore, beg your patronage to 
 forward me in this affair, till I be appointed to a di-\i.- 
 sion — where, by the help of rigid economy, I will try 
 to support that independence so dear to my soul, but 
 which has been too often so distant from my situation. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXVIII. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER. 
 
 Edinburgh, Uth February, 17 8S* 
 Reveren'd and dear Sir — I have been a cripple now 
 near three months, though I am getting vastly bett3r, 
 
 * [Mr Skinner's letter, to which the above was a reply, was as 
 follows :— 
 
 " Litisheaj-t, Uth November, 1787. 
 
 Sir — Your kind return without date, but of post-mark October 
 25th, came to my hand only this day ; and, to testify my punc- 
 tuality to my poetic engagement, I sit down immediately to an- 
 swer it in kind. Your acknowledgment of my poor but just 
 encomiimas on your surprising genius, and j'our opinion of my 
 rhj-miag excursions, are both, I think, by far too high. The 
 difference between our two tracks of education and ways of life 
 is entirely in your favour, and gives you the preference every 
 manner of way. I know a classical education will not create a 
 versifying taste, but it mightily improves and assists it; and 
 though, where both these meet, there may sometimes be ground 
 for approbation, yet where taste appears single, as it were, and 
 neither cramped nor supported by acquisition, I will always sus- 
 tain the justice of its prior claim to applause. A small portion of 
 taste, this way, I have had ahnost from childhood, especially in 
 the old Scottish dialect : and it is as old a thing as I remember, 
 my fondness for ' Christ-kirk o' the Green,' which I had by heart 
 ere I was twelve years of age, and which, some years ago, I at- 
 tempted to turn into Latin verse. While I was young, I dabbled 
 a good deal in these things ; but, on getting the black gown, I 
 gave it pretty much over, tUl my daughters grew up, who, being 
 all good singers, plagued me for words to some of their favourite 
 times, and so extorted these effusions, which have made a public 
 
54 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 and have been very much hurried besides, or else I 
 would have wrote you sooner. I must beg your par- 
 don for the epistle you sent me appearing in the Maga- 
 zine. I had given a copy or two to some of my inti- 
 mate friends, but did not know of the printing of it till 
 the publication of the Magazine. However, as it does 
 great honour to us both, you will forgive it. 
 
 The second volume of the songs I mentioned to you 
 in my last is published to-day. I send you a copy, 
 which I beg you will accept as a mark of the veneration 
 I have long had, and shall ever have, for your character, 
 and of the claim I make to your continued acquaintance. 
 Your songs appear in the third volume, with your name 
 in the index ; as I assure you, Sir, I have heard your 
 " Tullochgorum," particularly among our west-country 
 folks, given to many different names, and most com- 
 monly to the immortal author of " The Minstrel," who, 
 indeed, never wrote any thing superior to " Gie's a sang, 
 Montgomery cried." Your brother has promised me 
 your verses to the Marquis of Huntly's reel, which cer- 
 tainly deserve a place in the collection. My kind host, 
 Mr Cruikshank, of the high-school here, and said to be 
 one of the best Latins in this age, begs me to make you 
 his grateful acknowledgments for the entertainment he 
 has got in a Latin publication of yours, that I borrowed 
 
 appearance beyond my expectations, and contrary to my inten- 
 tions, at the same time that I hope there is nothing to be found 
 in them uncharacteristic, or imbecoming the cloth, which I would 
 always wish to see respected. 
 
 As to the assistance you propose from me in the imdertaking 
 you are engaged in,* I am sorry I cannot give it so far as I could 
 wish, and you perhaps expect. My daughters, who were my only 
 intelligencers, are all fmns-famUiate, and the old woman their 
 mother has lost that taste. There are two from my own pen, 
 which I might give you, if worth the while. One to the old 
 Scotch time of ' Dumbarton's Drums.' 
 
 The other, perhaps, you have met with, as your noble friend 
 the duchess has, I am told, heard of it. It was squeezed out of 
 me by a brother parson in her neighbourhood, to accommodate a 
 new Highland reel for the marquis's birth-day, to the stanza of 
 • Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly,' &c. 
 If this last answer your purpose, you may have it from a bro- 
 ther of mine, Mr James Skinner, writer in Edinburgh, who, I 
 believe, can give the music too. 
 
 There is another humorous thing, I have heard said to be done 
 by the Catholic priest Geddes,t and which hit my taste much :•— 
 There was a wee wifeikie, was coming frae the fair, 
 Had gotten a little drapikie, which bred her meikle care. 
 It took upo' the wifie's heart, and she began to spew. 
 And co' the wee Avifeikie, I wish I binna fou. 
 
 I wish, &c. &c. 
 I have heard of another new composition, by a young plough- 
 ' man of my acquaintance, that I am vastly pleased with, to the 
 tune of ' The humours of Glen,' which I fear won't do, as the 
 music, I am told, is of Irish original. I have mentioned these, 
 such as they are, to show my readiness to oblige you, and to con- 
 tribute my mite, if I could, to the patriotic work you have in 
 hand, and which I wish all success to. You have only to notify 
 your mind, and what you want of the above shaU be sent you. 
 
 Meantime, while you are thus publicly, I may say, employed, 
 do not sheath your osvn proper and piercing weapon. From what 
 i have seen of yours already, I am inclined to hope for much good. 
 One lesson of virtue and morality, delivered in yoiir amusing 
 style, and from such as you, will operate more than dozens would 
 do from such as me, who shall be told it is our employment, and 
 be never more minded : whereas, from a pen like yours, as being 
 one of the many, what comes wiU be admired. Admiration will 
 
 produce regard, and regard will leave an impression, especially 
 when example goes along. 
 
 Now binna saying I'm ill bred, 
 Else, by my troth, I'U no be glad ; 
 For cadgers, ye have heard it said. 
 
 And sic like fry. 
 Maim aye be harland in their trade, 
 Andsaemaiml. 
 Wishing you, from my poet-pen, all success, and, in my other 
 character, aU happiness and heavenly direction, I remain, with 
 esteem, your sincere friend, John Skinner."] 
 
 * A plan of publishing a complete collection of Scottish 
 Bongs, &c. 
 
 t [Geddes is now believed not to have been the author of this 
 poem.] 
 
 for him from your acquamtance and much respected" 
 friend in this place, the Reverend Dr Webster.* Mr 
 Cruikshank maintams that you write the best Latin 
 since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh to-morrow, but 
 shall return in three weeks. Your song you mentioned 
 in your last, to the tune of " Dumbarton Drums," and 
 the other, w'hich you say was done by a brother in trade 
 of mine, a ploughman, I shall thank you for a copy of 
 each. I am ever, reverend Sir, with the most respect- 
 ful esteem and sincere veneration, yours, R. B. 
 
 No. LXXXIX. 
 
 TO RICHARD BROWN. 
 
 Edinburgh, February/ 15th, 1788. 
 My dear Friend — I received yours with the greatest 
 pleasure. I shall arrive at Glasgow on Monday even- 
 ing ; and beg, if possible, you will meet me on Tuesday. 
 I shall wait you Tuesday all day. I shall be found at 
 Davies's Black Bull inn. I am hurried, as if hunted 
 by fifty devils, else I should go to Greenock ; but if you 
 cannot possibly come, Avrite me, if possible, to Glasgow, 
 on Monday ; or direct to me at Mossgiel by Mauch- 
 line ; and name a day and place in Ayrshire, within a 
 fortnight from tliis date, where I may meet you. I only 
 stay a fortnight in Ayrshire, and return to Edinburgh. 
 I am ever, my dearest friend, yours, R. B. 
 
 No. XC. 
 TO MISS CHALMERS. 
 
 Edinburgh, Sunday. 
 To-morrow, my dear Madam, I leave Edinburgh. I 
 have altered all my plans of future life. A fann that 
 I could Kve in, I could not find ; and, indeed, after the 
 necessary support my brother and the rest of the family 
 required, I could not venture on farming in that style 
 suitable to my feelings. You will condemn me for the 
 next step I have taken. I have entered into the Excise. 
 I stay in the west about three weeks, and then return 
 to Edinburgh for six weeks' instructions ; afterwards, 
 for I get employ instantly, I go oil il plait a Dieu — et 
 mon Hoi. I have chosen this, my dear friend, after 
 mature dehberation. The question is not at what door 
 of fortune's palace shall we enter in, but what doors 
 does she open to us ? I was not likely to get any thing 
 to do. I wanted un but, which is a dangerous, an un- 
 happy situation. I got this without any hanging on, 
 or mortifying solicitation ; it is immediate bread, and 
 though poor in comparison of the last eighteen months 
 of my existence, 'tis luxury in comparison of all my 
 preceding life : besides, the commissioners are some of 
 them my acquaintances, and aU of them my firm friends. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 XCI. 
 TO MRS ROSE, OF KILRAVOCK. 
 
 Edinburgh, February 17 th, 1788. 
 Madam — You are much indebted to some indispen- 
 sable business I have had on my hands, otherwise my 
 gratitude threatened such a return for your obliging 
 favour as would have tired your patience. It but poorly 
 expresses my feelings to say, that I am sensible of your 
 kindness : it may be said of hearts such as yours is, and 
 such, I hope, mine is, much more justly than Addison 
 applies it — 
 
 Some souls by instinct to each other turn. 
 There was something in my reception at Kilravock 
 so different from the cold, obsequious, dancing-school 
 bow of politeness, that it almost got into my head that 
 friendship had occupied her ground without the inter- 
 mediate march of acquaintance. I wish I could tran- 
 scribe, or rather transfuse into language, the glow of 
 my heart when I read your letter. My ready fancy, 
 with colours more mellow than life itself, painted the 
 beautifully wild scenery of Kih'avock ; the venerable 
 * [A clergyman of the Scottish Episcopal Church in Edin- 
 burgh.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 35 
 
 grandeur of the castle ; the spreading woods ; the wind- 
 ing river, gladly leaving his unsightly, heathy source, 
 and lingering with apparent delight as he passes the 
 fairy walk at the bottom of the garden ; your late dis- 
 tressful anxieties ; your present enjoyments ; your dear 
 little angel, the pride of your hopes ; my aged friend, 
 venerable in Avorth and years, whose loyalty and other 
 virtues will strongly entitle her to the support of the 
 Almighty Spirit here, and his peculiar favour in a hap- 
 pier state of existence. You cannot imagine, Madam, 
 how much such feelings delight me ; they are my dear- 
 est proofs of my own immortality. Should I never re- 
 visit the north, as probably I never will, nor again see 
 your hospitable mansion, were I, some twenty years 
 hence, to see your little fellow's name making a proper 
 figure in a newspaper paragraph, my heart would bound 
 with pleasure. 
 
 I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scottish 
 songs, set to their proper tunes ; every air worth pre- 
 serving is to be included : among others, I have given 
 " Moragj" and some few Highland airs which pleased 
 me most, a dress which will be more generally known, 
 though far, far inferior in real merit. As a smallmark 
 of my grateful esteem, I beg leave to present you with 
 a copy of the work, as far as it is printed ; the Man of 
 Feeling, that first of men, has promised to transmit it 
 by the first opportunity., 
 
 I I beg to be remembered most respectfully to my ve- 
 nerable friend, and to you]? little Highland chieftain. 
 When you see the "two fair spirits of the hill," at Kil- 
 drummie,* tell them that I have done myself the ho- 
 nour of setting myself down as one of their admirers 
 for at least twenty years to come, consequently they 
 must look upon me as an acquaintance for the same 
 period ; but, as the Apostle Paul says, " this I ask of 
 grace, not of debt." I have the honour to be, Madam, 
 &c. R. B. 
 
 No. XCII. 
 TO RICHARD BROWN. 
 
 Mossgielj litJi February, 1788. 
 My dear Sir — I cannot get the proper direction for 
 my friend in Jamaica, but the following will do : — To 
 Mr Jo. Hutchinson, at Jo. Brownrigg's, Esq., care of 
 Mr Benjamin Henriquez, merchant. Orange Street, 
 Kingston. I arrived here, at my brother's, only yes- 
 terday, after fighting my way through Paisley and Kil- 
 marnock against those old powerful foes of mine, the 
 devil, the world, and the flesh — so terrible in the fields 
 of dissipation. I have met with few incidents in my 
 life which gave me so much pleasure as meeting you in 
 Glasgow. There is a time of life beyond which we can- 
 not form a tie worth the name of friendship. "Oh 
 youth! enchanting stage, profusely blest." Life is a 
 fairy scene : almost all that deserves the nanle of en- 
 joyment or pleasure is only a charming delusion ; and 
 in comes repining age, in all the gravity of hoary wis- 
 dom, and wretchedly chases away the bewitching phan- 
 tom. When I think of life, I resolve to keep a strict 
 look-out in the course of economy, for the sake of 
 worldly convenience and independence of mind; to 
 cultivate intimacy with a few of the companions of 
 youth, that they may be the friends of age ; never to 
 refuse my liquorish humour a handful of the sweet- 
 meats of life, when they come not too dear; and, for 
 futurity—^ 
 
 The present moment is our ain, 
 The neist we never saw ! 
 
 How likeuyou my philosophy ? Give my best com- 
 pliments to Mrs B., and believe me to be, my dear Sir, 
 yours most truly, R. B.f 
 
 * Miss Sophia Brodie, of L , and Miss Rose of Kilravock. 
 
 t [" The letters to Richard Brown, written at a period when 
 the poet was in the full hlaze of reputation, showed that he was 
 at no time so dazzled with success as to forget the friends who 
 had anticipated the public hy discovering his merit."-rWAi'KEB.] 
 
 No. XCIII. 
 TO MR WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 Mauchline, March M, 1788- 
 My dear Sir — Apologies for not writing are fre- 
 quently like apologies for not singing — the apology bet- 
 ter than the song. I have fought my way severely 
 through the savage hospitality of this counti-y, to send 
 every guest drunk to bed if they can. 
 
 I executed your commission in Glasgow, and I hope 
 the cocoa came safe. 'Twas the same price and the 
 vei'y same kind as your former parcel, for the gentle- 
 man recollected your buymg there perfectly well. 
 
 I should return my thanks for your hospitality 
 
 (I leave a blank for the epithet, as I know none can do 
 it justice) to a poor, wayfaring bard, who was spent 
 and almost overpowered fighting with prosaic wicked- 
 nesses in high places ; but I am afi'aid lest you should 
 burn the letter whenever you come to the passage, so 
 I pass over it in silence. I am just returned from visit- 
 ing Mr Miller's farm. The friend whom I told you I 
 would take with me* was highly pleased with the farm ; 
 and as he - is, without exception, the most intelligent 
 farmer in the country, he has staggered me a good deal. 
 I have the two plans of fife before me ; I shall balance 
 them to the best of my judgment, and fix on the most 
 eligible. I have written Mr Miller, and shall wait on 
 him when I come to town, which shall be the beginning 
 or middle of next _week : I would be in Lsooner, but 
 my unlucky knee is rather worse, and I fear for some 
 time will scarcely stand the fatigue of my Excise in- 
 structions. I only mention these ideas to you ; and, 
 indeed, except Mr Ainshe, whom I intend writing to 
 to-morrow, I will not write at all to Edinbui'gh till I 
 return to it. I would send my comphments to Mr 
 Nicol, but he would be hurt if he knew I wrote to any 
 body and not to him ; so I shall only beg my best, kind- 
 est, kindest compliments to my worthy hostess, and the 
 sweet little rose-bud. 
 
 So soon as I am settled in the routine of life, either 
 as an Excise-officer, or as a farmer, I propose myself 
 great pleasure from a regular correspondence with the 
 only man almost I ever saw who joined the most atten- 
 tive prudence with the warmest generosity. 
 
 I am much interested for that best of men, Mr Wood ; 
 I hope he is in better health and spirits than when I 
 saw him last. I am ever, my dearest friend, your 
 obliged, humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. XCIV. 
 TO ROBERT AINSLIE, Esq. 
 
 Mauchline, M March, 1788. 
 
 My dear Friend — I am just returned from Mr 
 Miller's farm. My old friend whom I took with me 
 was highly pleased with the bargain,' and advised me to 
 accept of it. He is the most intelligent sensible farmer 
 in the county, and his advice has staggered me a good 
 deal. I have the two plans before me : I shall endea- 
 vour to balance them to the best of my judgment, and 
 fix on the most eligible. On the whole, if I find Mr 
 Miller in the same favourable disposition as when I saw 
 him last, I shall in all probability turn farmer. 
 
 I have been through sore tribulation, and under much 
 buff'etting of the wicked one, since I came to this country. 
 Jean I found banished, forlorn, destitute, and friendless; 
 I have reconciled her to her fate, and I have reconciled 
 her to her mother. 
 
 I shall be in Edinburgh the middle of next week. My 
 farming ideas I shall keep private till I see. I got a 
 letter from Clarinda yesterday, and she tells me she has 
 got no letter of mine but one. Tell her that I wrote to 
 her from Glasgow, from Kilmarnock, from Mauchline, 
 and yesterday from Cumnock as I returned from Dum- 
 fries. Indeed, she is the only person in Edinburgh I 
 have written to till this day. How are your soul and 
 body putting up ? — a little like man and wtfe, I suppose, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 * [James Tennant of Glenconner, in Ayrshire, to whom the 
 poet addresses a metrical epistle. See accompapyipg edition of 
 his Poetical Works, p. 74-] 
 
36 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 TO RICHARD BROWN. 
 
 Mav^hline, 1th March, 1788. 
 I HAVE been out of the country, my dear friend, and 
 have not had an opportunity of writing till now, when 
 I am afraid you will be gone out of the country too. I 
 have been looking at farms, and, after aU, perhaps I 
 may settle in the character of a farmer. I have got so 
 vicious a bent to idleness, and have ever been so little 
 a man of business, that it will take no ordinary eftbrt to 
 bring my mind properly into the routine ; but you will 
 say a " great effort is worthy of you." I say so myself j 
 and butter up my vanity with all the stimulating com- 
 pliments I can think of. Men of grave, geometrical 
 minds, the sons of " which was to be demonstrated," 
 may cry up reason as much as they please ; but I have 
 always found an honest passion, or native instinct, the 
 truest auxiliary in the warfare of this world. Reason 
 almost always comes to me like an unlucky wife to a poor 
 devil of a husband, just in sufficient time to add her re- 
 proaches to his other grievances. 
 
 I am gratified with your kind inquiries after Jean ; 
 as, after all, I may say with Othello — 
 
 Excellent wretch ! 
 
 Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee ! 
 
 I go for Edinburgh on Monday. Yours, R. B. 
 
 No. XCVI. 
 TO MR MUIR. 
 
 Mossgiel, 7th March, 1788. 
 
 Dear Sir — I have partly changed my ideas, my dear 
 friend, since I saw you. I took old Grlenconner with 
 me to Mr Miller's farm, and he was so pleased with it, 
 that I have wrote an offer to Mv Miller, which if he 
 accepts, I shall sit down a plain farmer, the happiest of 
 lives when a man can live by it. In this case, I shall 
 not stay in Edinburgh above a Aveek. I set out on 
 Monday, and would have come by Kilmarnock, but 
 there are several small sums omng me for my first edi- 
 tion about Galston and Newmills, and I shall set off so 
 early as to dispatch my business and reach Glasgow by 
 night. When I return, I sliaU devote a forenoon or 
 two to make some kind of acknowledgment for all the 
 kindness I owe your friendship. Now that I hope to 
 settle with some credit and comfort at home, there was 
 not any friendship or friendly correspondence that pro- 
 mised me more pleasure than yours ; I hope I will not 
 be disappointed. I trust the spring will renew your 
 shattered frame, and make your friends happy. You 
 and I have often agreed that life is no great blessing on 
 the whole. The close of life, indeed, to a reasoning 
 age, is 
 
 Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun • 
 
 Was roU'd together, or had tried his beams 
 Athwart the gloom profound. 
 
 But an honest man has nothing to fear. If we lie 
 down in the grave, the whole man a piece of broken 
 machinery, to moulder with the clods of the valley, be 
 it so ; at least there is an end of pain, care, woes, and 
 wants : if that part of us called mind does survive the 
 apparent destruction of the man — away mth old-wife 
 prejudices and tales ! Every age and every nation has 
 had a different set of stories ; and as the many are 
 always weak of consequence, they have often, perhaps 
 always, been deceived : a man conscious of havmg acted 
 an honest part among his fellow-creatures — even grant- 
 ing that he may have been the sport at times of passions 
 and instincts — he goes to a great unknown Being, who 
 could have no other end in giving him existence but to 
 make him happy, who gave him those passions and in- 
 stincts, and well knows their force. 
 
 These, my worthy friend, are my ideas ; and I know 
 they are not far different from yours. It becomes a 
 man of sense to thinlc for himself, particularly in a case 
 where all men are equally interested, and where, indeed, 
 all men are equally in the dark. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ; God send us a cheei-ful meet- 
 ing! R. B. 
 
 No XCVI I. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Mossgiel, \1th March, 1788. 
 
 Madam — The last paragraph in yours of the 30th 
 February affected me most, so I shall begiu my answer 
 where you ended yom' letter. That I am often a sinner, 
 with any little wit I have, I do confess: but I have 
 taxed my recollection to no purpose, to find out when 
 it was employed against you. I hate an ungenerous 
 sarcasm a great deal worse than I do the devil, at least 
 as Milton describes him ; and though I may be rascally 
 enough to be sometimes guilty of it myself, I cannot 
 endure it in others. You, my honoured friend, who 
 cannot appear in any light but you are sure of being 
 respectable — ^you can afford to pass by an occasion to 
 display your wit, because you may depend for fame on 
 your sense ; or, if you choose to be silent, you know 
 you can rely on the gratitude of many, and the esteem 
 of all ; but, God help us, who are wits or witlings by 
 profession, if we stand not for fame there, we sink un- 
 supported ! 
 
 I am highly flattered by the news you tell rae of Coila. 
 I may say to the fair painter who does me so much 
 honour, as Dr Beattie says to Ross the poet of his muse 
 Scota, from which, by the bye, I took the idea of Coila 
 ('tis a poem of Beattie's in the Scottish dialect, which 
 perhaps you have never seen) : — 
 
 Ye shak your head, but o' my fegs, 
 Ye've set auld Scota on her legs : 
 Lang had she lien wi' beflFs and flegs, 
 
 Bumbaz'd and dizzie. 
 Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs, 
 
 Wae's me, poor hizzie. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. XCVIII. 
 TO MISS CHALMERS. 
 
 Edinburgh, March Mth, 1788. 
 
 I KNOW, my ever dear friend, that you will be pleased 
 with the news when I tell you, I have at last taken a 
 lease of a fai'm. Yesternight I completed a bargain 
 with Mr MiUer of Dalswinton for the farm of Ellisland, 
 on the banks of the Nith, between five and six miles 
 above Dumfries. I begin at Whitsunday to build a 
 house, dx'ive lime, occ. ; and Heaven be my help ! for it 
 will take a strong effoi't to bring my mind into the rou- 
 tine of business. I have discharged all the army of my 
 former pursuits, fancies, and pleasures — a motley host ! 
 and have literally and strictly retained only the ideas 
 of a few friends which I have incorporated into a life- 
 guard. I trust in Dr Johnson's observation, *' Where 
 much is attempted, something is done," Firmness, 
 both in sufferance and exertion, is a character I would 
 wish to be thought to possess ; and have always despised 
 the whining yelp of complaint, and the cowardly, feeble 
 resolve. 
 
 Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this winter, and 
 begged me to remember her to 'you the first time I 
 wrote to you. Surely woman, amiable woman, is often 
 made in vain. Too delicately formed for the rougher 
 pursuits of ambition ; too noble for the dirt of avai'ice, 
 and even too gentle for the rage of pleasure ; formed 
 indeed for, and highly susceptible of, enjoyment and 
 rapture ; but that enjoyment, alas ! almost wholly at 
 the mercy of the caprice, malevolence, stupidity, or 
 wickedness of an animal at all times compai'ativelv un- 
 " " " R.*B. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 TO RICHARD BROWN. 
 
 Glasgow, 26th March, 1788. 
 I am monstrously to blame, my dear Sir, in not ^vrit- 
 iug to you, and sending you the Directory. I have 
 been getting my tack extended, as I have taken a farm, 
 and I have been racking shop accounts with Mr Creech ^ 
 both of which, together with watching, fatigue, and a load 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 37 
 
 6f care almost too heavy for my shoulders, have in some 
 degree actually fevered me. I really forgot the Directory 
 yesterday, which vexed me ; hut I was convulsed witli 
 rage a great part of the day. I have to thank you for the 
 ingenious, friendly, and elegant epistle from your friend 
 Mr Crawford. I shall certainly write to him, but not now. 
 This is merely a card to you, as I am posting to Duni- 
 friesshire, where many perplexing arrangements await 
 me. I am vexed about the Directory ; but, my dear Sir, 
 forgive me : these eight days I have been positively 
 crazed. My compliments to Mrs B. I shall write to 
 YOU at Grenada. I am ever, my dearest friend, yours, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. C. 
 TO MR ROBERT CLEGHORN. 
 
 Mauchline, ?>lst March, 1788. 
 
 Yesterday, my dear Sir, as I was riding through a 
 track of melancholy, joyless muirs, between Galloway 
 and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I turned my thoughts 
 to psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs ; and your 
 favourite air, " Captain O'Kean," coming at length into 
 my head, I tried these words to it.* You will see that 
 the first part of the tune must be repeated. 
 
 I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but as I have 
 only a sketch of the tune, I leave it with you to try if 
 they suit the measure of the music. 
 
 I am so harassed with care and anxiety, about this 
 farming project of mine, that my muse has degenerated 
 into the veriest prose-wench that ever picked cinders, 
 or followed a tinker. When I am fairly got into the 
 routine of business, I shall trouble you with a longer 
 epistle ; perhaps with some queries respecting farming : 
 at present, the world sits such a load on my mind that 
 it has effaced almost every trace of the poet in me. 
 
 My very best compliments and good wishes to Mrs 
 Cleghorn. R. B. 
 
 No. CI. 
 TO MISS CHALMERS. 
 
 Mauchline, 1th April, 1788. 
 
 I AM indebted to you and Miss Nimmo for letting me 
 know Miss Kennedy. Strange ! how apt we are to in- 
 dulge prejudices in our judgments of one another ! Even 
 I, who pique myself on my skill in marking characters 
 — because I am too proud of my character as a man to 
 be dazzled in my judgment for glaring wealth, and too 
 proud of my situation as a poor man to be biassed 
 against squalid poverty — I was unacquainted with Miss 
 K.'s very uncommon worth. 
 
 I am going on a good deal progressive in mon grand 
 but, the sober science of hfe. I have lately made some 
 sacrifices, for wliich, were I viva voce with you to paint 
 the situation and recount the circumstances,f you would 
 applaud me. R. B. 
 
 No. CII. 
 TO MR WILLIAM DUNBAR, EDINBURGH. 
 
 Mauchline, 1th April, 1788. 
 
 I HAVE not delayed so long to write you, my much re- 
 spected friend, because I thought no farther of my pro- 
 mise. I have long since given up that kind of formal 
 correspondence, where one sits down irksomely to write 
 a letter, because we think we are in duty bound so to do. 
 
 I have been roving over the country, as the farm I 
 have taken is forty miles from this place, hiring servants 
 and preparing matters ; but most of all, I am earnestly 
 busy to bring about a revolution in my own mind. As, 
 till within these eighteen months, I never was the 
 wealthy master of ten guineas, my knowledge of busi- 
 ness is to learn ; add to this, my late scenes of idleness 
 and dissipation have enervated my mind to an alarm- 
 ing degree. Skill in the sober science of hfe is my most 
 serious and hourly study. I have dropt all conversa- 
 tion and all reading (prose reading) but what tends in 
 * [The Chevalier's Lament.] 
 t [He here alludes to his marriage.] 
 
 some way or other to my serious aim. Except one 
 worthy young fellow, I have not one single correspon- 
 dent in Edinburgh. You have indeed kindly made me 
 an offer of that kuad. The world of wits, and gens comme 
 ilfaut which I lately left, and with whom I never again 
 will intimately mix — from that port. Sir, I expect your 
 Gazette : what les beaux esprits are saying, what they 
 are doing, and what they are singing. Any sober m- 
 telligence from my sequestered walks of Ufe ; any droll 
 original ; any passing remark, important forsooth, be- 
 cause it is mine ; any little poetic effort, however em- 
 bryoth ; these, my dear Sir, are all you have to expect 
 from me. When I talk of poetic efforts, I must have 
 it always understood, that I appeal from your wit and 
 taste to your friendship and good nature. The first 
 would be my favourite tribunal, where I defied censure ; 
 but the last, where I declmed justice. 
 
 I have scarcely made a single distich since I saw you. 
 When I meet with an old Scots air that has any face- 
 tious idea in its name, I have a peculiar pleasure in 
 following out that idea for a verse or two. 
 
 I trust that this wiU find you in better health than I 
 did last time I called for you. A few lines from you, 
 directed to me at Mauchline, were it but to let me know 
 how you are, will set my mind a good deal [at rest]. 
 Now, never shun the idea of writing me because per- 
 haps you may be out of humour or spirits. I could give 
 you a hundred good consequences attending a dull letter; 
 one, for example, and the remaining ninety nine some 
 other time — it will always serve to keep in countenance, 
 my much respected Sir, your obliged friend and humble 
 servant, R. B. 
 
 No. CIII. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Mauchline, 2^th April, 1788. 
 
 Madam — Your powers of reprehension must be great 
 indeed, as I assure you they made my heart ache with 
 penitential pangs, even though I was really not guilty. As 
 I commence farmer at Whitsunday, you will easily guess 
 I must be pretty busy ; but that is not all. As I got 
 the offer of the Excise business without solicitation, and 
 as it costs me only six months' attendance for instruc- 
 tions, to entitle me to a commission — which commission 
 lies by me, and at any future period, on my simple pe- 
 tition, can be resumed ; I thought five-and-thirty pounds 
 a-year was no bad dernier resort for a poor poet, if for- 
 tune in her jade tricks should kick him down from the 
 little eminence to which she has lately helped him up. 
 
 For this reason, I am at present attending these in- 
 structions, to have them completed before Whitsunday. 
 Still, Madam, I prepared with the sincerest pleasure to 
 meet you at the Mount, and came to my brother's on 
 Saturday night, to set out on Sunday ; but for some 
 nights preceding I had slept in an apartment, where 
 the force of the winds and rains was only mitigated by 
 being sifted through numberless apertures in the win- 
 dows, walls, &c. In consequence I was on Sun^iay, 
 Monday, and part of Tuesday, unable to stir out of bed, 
 with all the miserable effects of a violent cold. 
 
 You see. Madam, the truth of the French maxim, le 
 vrai n^est pas toujour s le vraisemblable ; your last was 
 so full of expostulation, and was something so like the 
 language of an offended friend, that I began to tremble 
 for a correspondence, which I had with grateful plea- 
 sure set down as one of the greatest enjojTnents of my 
 future life. 
 
 Your books have delighted me ; "Virgil, Dryden, and 
 Tasso, were all equally strangers to me ; but of this 
 more at large in my next. R. B. 
 
 No. CIV. 
 TO MR JAMES SMITH, 
 
 AVON PRINTFIELD, LINLITHGOW. 
 
 Mauchli7ie, April 28, 1788, 
 Beware of your Strasburgh, my good Sir ! Look on 
 this as the opening of a correspondence, like the open- 
 ing of a twenty-four gun battery ! 
 
38 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 There is no understanding a man properly, without 
 knowmg something of his previous ideas — ^that is to say, 
 if the man has any ideas ; for I know many who, in the 
 animal -muster, pass for men, that are the scanty masters 
 of only one idea on any given subject, and by far the 
 greatest part of your acquaintances and mine can barely 
 boast of ideas, 1*25 — 1*5 — 1'75 (or some such fractional 
 matter); so, to let you a little into the secrets of my pe- 
 ricranium, there is, you must know, a certain clean- 
 limbed, handsome, bewitching young hussy of your ac- 
 quaintance, to whom I have lately and privately given 
 a matrimonial title to my corpus. 
 
 Bode a robe and wear it, 
 Bode a pock and bear it, 
 isays the wise old Scots adage ! I hate to presage ill- 
 luck ; and as my girl has been doubly kinder to me 
 than even the best of women usually are to their part- 
 ners of our sex, in similar circumstances, I reckon on 
 twelve times a brace of children against I celebrate my 
 twelfth wedding day: these twenty-four will give me 
 twenty-four gossipings, twenty -four christenings (I mean 
 one equal to two), and I hope, by the blessing of the God 
 of my fathers, to make them twenty-four dutiful children 
 to their parents, twenty-four useful.members of society, 
 and twenty-four approved servants of their God t * * ^' 
 "Light's heartsome," quo' the wife when she was 
 stealing sheep. You see what a lamp I have hung up 
 to lighten your paths, when you are idle enough to ex- 
 plore the combinations and relations of my ideas. 'Tis 
 now as plain as a pike-staff why a twenty-four gun 
 battery was a metaphor I could readily employ. 
 
 Now for business. I intend to present Mrs Bums 
 with a printed shawl, an article of which I dare say 
 you have variety : 'tis my first present to her since I 
 have irrevocably called her mine, and I have a kind of 
 ■whimsical wish to get her the first said present from 
 an old and much valued friend of hers and mine, a 
 trusty Trojan, on whose friendship I count myself pos- 
 sessed of as a life-rent lease. 
 
 Look on this letter as a " beginning of sorrows ;'* I 
 will write you till your eyes ache reading nonsense. 
 
 Mrs Burns ('tis only her private designation) begs 
 her best compliments to you. R. B. 
 
 No. CV. 
 TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART. 
 
 MauchUne, M May, 1788. 
 
 Sm— I enclose you one or two more of my bagatelles. 
 If the fervent wishes of honest gratitude have any in- 
 fluence with that great, unknown Being who frames the 
 chain of causes and events, prosperity and happiness 
 ■will attend your visit to the continent, and return you 
 safe to your native shore. 
 
 Wherever I am, allow me, Sii', to claim it as my pri- 
 Tilege to acquaint you with my progress in my trade of 
 rhymes ; as I am sure I could say it with truth, that, 
 next to my little fame, and the having it in my power 
 to make fife more comfortable to those whom nature 
 has made dear to me, I shall ever regard your counte- 
 nance, yom' patronage, your friendly good offices, as the 
 most valued consequence of my late success in life. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CVI. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 MauchUne, Ath May, 1788. 
 Madam— Dryden's Virgil has delighted me. I do not 
 know whether the critics will agree with me, but the 
 Georgics are to me by far the best of Virgil. It is indeed 
 a species of writing entirely new to me, and has filled 
 my head with a thousand fancies of emulation : but, alas ! 
 when I read the Georgics, and then survey my own 
 powers, 'tis like the idea of a Shetland pony, dra^vn up 
 by the side of a thorough-bred hunter, to start for the 
 plate. I owTti I am disappointed in the ^neid. Fault- 
 less coi'rectness may please, and does highly please, the 
 
 lettered critic : but to that awful character I have not 
 the most distant pretensions. I do not know whether 
 I do not hazard my pretensions to be a critic of any 
 kind, when I say that I thinlc Virgil, in many instances, 
 a servile copier of Homer. If I had the Odyssey by 
 me, I could .parallel many passages where Virgil has 
 evidently copied, but by no means improved. Homer. 
 Nor can I think there is any thing of this o^ving to the 
 translators ; for, from every thing I have seen of Dry- 
 den, I think him, in genius and fluency of language, 
 Pope's master. I have not perused Tasso enough to 
 form an opinion — in some future letter you shall have 
 my ideas of him ; though I am conscious my criticisms 
 must be very inaccurate and imperfect, as there I have 
 ever felt and lamented my want of learning most. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CVII. 
 TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 
 
 MauchUne, May 26th, 1788. 
 
 My dear Friend— I am two kind letters in your debt ; 
 but I have been from home, and horridly busy, buying 
 and preparing for my farming business, over and above 
 the plague of my excise instructions, which this week 
 will finish. 
 
 As I flatter my wishes that I foresee many future 
 years' correspondence between us, 'tis foolish to talk of 
 excusing dull epistles ; a dull letter may be a very kind 
 one. I have the pleasure to tell you that I have been 
 extremely fortunate in all my buyings and bargainings 
 hitherto — Mrs Burns not excepted ; which title I now 
 avow to the world. I am truly pleased with this last 
 affair ; it has indeed added to my anxieties for futurity, 
 but it has given a stabihty to my mind and resolutions 
 unknown before ; and the poor gu'l has the most sacred 
 enthusiasm of attachment to me, and has not a wish but 
 to gratify my every idea of her deportment. I am in- 
 terrupted.— Farewell ! my dear Sir. R. B. 
 
 No. CVIII. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 27th May, 1788. 
 
 Madam — I have been torturing my philosophy to no 
 purpose, to account for that kind partiality of yours, 
 which has followed me, in my return to the shade of 
 life, \\dth assiduous benevolence. Often did I regret, 
 in the fleeting hours of my late will-o'-wisp appearance, 
 that " here I had no continuing city ;" and, but for the 
 consolation of a few sohd guineas, could almost lament 
 the time that a momentary acquaintance with wealth 
 and splendour put me so much out of conceit with the 
 sworn companions of my road through life — insignifi- 
 cance and poverty. 
 
 There are few circumstances relating to the unequal 
 distribution of the good things of this life that give 
 me more vexation (I mean in what I see around me) 
 than the importance the opulent bestow on their trif- 
 ling family affairs, compared with the very same things 
 on the contracted scale of a cottage. Last afternoon 
 I had the honour to spend an hour or two at a good 
 woman's fire-side, where the planks that composed 
 the floor were decorated with a splendid carpet, and 
 the gay table sparkled with silver and china. 'Tis 
 now about term-day, and there has been a revolu- 
 tion among those creatures, who, though in appear- 
 ance partakers, and equally noble partakers, of the 
 same nature with Madame, are from time to time — 
 their nerves, their sinews, their health, strength, wis- 
 dom, experience, genius, time, nay a good part of 
 their very thoughts — sold for months and years, not 
 only to the necessities, the conveniences, but the ca- 
 prices, of the important few. We talked of the insig- 
 nificant creatures ; nay, notwithstanding their general 
 stupidity and rascality, did some of the poor devils the 
 honour to commend them. But light be the turf upon 
 his breast who taught, " Reverence thyself." We looked 
 down on the unpolished wretches, their impertinent 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 3a 
 
 wives and clotiterly brats, as the lordly buU does on the | and anxieties, but I_ hate the language of^complaint- 
 
 little dirty ant-hill, whose puny inhabitants he crushes '' -■> ■ i- j- -n « --i i^ 
 
 in the carelessness of his ramble, or tosses in the air in 
 the wantonness of his pride. R. B. 
 
 No. CIX. 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 AT JIB DUNLOP's, HADDINGTON. 
 
 EUisland, Uth June, 1788. 
 Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see, 
 My heart, untravell'd, fundi}' turns to thee ; 
 Still to my frfend it turns with ceaseless pain, 
 And drags, at each remove, a lengthen'd chain. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 This is the second day, my honoured friend, that I 
 have been on my farm. A solitary inmate of an old, 
 smoky spence ; far from every object I love, or by whom 
 I am beloved ; nor any acquaintance older than yester- 
 terday, except Jenny Geddes, the old mare I ride on ; 
 while uncouth cares and novel plans hourly insult my 
 awkward ignorance and bashful inexperience. There 
 is a foggy atmosphere native to my soul in the hour of 
 care, consequently the dreary objects seem larger than 
 the life. Extreme sensibility, irritated and prejudiced 
 on the gloomy side by a series of misfortunes and dis- 
 appointments, at that period of my existence when the 
 soul is laying in her cargd of ideas for the voyage of 
 life, is, I believe, the principal cause of this uiihappy 
 frame of mind. 
 
 The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer ? 
 
 Or what need he regard his dngle woes ? &e. 
 Your surmise, Madam, is just; I am indeed a husband. 
 * * * * 
 
 To jealousy or inlideHty I am an equal stranger. My 
 preservative from the first is the most thorough con- 
 sciousness of her sentiments of honour, and her attach- 
 ment to me : my antidote against the last is my long and 
 deep-rooted affection for her. 
 
 In housewife matters, of aptness to learn and activity 
 to execute, she is eminently mistress : and during my 
 absence in Nithsdale, she is regularly and constantly 
 apprentice to my mother and sisters in their dairy and 
 other rural business. 
 
 The muses must not be offended when I tell them, 
 the concerns of my wife and family will, in my mind, 
 always take the pas; but I assure them their ladyships 
 will ever come next in place. 
 
 You are right that a bachelor state would have in- 
 sured me more friends' ; but, from a cause you v*ill easily 
 guess, conscious peace in the enjojTnent of my owti 
 mind, and unmistrusting confidence in approachiiig my 
 God, would seldom have been of the number. 
 
 I found a once much-loved and still much-loved fe- 
 male, Uterally and truly cast out to the mercy of the 
 naked elements ; but I enabled her to purchase a shel- 
 ter — there is no sporting with a fellow-creature's hap- 
 piness or misery. 
 
 The most placid good-nature and sweetness of dispo- 
 sition ; a warm heart, gratefully devoted with all its 
 powers to-love me ; vigorous health and sprightly cheer- 
 fulness, set off to the best advantage by a more than 
 commonly handsome figure ; these, I think, in a woman, 
 may make a good wife, though she should never have 
 read a page but the Scriptures of the Old and New Tes- 
 tament, nor have danced in a brighter assembly than a 
 penny pay wedding. R. B. 
 
 Job, or some one of his friends, says well—" Why should 
 a U\'ing man complain ?" 
 
 I have lately been much mortified with contemplat- 
 ing an unlucky unperfection in the very framing and 
 construction of my soul ; namely, a blundering inaccu- 
 racy of her olfactory organs in hitting the scent of 
 craft or design in my fellow-creatures. I do not mean 
 any compliment to my ingenuousness, or to hint that 
 the defect is bx consequence of the unsuspicious sim- 
 phcity of conscious ti'uth and honour : I take it to be, 
 in some way or other, an imperfection in the mental 
 sight ; or, metaphor apai-t, some modification of dull- 
 ness. In two or three instances lately, I have been 
 most shamefully out. 
 
 I have all alon^, hitherto, in the warfare of life, been 
 bred to arms among the Ught-horse — the piquet-guards 
 of fancy — a kind of hussars and Highlanders of the 
 brain ; but I am firmly resolved to sell out of these 
 giddy battaUons, who have no ideas of a battle but 
 fighting the foe, or of a siege but storming the town. 
 Cost what it will, I am determhied to buy in among the 
 grave squadrons of heavv'-armed thought, or the artil- 
 lery corps of plodding contrivance. 
 
 What books are you reading, or what is the subject 
 of your thoughts, besides the great studies of your pro= 
 fession? You said something about religion in your 
 last. I don't exactly remember what it was, as the 
 letter is in Aj-rshire ; but I thought it not only prettily 
 said, but nobly thought. You will make a noble fellow 
 if once you were married. I make no reservation of 
 your being well married : you have so much sense, and 
 knowledge of human nature, that though you may not 
 realise, perhaps, the ideas of romance, yet you will 
 never be iU man*ied. 
 
 Were it not for the ten'ors of my ticklish situation 
 respecting provision for a family of children, I am de^ 
 cidedly of opinion that the step I have taken is vastly 
 for my happiness.* As it is, I look to the Excise scheme 
 as a certainty of maintenance ; a maintenance !— luxury 
 to what either Mrs Bums or I were born to, Adieu I 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. ex. 
 
 TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 
 
 EUisland, June Ut7i, 1788. 
 This isnow the third day, my dearest Su-, that I have 
 sojourned in these regions ; and during these three days 
 you have occupied more of my thoughts than in tliree 
 weeks preceding : in AjTshire I have several variations 
 of friendship's compass, here it points invariably to the 
 pole. My farm gives rae a gogd many uncouth cares 
 
 TO 
 
 No. CXI. 
 
 THE SAME. 
 
 Mauchline, 2M June, 1788. 
 This letter, my dear Sir, is only a business scrap. 
 Mr Miers, profile painter in your town, has executed a 
 profile of -Dr Blacldock for me ; do me the favour to caU 
 for it, and sit to him yourself for me, which put in the 
 same size as the doctor's. The account of both profiles 
 will be fifteen shillings, which I have given to James 
 Connel, our Mauchline carrier-, to pay you when you 
 give him the parcel. You must not, my friend, refuse to 
 sit. The time is short ; when I sat to Mr Miers, I am 
 sure he did not exceed two minutes. I propose hanging 
 Lord Glencaim, the doctor, and you, in trio over my 
 new chunney-piece that is to be. Adieu. R. B. 
 
 No. CXII. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 EUisland, SOth June, 1788, 
 ^Iy dear Sir— I just now received your brief epistle J 
 and, to take vengeance on your laziness, I have, you 
 see, taken a long sheet of ^\Titing-paper, and have be- 
 gun at the top of the page, intending to scribble on to 
 the very last comer. 
 
 I am vexed at that affair of the * * *, but dare not 
 enlarge on the subject until you send me your direction, 
 as I suppose that will be altered on your late master 
 and friend's death.f I am concerned for the old fel- 
 low's exit, only as I fear it may be to your disadvantage 
 in any respect — for an old man's dving, except he have 
 
 * [His marriage.] 
 t [Mr Samuel MitehelsoE, W. S., 
 ter ; he died, June 21, 1788.] 
 
 had been Mr Ainslie's mas- 
 
40 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 been a very benevolent cliaractei', oi» in some particular 
 situation of life that the welfare of the poor or the help- 
 less depended on him, I think it an event of the most 
 trifling moment to the world. Man is naturally a kind, 
 ■benevolent animal, but he is dropped into such a needy 
 situation here in this vexatious world, and has such a 
 ^hore-son, hungry, growling, multiplying pack of ne- 
 cessities, appetites, passions, and desires about him, 
 ready to devour him for want of other food, that in 
 fact he must lay aside his cares for others that he may 
 look properly to himself. You have been imposed upon 
 in paying Mr Miers for the profile of a Mr H. I did 
 Slot mention it in my letter to you, nor did I ever give 
 Air Miers any such order, I have no objection to lose 
 the money, but I will not have any such profile in my 
 possession. 
 
 I desired the carrier to pay you, but as I mentioned 
 •only fifteen shillings to him, I will rather enclose you 
 .a guinea-note. I have it not, indeed, to spare here, as 
 1 am only a sojourner in a strange land in this place ; 
 but in a day or two I return to Mauchline, and there I 
 jhave the bank-notes through the house like salt permits. 
 
 There is a great degree of folly in talking unneces- 
 sarily of one's private affaii's. I have just now been 
 interrupted by one of my new neighbours, who has made 
 liimself absolutely contemptible in my eyes, by his silly, 
 garrulous pruriency. I know it has been a fault of my 
 own, too ; but from this moment I abjure it as I would 
 the service of hell ! Your poets, spendthrifts, and other 
 fools of that kidney, pretend, forsooth, to crack their 
 jokes on prudence ; but 'tis a squalid vagabond gloi-y- 
 ing in his rags. Still, imprudence respecting money 
 matters is much more pardonable than imprudence re- 
 specting character. I have no objection to prefer pro- 
 digality to avarice, in some few instances ; but I appeal 
 to your observation if you have not met, and often met, 
 with the same disingenuousness, the same hollow-hearted 
 insincerity, and disintegritive depravity of principle, in 
 Ihe hackneyed victims of profusion, as in the unfeeling 
 children of parsimony. I have every possible reverence 
 for the much talked-of world beyond the grave, and I 
 wish that which piety believes, and virtue deserves, may 
 be all matter of fact. But in things belonging to and 
 terminating in this present scene of existence, man has 
 serious and interesting business on hand. Whether a 
 man shall shake hands with welcome in the distinguished 
 elevation of respect, or shrink from contempt in the 
 abject corner of insignificance ; whether he shall wan- 
 ton under the tropic of plenty, at least enjoy himself in 
 the comfortable latitudes of easy convenience, or starve 
 in the arctic circle of dreary poverty ; whether he shall 
 irise in the manly consciousness of a self-approving mind, 
 or sink beneath a galling load of regret and remorse — 
 these are alternatives of the last moment. 
 
 You see how I preach. You used occasionally to 
 sermonise too ; I wish you would, in charity^ favour 
 me with a sheet full in your own way. I admire the 
 close of a letter Lord Boliugbroke writes to Dean Swift : 
 — " Adieu, dear Swift ! with all thy faults I love thee 
 entirely ; make an eff'ort to love me with all mine!" 
 Humble servant, and all that trumpery, is now such a 
 prostituted business, that honest friendship, in her sin- 
 cere way, must have recourse to her primitive, simple, 
 farewell ! ' R. B. 
 
 No. CXIII. 
 
 TO MR GEORGE LOCKHART, 
 
 MERCHANT, GLASGOW. 
 
 Mauchline, ISth July, 1788. 
 My dear Sir — I am just going for Nithsdale, else I 
 would certainly have transcribed some of my rhyming 
 things for you. The Miss Baillies I have seen in Edin- 
 burgh. " Fair and lovely are thy woi'ks, Lord God Al- 
 mighty ! Who would not praise thee for these thy gifts 
 in thy goodness to the sons of men!" It needed not 
 your fine taste to admire them. I declare, one day I 
 had the honour of dining at Mr Baillie's, I was almost 
 in the predicament of the children of Israel, when they 
 
 could not look on Moses' face for the glory that shone 
 in it when he descended from Mount Sinai. 
 
 I did once write a poetic address from the Falls of 
 Bruar to his Grace of Athole, when I was in the High- 
 lands. When you return to Scotland, let me know, and 
 I will send such of my pieces as please myself best. I 
 return to Mauchline in about ten days. 
 
 My compliments to Mr Purden. I am in truth, but 
 at present in haste, yours, R. B. 
 
 No. CXIV. 
 
 TO MR PETER HILL. 
 
 My dear Hill — I shall say nothing to your mad 
 present* — you have so long and often been of impor- 
 tant service to me, and I suppose you mean to go on 
 conferring obligations until I shall not be able to lift 
 up my face before you. In the meantime, as Sir Roger 
 de Coverley, because it happened to be a cold day in 
 which he made his will, ordered his servants' great- 
 coats for mourning, so, because I have been ihis week 
 plagued with an indigestion, I have sent you by the 
 carrier a fine old ewe-milk cheese. 
 
 Indigestion is the devil ; nay, 'tis the devil and all. 
 It besets a man in every one of his senses. I lose my 
 appetite at the sight of successful knavery, and sicken 
 to loathing at the noise and nonsense of self-important 
 folly. When the hollow-hearted wretch takes me by 
 the hand, the feeling spoils my dinner ; the proud man's 
 wine so offends my palate that it chokes me in the gul- 
 let ; and the pulvilised, feathered, pert coxcomb, is so 
 disgustful in my nostril that my stomach turns. 
 
 If ever you have any of these disagreeable sensations, 
 let me prescribe for you patience and a bit of my cheese. 
 I know that you are no niggard of your good things 
 among your friends, and some of them are in much 
 need of a slice. There, in my eye, is our friend Smel- 
 lie ; a man positively of the first abilities and greatest 
 strength of mind, as well as one of the best hearts and 
 keenest wits that I have ever met with ; when you see 
 him — as, alas ! he too is smarting at the pinch of dis- 
 tressful circumstances, aggravated by the sneer of con- 
 tumelious greatness — a bit of my cheese alone will not 
 cure him, but if you add a tankard of brown stout, and 
 superadd a magnum of right Oporto, you will see his 
 sorrows vanish like the moi'ning mist before the sum- 
 mer sun. 
 
 Candlish, the earliest friend, except ray only brother, 
 that I have on earth, and one of the worthiest fellows 
 that ever any man called by the name of friend, if a 
 luncheon of my cheese would help to rid him of some 
 of his superabundant modesty, you would do well to 
 give it him. 
 
 Davidjt Avith his Courant, comes, too, across my re- 
 collection, and I beg you will help him largely from the 
 said ewe-milk cheese, to enable him to digest those be- 
 daubing paragraphs with which he is eternally larding 
 the lean characters of certain great men in a certain 
 great town. I grant you the periods are very well 
 turned ; so, a fresh egg is a very good thing, but when 
 thrown at a man in a pillory, it does not at all improve 
 his figure, not to mention the irreparable loss of the 
 
 egg. 
 
 My facetious friend Dunbar I would wish also to be 
 a partaker ; not to digest his spleen, for that he laughs 
 off, but to digest his last night's wine at the last field- 
 day of the Crochallan corps.J 
 
 Among our common friends I must not forget one of 
 the dearest of them — Cunningham.§ The brutality, 
 insolence, and selfishness, of a world unworthy of hav- 
 ing such a fellow as he is in it, I know sticks in his 
 stomach, and if you can help him to any thing that will 
 make him a little easier on that score, it will be very 
 obliging. 
 
 * [Mr Hill had sent the poet a present of books.] 
 t [Mr David Ramsay, printer of the Edinburgh Evening 
 Courant.] 
 t [A club of choice spirits, already frequently alluded to-] 
 § [Mr Alexander Ciuininghaxn, jeweller.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 41 
 
 As to honest John Sommerville, he is such a con- 
 tented, happy man, that I know not what can annoy 
 him, except, perhaps, he may not have got the better 
 of a parcel of modest anecdotes which a certain poet 
 gave him one night at supper, the last time the said 
 poet was in town. 
 
 Though I have mentioned so many men of law^ I 
 shall have nothing to do with them professionally—the 
 faculty are beyond my prescription. As to their clients, 
 that is another thing ; God knows, they have much to 
 digest ! 
 
 The clergy I pass by ; their profundity of erudition, 
 and their liberality of senthaent, their total want of 
 pride, and their detestation of hypocrisy, are so prover- 
 bially notorious, as to place them far, far above either 
 my praise or censure. 
 
 I was going to mention a man of worth, whom I have 
 the honour to call friend, the Laii'd of Craigdarroch ; 
 but I have spoken to the landlord of the King's- Arms- 
 inn here, to have at the next county meetmg a large 
 ewe-milk cheese on the table, for the benefit of the 
 Dumfriesshii-e Whigs, to enable them to digest the 
 Duke of Queensberry's late political conduct. 
 
 I have just this moment an opportunity of a private 
 hand to Edinbm-gh, as perhaps you woidd not digest 
 double postage. R. B. 
 
 No. CXV. 
 TO MR WILLIAM CRUIKSHANKS. 
 
 EUisland, August, 1788. 
 
 I HAVE not room, my dear friend, to answer all the 
 particulars of your last' land letter. I shall be in Edm- 
 burgh on some business very soon ; and as I shall be 
 two days, or perhaps three, in towa, we shall discuss 
 matters vivcL voce. My knee, I believe, will never be 
 entirely well : and an unlucky fall this winter has made j 
 it still worse. I well remember the circumstance you 
 aUude to, respecting Creech's opinion of Mr Nicol ; but | 
 as the first gentleman owes me still about fifty pounds, 
 I dare not meddle in the aflFair. 
 
 It gave me a very heavy heart to read such accounts 
 of the consequence of your quarrel with that puritanic, 
 
 rotten-hearted, hell-commissioned scoundrel, A . 
 
 If, notwithstanding your unprecedented industry in 
 public, and your irreproachable conduct in private life, 
 he still has you so much in liis power, what ruin may 
 he not bring on some others I could name ? 
 
 Many and happy returns of seasons to you, with your 
 dearest and worthiest friend, and the lovely little pledge 
 of your happy union. jMay the great Author of life, 
 and of every enjojuient that can render Ufe delightful, 
 make her that comfortable blessing to you both, which 
 you so ardently wish foi', and which, allow me to say, you 
 so well deserve ! Glance over the foregoing verses, and 
 let me have your blots. Adieu. R. B. 
 
 No. CXVI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 ** Mauchline, August \ld, 1788. 
 
 HoNOUBED Madam — Your kind letter welcomed me, 
 yesternight, to Ayrshire. I am, indeed, seriously angry 
 with you at the quantum of your luckpenny ; but, vexed 
 and hurt as I was, I could not help laughing very 
 heartily at the noble lord's apology for the missed nap- 
 kin. 
 
 I would write you from Nithsdale, and give you my 
 direction there, but I have scarce an opportunity of 
 calling at a post-office once iu a fortnight. I am six 
 mUes from Dumfries, am scarcely ever in it myself, 
 and, as yet, have Uttle acquaintance in the neighbour- 
 hood. Besides, I am now vei-y busy on my farm, build- 
 ing a dwelling-house ; as at present I am almost an 
 evangelical man in Nithsdale, for I have scarce "where 
 to lay my head." 
 
 There are some passages in your last that brought 
 tears in my eyes. ** The heart knoweth its owti sorrows, 
 
 and a stranger intenneddleth not therewith." The re- 
 pository of these " sorrows of the heart" is a kind of 
 sanctum sanctorum: and 'tis only a chosen fi'iend, and 
 that, too, at particular, sacred times, who dares enter 
 into them : — 
 
 Heaven oft tears the bosom-chords 
 That nature finest strung. 
 
 You will excuse this quotation for the sake of the 
 author. Instead of entering on this subject farther, I 
 shall transcribe you a few lines I wrote in a hermitage, 
 belonging to a gentleman in my Nithsdale neighbour- 
 hood. They are almost the only favours the muses have 
 conferred on me in that country. * * * 
 
 Since I am in the way of transcribing, the following 
 were the production of yesterday as I jogged through 
 the v.ild hUls of New Cumnock. I intend insertmg 
 them, or something like them, in an epistle I am going to 
 write to the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise 
 hopes depend, ^Ir Graham of Fintray, one of the wor- 
 thiest and most accompUshed gentlemen, not only of 
 this country, but, I will dare to say it, of this age. The 
 following are just the first crude thoughts "unhousel'd, 
 unanoiuted, unaneal'd :" — 
 
 Pity the tuneful muses' helpless train ; 
 
 Weak, timid landsmen on hfe's stormy main : 
 
 The world were blest, did bliss on them depend ; 
 
 Ah, that " the friendly e'er should want a friend !" 
 
 The little fate bestows they share as soon ; 
 
 Unlike sage, proverb'd wisdom's hard-wTung boon. 
 
 Let Prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
 
 Who life and wisdom at one race begun ; 
 
 Who feel by reason and who give by nde ; 
 
 Instinct's a brute and sentiment a fool ! 
 
 Who make poor will do wait upon / should; 
 
 We own they're prudent, but who owns they're good ? 
 
 Ye wise ones, hence I ye hurt the social eye ; 
 God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
 But come * * * -is- * 
 
 Here the muse left me. I am astonished at what you 
 tell me of Anthony's writing me. I never received it. 
 Poor fellow ! you vex me much by telling me that he is 
 unfortunate. I shall be in Ayrshire ten days from this 
 date. I have just room for an old Roman farewell. 
 
 E. B. 
 
 No. CXVII. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 j\[auchline, August lOtJi, 1788. 
 
 My Mccr HoNOirRED Friend — Yours of the 24th 
 June is before me. I found it, as well as another valued 
 friend — my wife— waiting to welcome me to Ayrshire : 
 I met both with the sincerest pleasure. 
 
 When I wTite you. Madam, I do not sit down to an- 
 swer every paragraph of yours, by echoing every senti- 
 ment, like the faithful Commons of Great Britain in 
 ParUament assembled, answering a speech from the 
 best of kings ! I express myself in the fulness of my 
 heart, and may, perhaps, be guilty of neglecting some 
 of your kind inquiries ; but not from your very odd rea- 
 son, that I do not read your letters. All your epistles 
 for several months have cost me nothing, except a 
 swelling throb of gratitude, or a deep-felt sentiment of 
 veneration. 
 
 When Mrs Bums, !Madam, first found herself " as 
 women wish to be wlao love their lords," as I loved her 
 nearly to distraction, we took steps for a private mar- 
 riage. Her parents got the hint ; and not only forbade 
 me her company and their house, but, on my rumoured 
 West Indian voyage, got a warrant to put me in jail, 
 till I should find security in my about -to-be paternal 
 relation. You know my lucky reverse of fortune. On 
 my eclatant return to Mauchline, I was made very wel- 
 come to visit my girl. The usual consequences began 
 to betray her ; and as I was at that time laid up a 
 cripple in Edinburgh, she was turned, literally turned, 
 out of doors, and I wTote to a friend to shelter her till 
 my return, when our maxuiage was declared. Her 
 
42 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 happiness or misery were in my hands, and who could 
 trifle with such a deposit ? 
 
 I can easily fancy a more agreeable companion for 
 my journey of life ; but, upon my honour, I have never 
 seen the individual instance. 
 
 Circumstanced as I am, I could never have got a fe- 
 male partner for life, who could have entered into my 
 favourite studies, relished my favourite authors, &c., 
 without probably entailing on me, at the same time, ex- 
 pensive living, fantastic caprice, perhaps apish affecta- 
 tion, with all the other blessed boarding-school acquire- 
 ments, which (pardonnez moi, Madame) are sometimes 
 to be found among females of the upper ranks, but 
 almost universally pervade the misses of the would-be 
 gentry. 
 
 I like your way in your churchyard lucubrations. 
 Thoughts that are the spontaneous result of accidental 
 situations, either respecting health, place, or company, 
 have often a strength, and always an originality, that 
 would in vain be looked for in fancied circumstances 
 and studied paragraphs. For me, I have often thought 
 of keeping a letter, in progression by me, to send you 
 when the sheet was written out. Now I talk of sheets, 
 I must tell you, my reason for writing to you on paper 
 of this kind is my pruriency of writing to you at large. 
 A page of post is on such a dis-social, narrow-minded 
 scale, that I cannot abide it ; and double letters, at least 
 in my miscellaneous reverie manner, are a monstrous 
 tax in a close correspondence. R. B. 
 
 No. CXVIIT. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 ElUsland, I6th August, 1788. 
 I AM in a fine disposition, my honoured friend, to send 
 you an elegiac epistle, and want only genius to make 
 it quite Shenstonian :— 
 
 Why droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn ? 
 Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky ? 
 
 My increasing cares in this, as yet, strange country- 
 gloomy conjectures in the dark vista of futurity — con- 
 sciousness of my own inability for the struggle of the 
 world — ^my broadened mark to misfortune in a wife and 
 children ;— I could indulge these reflections, till my hu- 
 mour should ferment into the most acid chagrin, that 
 would corrode the very thread of life. 
 
 To counterwork these baneful feelings, I have sat 
 down to write to you J as I declare upon my soul I al- 
 ways find that the most sovereign balm for my wounded 
 spirit. 
 
 I was yesterday at Mr Miller's to dinner, for the first 
 time. My i-eception was quite to my mind : from the 
 lady of the house quite flattering. She sometimes hits 
 on a couplet or two, impromptu. She repeated one or 
 two to the admiration of all present. My suffrage as a 
 professional man was expected : I for once went ago- 
 nizing over the belly of my conscience. Pardon me, 
 ye, my adored household gods, independence of spirit, 
 and integrity of soul ! In the course of conversation 
 " Johnson's Musical Museum," a collection of Scottish 
 songs with the music, was talked of. We got a song 
 on the harpsichord, beginning. 
 
 Raving winds aromid her blowing. 
 The air was much admired : the lady of the house'asked 
 me whose were the words. *' Mine, Madam — they are 
 indeed my very best verses :" she took not the smallest 
 notice of them ! The old Scottish proverb says well, 
 " King's caff is better than ither folks' corn." I was 
 going to make a New Testament quotation about " cast- 
 ing pearls," but that would be too virulent, for the lady 
 is actually a woman of sense and taste. 
 
 After all that has been said on the other side of the 
 question, man is by no means a happy creature. I do 
 not speak of the selected few, favoured by partial 
 heaven, whose souls are tuned to gladness amid riches, 
 and honours, and prudence, and wisdom. I speak of 
 the neglected many, whose nerves, whose sinews, whose 
 days, are sold to the minions of fortune. 
 
 If I thought you had never seen it, I would transcribe 
 for you a stanza of an old Scottish ballad, called " The 
 Life and Age of Man ;" beginning thus :— i 
 'Twas in the sixteen hundredth year 
 
 Of God, and fifty-three 
 Frae Christ was bom, that bought us dear. 
 As writings testifie. 
 
 I had an old grand-uncle, with whom my mother 
 lived a while in her girlish years ; the good old man, 
 for such he was, was long blmd ere he died, during 
 which time his highest enjoyment was to sit down and 
 cry, while my mother would sing the simple old song of 
 « The Life and Age of Man." 
 
 It is this way of thinking ; it is these melancholy 
 truths, that make religion so precious to the poor, 
 miserable children of men. If it is a mere phantom, 
 existing only m the heated imagination of enthusiasm, 
 
 What truth on earth so precious as the lie? 
 My idle reasonings sometimes make me a little scep- 
 tical, but the necessities of my heart always give the 
 cold philosophisings the lie. Who looks for the heart 
 weaned from earth; the soul affianced to her God; 
 the correspondence fixed with heaven ; the pious sup- 
 plication and devout thanksgiving, constant as the vi- 
 cissitudes of even and morn ; who thinks to meet with 
 these in the court, the palace, in the glare of pubhc 
 life ? No : to find them in their precious importance 
 and divine efficacy, we must search among the obscure 
 recesses of disappointment, affliction, poverty, and dis- 
 
 I am sure, dear Madam, you are now more than 
 pleased with the length of my letters. I return to 
 Ayrshire middle of next week: and it quickens my 
 pace to think that there will be a letter from you wait- 
 ing me there. I must be here again very soon for my 
 harvest. R. B. 
 
 No. CXIX. 
 TO MR BEUGO, ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH. 
 
 Ellisland, 9th Sept. 1788. 
 My dear Sir — There is not in Edinburgh above the 
 number of the graces whose letters would have given 
 me so much pleasure as yours of the 3d instant, which 
 only reached me yesternight. 
 
 I am here on my farm, busy with my harvest ; but 
 for all that most pleasurable part of life called social 
 COMMUNICATION, I am here at the very elbow of existence. 
 The only things that are to be found in this country, in 
 any degree of perfection, are stupidity and canting. 
 Prose, they only know in graces, prayers, &c., and the 
 value of these they estimate, as they do their plaiding 
 webs — by the ell ! As for the muses, they haVe as much 
 an idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet. For my old ca- 
 pricious but good-natured hussy of a muse- 
 By banks of Nith I sat and wept 
 
 When Coila I thought on. 
 In midst thereof I hung my harp 
 The willow trees upon. 
 
 I am generally about half my time in Ayrshire with ray 
 " darling Jean ;" and then I, at lucid intervals, throw 
 my horny fist across my be-cobwebbed lyre, much in 
 the same manner as an old wife throws her hand across 
 the spokes of her spinning-wheel. 
 
 I will send you the " Fortunate Shepherdess" as soon 
 as I return to Ayrshire, for there I keep it with other 
 precious treasure. I shall send it by a careful hand, 
 as I would not for any thing it should be mislaid or lost. 
 I do not wish to serve you from any benevolence, or 
 other grave Christian virtue ; 'tis purely a selfish gra- 
 tification of my own feelings whenever I think of you. 
 
 If your better functions would give you leisure to 
 WTite me, I should be extremely happy ; that is to say, 
 if you neither keep nor look for a regular correspondence. 
 I hate the idea of being obliged to ^^Tite a letter. I 
 sometimes write a friend twice a-week, at other times 
 once a-quarter. 
 
 I am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in making 
 the author you mention place a map of Iceland instead 
 of his portrait before his works : 'twas a glorious idea. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 43 
 
 Could you conveniently do me one thing ? — whenever 
 you finish any head, I should like to have a proof copy 
 of it. I might tell you a long story about your fine 
 genius ; but, as what every body knows cannot have 
 escaped you, I shall not say one syllable about it. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CXX. 
 TO MISS CHALMERS, EDINBURGH. 
 
 ElUsland, near Dumfries, Sept. \Qth, 1788. 
 Where are you ? and how are you 1 and is Lady 
 Mackenzie recovering her health ? for I have had but 
 one solitary letter from you. I will not think you have 
 forgot me, Madam ; and, for my part — 
 When tUee, Jerusalem, I forget. 
 Skill part from my right haxid ! 
 " My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul careless 
 as that sea." I do not make my progress among man- 
 kind as a bowl does among its fellows — ^rolhng through 
 the crowd without bearing away any mark or impression, 
 except where they hit in hostile collision. 
 
 I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks by bad 
 weather ; and as you and your sister once did me the 
 honom' of interesting yourselves much a Vegard de moi, 
 I sit down to beg the continuation of your goodness. I 
 can truly say that, all the exterior of life apart, I never 
 saw two whose esteem flattered the nobler feelings of 
 my soul — I will not say more, but so much, as Lady 
 Mackenzie and Miss Chalmers. When I think of you 
 —hearts the best, minds the noblest of human kind — 
 unfortunate even in the shades of Hfe — when I think I 
 have met with you, and have lived more of real life 
 with you in eight days than I can do with almost any 
 body I meet with in eight years — when I think on the 
 improbability of meeting you in this world again — I 
 could sit down and cry like a child ! If ever you ho- 
 noured me with a place in your esteem, I trust I can 
 now plead more desert. I am secure against that crush- 
 ing grip of iron poverty, which, alas ! is less or more 
 fatal to the native worth and purity of, I fear, the no- 
 blest souls ; and a late important step in my life has 
 kindly taken me out of the way of those ungrateful 
 iniquities, which, however overlooked in fashionable 
 licence^ or varnished in fashionable phrase, are indeed 
 but Ughter and deeper shades of villany. 
 
 Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I married 
 " my Jean.'* This was not in consequence of the attach- 
 ment of romance, perhaps ; but I had a long and much- 
 loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in my de- 
 termination, and I durst not trifle with so important a 
 deposit. Nor have I any cause to repent it. If I have 
 not got pohte tattle, modish manners, and fashionable 
 dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with the multi- 
 form curse of boarding-school affectation : and I have 
 got the handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the 
 soundest constitution, and the kindest heart, in the 
 county. Mrs Burns believes, as firmly as her creed, 
 that I am le plus hel esprit, et le plus honnete homme in 
 the universe ; although she scarcely ever in her life, ex- 
 cept the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, 
 and the Psalms of David in metre, spent five minutes 
 together on either prose or verse. I must except also 
 from this last a certain late publication of Scots poems, 
 which she has perused very devoutly ; and all the ballads 
 in the country, as she has (oh, the partial lover ! you 
 will cry) the finest « wood note wild" I ever heard.* I 
 am the more particular in this lady's character, as I 
 know she will henceforth have the honour of a share in 
 your best wishes. She is still at Mauchhne, as I am 
 building my house; for this hovel that I shelter in, 
 while occasionally here, is pervious to every blast that 
 blows, and every shower that falls ; and I am only pre- 
 served from being chilled to death by being suffocated 
 with smoke. I do not find my farm that pennyworth 
 I was taught to expect, but I beUeve, in time, it may 
 be a saving bargain. You will be pleased to hear that 
 
 * [Mrs Biims was in reality a good singer, her voice rising with 
 ease to B natural.] 
 
 I have laid aside idle eclat, and bind every day after 
 my reapers. 
 
 To save me from that horrid situation of at any time 
 going down, in a losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I 
 have taken my Excise instructions, and have my com- 
 mission in ray pocket for any emergency of fortune. If 
 I could set all before your view, whatever disrespect 
 you, in common with the world, have for this business, 
 I know you would approve of my idea. 
 
 I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this egotis- 
 tic detail ; I know you and your sister mil be interested 
 in every circumstance of it. What signify the siUy, idle 
 gewgaws of wealth, or the ideal trumpery of greatness ! 
 When fellow-partakers of the same nature fear the 
 same God, have the same benevolence of heart, the 
 same nobleness of soul, the same detestation at every 
 thing dishonest, and the same scorn at evei-y thing un- 
 worthy — if they are not in the dependence of absolute 
 beggary, in the name of common sense, are they not 
 EQUALS ? And if the bias, the instinctive bias of their 
 souls run the same way, why may they not be friends ? 
 
 When I may have an opportunity of sending you this, 
 Heaven only Imows. Shenstone says, '* When one is 
 confined idle within doors by bad weather, the best an- 
 tidote against ennui is to read the letters of, or write to, 
 one's friends ;" in that case then, if the weather con- 
 tinues thus, I may scrawl you half a quire. 
 
 I veiy lately — to wit, since harvest began — wrote a 
 poem, not in imitation, but in the manner, of Pope's 
 Moral Epistles. It is only a short essay, just to try 
 the strength of my Muse's pinion in that way. I will 
 send you a copy of it, when once I have heard from 
 you. I have likewise been laying the foundation of 
 some pretty large poetic works : how the superstructure 
 will come on, I leave to that great maker and marrer 
 of projects — time. Johnson's collection of Scots songs 
 is going on in the thu'd volume ; and, of consequence, 
 finds me a consumpt for a great deal of idle metre. One 
 of the most tolerable things I have done in that way is 
 two stanzas I made to an air a musical gentleman of 
 my acquaintance composed for the anniversary of his 
 wedding-day, which happens on the 7th of November, 
 Take it as follows :— 
 
 " The day returns — my bosom burns — 
 The bUssful day we twa did meet," &c. 
 
 I shall give over this letter for shame. If I should 
 be seized mth a scribbling fit, before this goes away, I 
 shall make it another letter ; and then you may allow 
 your patience a week's respite between the two, I 
 have not room for more than the old, kind, hearty fare- 
 well! 
 
 To make some amends, mes cheres Mesdames, for 
 dragging you on to this second sheet, and to relieve a 
 Httle the tiresomeness of my unstudied anduncorrectible 
 prose, I shall transcribe you some of my late poetic 
 bagatelles ; though I have, these eight or ten months, 
 done very little that way. One day, in a hermitage on 
 the banks of Nith, belonging to a gentleman in my 
 neighbourhood, who is so good as give me a key at 
 pleasure, I wrote as follows, supposing myself the se- 
 questered, venerable inhabitant of the lonely mansion, 
 
 lines written in friars-carse hermitage. 
 " Thou whom chance may hither lead," &c. 
 
 B. B. 
 
 No. CXXI. 
 TO MR MORRISON, MAUCHLINE.* 
 
 ElUsland, September 22d, 1788. 
 My dear Sir — Necessity obliges me to go into my 
 new house even before it be plastered. I will inhabit the 
 one end until the other is finished. About three weeks 
 more, I think, will at farthest be my time, beyond which 
 I cannot stay in this present house. If ever you wish 
 to deserve the blessing of him that was ready to perish ; 
 * [A cabinetmaker, who had imdertaken to furnish the poet's 
 house at Ellisland.] 
 
44 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 if ever you were in a situation that a little kindness 
 v'ould haA'e rescued you iTom many evils ; if ever you 
 hope to find rest in future states of untried being — get 
 these matters of mine ready. My servant will be out 
 in the beginning of next week for the clock. My com- 
 pliments to Mrs Morrison. I am, after all my tribula- 
 
 tion, dear Sir, yours. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CXXII. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 
 
 MauchUne, 27 th Sept 1788. 
 
 I HAVE received twins, dear Madam, more than once ; 
 but scarcely ever with more pleasure than when I re- 
 ceived youi's of the 12th instant. To make myself un- 
 derstood ; I had Avrote to Mr Graham, enclosing my 
 poem addressed to him, and the same post which fa- 
 voured me with yours brought me an answer from him. 
 It was dated the very day he had received mine ; and 
 I am quite at a loss to say whether it was most polite 
 or kind. 
 
 Your criticisms, my honoured benefactress, are truly 
 the work of a friend. They are not the blasting de- 
 predations of a canker-toothed, caterpillar critic ; nor 
 are they the fair statement of cold impartiality, balancing 
 with unfeeling exactitude the pro and con of an author's 
 merits ; they are the judicious observations of animated 
 friendship, selecting the beauties of the piece. I am 
 just arrived from Nithsdale, and will be here a fort- 
 night. I was on horseback this morning by three o'clock ; 
 for betAveen my wife and my farm is just forty-six miles. 
 As I jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a poetic 
 fit as follows : 
 
 " Mrs Fergusson of Craigdarroch's lamentation for 
 the death of her son — an uncommonly promising youth 
 of eighteen or nineteen years of age. 
 
 Fate gave the word — the arrow sped, 
 And pierced my darling's heart," &c. 
 
 You will not send me your poetic rambles, but, you 
 see, I am no niggard of mine. I am sure your im- 
 promptus give me double pleasure ; what falls from 
 your pen can neither be vmentertaining in itself, nor 
 indifferent to me. 
 
 The one fault you found is just, but I cannot please 
 myself in an emendation. 
 
 What a life of solicitude is the life of a parent ! You 
 interested me much in your young couple. 
 
 I would not take my folio paper for this epistle, and 
 now I repent it. I am so jaded with my dirty long 
 journey that I was afraid to drawl into the essence of 
 dulness with any thing larger than a quarto, and so I 
 must leave out another rhyme of this morning's manu- 
 facture. 
 
 I will pay the sapientipotent George most cheerfully, 
 to hear from you ere I leave AjTshire. R. B. 
 
 No. CXXIII. 
 
 TO MR PETER HILL. 
 
 MauchUne, \st October, 1788. 
 I HAVE been here in this country about three days, 
 and all that time my chief reading has been the " Ad- 
 dress to Lochlomond" you were so obliguig as to send 
 to me.* Were I impannelled one of the author's jury, 
 to determine his ci'iminality respecting the sin of poesy, 
 my verdict should be " GuUty ! A poet of nature's mak- 
 ing !" It is an excellent method for improvement, and 
 what 1 beUeve every poet does, to place some favourite 
 classic author in his own walks of study and composi- 
 tion, before him, as a model. Though your author had 
 not mentioned the name, I could have, at half a glance, 
 guessed his model to be Thomson. Will my brother- 
 poet forgive me, if I venture to hint that his imitation 
 
 * The poem, entitled " An Address to Lochlomond," is said to 
 be written by a gentleman, now one of the masters of the High 
 School at Edinburgh, and the same who translated the beautiful 
 story of the " Paria," as published in the •' Bee" of Dr Ander- 
 son. — CURRIB. 
 
 of that immortal bard is in two or three places rather 
 more servUe than such a genius as his required : — e. g. 
 To soothe the maddening passions aU to peace. 
 
 Address. 
 To soothe the throbbing passions into peace. 
 
 Thomson. 
 I think the "Address" is in simplicity, harmony, 
 and elegance of versification, fully equal to the " Sea- 
 sons." Like Thomson, too, he has looked into nature 
 for himself: you meet with no copied description. One 
 particular criticism I made at fii'st reading ; in no one 
 instance has he said too much. He never flags in his 
 progress, but, like a true poet of Natiu'e's maldng, 
 kindles in his course. His beginning is simple and 
 modest, as if distrustful of the strength of his pinion ; 
 only, I do not altogether like — 
 
 Truth, 
 
 The soul of every song that's nobly great. 
 Fiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly great. 
 Perhaps I am A\-rong : this may be but a prose criticism. 
 Is not the phrase in line 7, page 6, " Great lake," too 
 much vulgarised by every-day language for so sublime 
 a poem 1 
 
 Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song, 
 is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a com- 
 pai-ison with other lakes is at once harmonious and 
 poetic. Every reader's ideas must sweep the 
 Winding margin of an himdred miles. 
 The perspective that follows mountains blue — the im- 
 prisoned billows beating in vain — the wooded isles — the 
 digression on the yew-tree — ^" Benlomond's lofty, cloud- 
 envelop'd head," &c. are beautiful. A thunder-storm 
 is a subject which has been often tried, yet our poet in 
 his grand picture has interjected a circumstance, so far 
 as I know, entirely original : — 
 
 The gloom 
 
 Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire. 
 In his preface to the storm, " the glens how dark 
 between," is noble highland landscape ! The " rain 
 ploughing the red mould," too, is beautifully fancied. 
 '"' Benlomond's lofty, pathless top," is a good expres- 
 sion ; and the surrounding view from it is truly great : 
 the 
 
 silver mist, 
 
 Beneath the beaming sun, 
 is well described ; and here he has contrived to enliven 
 his poem with a little of that passion which bids fair, I 
 think, to usurp the modern muses altogether. I know 
 not how far this episode is a beauty upon the whole, 
 but the swain's wish to carry " some faint idea of the 
 vision bright," to entertain her "partial listening ear," 
 is a pretty thought. But, in my opinion, the most beau- 
 tiful passages in the whole poem are the fowls crowding, 
 in wintry frosts, to Lochlomond's " hospitable flood ;" 
 their wheeling round, their lightmg, mixing, diving, 
 &c. : and the glorious description of the sportsman. 
 This last is equal to any thing in the " Seasons." The 
 idea of " the floating tribes distant seen, far glistering 
 to the moon," provoking his eye as he is obliged to leave 
 them, is a noble ray of poetic genius. " The howling 
 winds," the "hideous roar" of "the white cascades," 
 are all in the same style. 
 
 I forget that while I am thus holding forth with the 
 heedless warmth of an enthusiast, I am perhaps tiring 
 you with nonsense. I must, however, mention that the 
 last vei'se of the sixteenth page is one of the most ele- 
 gant compHments I have ever seen. I must likewise 
 notice that beautiful paragraph beginning "The gleam- 
 ing lake," &ic. I dare not go into the particular beau- 
 ties of the last two paragraphs, but they are admirably 
 fine, and truly Ossianic. 
 
 I must beg your pardon for this lengthened scrawl. 
 I had no idea of it when I began — I should lilce to know 
 who the author is ; but, whoever he be, please present 
 him with my grateful thanks for the entertainment he 
 has afforded me. 
 
 A friend of mine desired me to commission for him 
 two books, " Letters on the Religion essential to Man," 
 a book you sent me before ; and "The World Unmasked, 
 or the Philosopher the gi-eatest Cheat." Send me them 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 45 
 
 by the first opportunity. The Bible you sent me is 
 truly elegant ; I only wish it had been ia two volumes. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CXXIV. 
 TO THE EDITOR OF "THE STAR."* 
 
 November Sth, 1788. 
 
 Sir — Notwithstanding the opprobrious epithets with 
 which some of our pliilosophers and gloomy sectarians 
 have branded our nature — the principle of universal 
 selfishness, the proneness to all evil, they have given 
 us — still, the detestation in which inhumanity to the 
 distressed, or insolence to the fallen, are held by all 
 mankind, shows that they are not natives of the human 
 heart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind who is 
 imdone — the bitter consequence of his follies or his 
 crimes — who but s}Tapathises with the miseries of this 
 ruined profligate brother ? We forget the injuries, and 
 feel for the man. 
 
 I went, last Wednesday, to my parish church, most 
 cordially to join in grateful acknowledgment to the 
 Author of all Good, for the consequent blessings of 
 the glorious Revolution. To that auspicious event we 
 owe no less than our hberties, civil and religious ; to it 
 we are like\\-ise indebted for the present royal family, 
 the mling features of whose administration have ever 
 been mildness to the subject, and tenderness of his 
 rights. 
 
 Bred and educated in revolution principles, the prin- 
 ciples of reason and common sense, it could not be any 
 siliy political prejudice which made my heart revolt at 
 the harsh, abusive manner in which the reverend gen- 
 tleman mentioned the House of Stuart, and which, I am 
 afraid, was too much the language of the day. We may 
 rejoice sufficiently in our deliverance from past e\-ils, 
 ^vithout cruelly raking up the ashes of those whose mis- 
 fortune it was, perhaps as much as their crime, to be 
 the authors of those evils ; and we may bless God for 
 all his goodness to us as a nation, without at the same 
 time cursing a few ruined, powerless exiles, who only 
 harboured ideas, and made attempts, that most of us 
 would have done, had we been in their situation. 
 
 " The bloody and tyrannical House of Stuart" may 
 be said with propriety and justice, when compared with 
 the present royal family, and the sentiments of our 
 days ; but is there no allowance to be made for the 
 manners of the times ? Were the royal contemporaries I 
 of the Stuarts more attentive to their subjects' rights? 
 Might not the epithets of "bloody and tjTarmical" be, 
 with at least equal justice, applied to the House of 
 Tudor, of York, or any other of their predecessors ? 
 
 The simple state of the case. Sir, seems to be this : — 
 At that period, the science of government, the know- 
 ledge of the true relation between king and subject, 
 was, like other sciences and other knowledge, just in its 
 infancy, emerging from dark ages of ignorance and 
 barbarity. 
 
 The Stuarts only contended for prerogatives which 
 they knew they predecessors enjoyed, and which they 
 saw their contemporaries enjoying; but these prero- 
 gatives were inimical to the happiness of a nation and 
 the rights of subjects. 
 
 In this contest between prince and people, the con- 
 sequence of that light of science which had lately dawned 
 over Europe, the monarch of France, for example, was 
 victorious over the struggling hberties of his people : 
 with us, luckily, the monarch tailed, and his unwarrant- 
 able pretensions feU a sacrifice to our rights and hap- 
 piness. Whether it was owing to the wisdom of leading 
 individuals, or to the justling of parties, I cannot pre- 
 tend to determine ; but, likewise, happily for us, the 
 
 * [Dr Currie thought it probable that this letter was addressed 
 to the Editor of the Edinburgh Evening Courant ; but Mr Cunning- 
 ham superscribes it as above, and we prefer his authority. TheStar 
 was a London priut, then conducted by IMr John 3Iaj-ne, author 
 of the " Siller Gun." The preacher, -n-hose sentiments drew 
 forth the communication,was the Rev. Mr Kirkpatrick of Dun- 
 Bcore, the parish in v.hich ElUiland is situated.] 
 
 kingly power was shifted into another branch of the 
 family, who, as they owed the throne solely to the call 
 of a free people, could claim nothing inconsistent with 
 the covenanted terms wliich placed them there. 
 
 The Stuarts have been condemned and laughed at 
 for the folly and impracticability of their attempts in 
 1715 and 1745. That they failed, 1 bless God, but can- 
 not join in the ridicule against them. Who does not 
 know that the abihties or defects of leaders and com- 
 manders are often hidden until put to the touchstone 
 of exigency ; and that there is a caprice of fortune, an 
 omnipotence in particular accidents and conjunctures 
 of circumstances which exalt us as heroes, or brand us 
 as madmen, just as they are for or against us? 
 
 Man, Mr PubHsher, is a strange, weak, inconsistent 
 being : who would believe, Sir, that in this our Augustan 
 age of Hberahty and refinement, while we seem so justly 
 sensible and jealous of our rights and liberties, and 
 animated with such indignation against the very me- 
 mory of those who would have subverted them that 
 
 a cenain people under our national protection should 
 complain, not against our monarch and a few favourite 
 advisers, but against our whole legislative body, for 
 similar oppression, and almost in the very- same terms, 
 as our forefathers did of the House of Stuart ! I will 
 not, I cannot, enter into the merits of the case ; but I 
 dare say the American Congress, in 177'v, '^ill be allowed 
 to be as able and as enlightened as the English Conven- 
 tion was in 1688 ; and that their posterity will celebrate 
 the centenary of their dehverance from us, as duly and 
 sincerely as we do ours from the oppressive measures 
 of the -ftTong-headed House of Stuart. 
 
 To conclude, Sir ; let every man who has a tear for 
 the many miseries incident to humanity, feel for a 
 family illustrious as any in Europe, and unfortunate be- 
 yond historic precedent ; and let ever}' Briton (and par- 
 ticularly every Scotsman), who ever looked Avith reve- 
 rential pit}' on the dotage of a parent, cast a veil over 
 i the fatal mistakes of the kings of his forefathers. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CXXV. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP, AT MOREHAM MAINS. 
 
 Mauchline, 13/A November, 1788. 
 ]Mada3I — I had the very great pleasure of dining at 
 Dunlop yesterday, ilen are said to flatter women be- 
 cause they are weak — it it be so, poets must be weaker 
 stiU ; for Misses R. and K. and Miss G. ^M'K. \\-ith their 
 flattering attentions, and artful compUments, absolutely 
 turned my head. I o^v-n they did not lard me over as 
 many a poet does his patron, but they so intoxicated me 
 I uitb their sly insinuations and dehcate inuendos of com- 
 phment, that if it had not been for a lucky recollection 
 j how much additional weight and lustre your good opi- 
 nion and friendship must give me in that circle, I had 
 1 certainly looked upon myself as a person of no small 
 j consequence. I dare not say one word how much I 
 I was charmed with the major's friendly welcome, elegant 
 j maimer, and acute remark, lest I shoidd be thought to 
 balance my orientalisms of applause over-against the 
 finest quey* in Ayrshire which he made me a present 
 I of to help and adorn my farm-stock. As it was on hal- 
 I low-day, I am determined annually as that day rettums, 
 to decorate her horns with an ode of gratitude to the 
 family of Dunlop. 
 
 So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, I will 
 take the first conveniency to dedicate a day, or perhaps 
 two, to you and friendship, under the guarantee of the 
 major's hospitality. There -nill soon be threescore and 
 ten miles of permanent distance between us ; and now 
 that your friendship and fiiendly correspondence is en- 
 twisted with the heart-strings of my enjoj-ment of life, 
 I must indulge myself in a happy day of " The feast of 
 reason and the flow of soul." R. B. 
 
 * Heifer. 
 
46 
 
 BUENS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. CXXVI. 
 TO MR JAMES JOHNSON, ENGRAVER. 
 Mauchline, November 15th, 1788. 
 
 My dear Sir — I have sent you two more songs. If 
 you have got any tunes, or any thing to correct, please 
 send them by return of the carrier. 
 
 I can easily see, my dear friend, that you will very 
 probably have four volumes. Perhaps you may not 
 find your account lucratively in this business ; but you 
 are a patriot for the music of your country, and I am 
 certain posterity will look on themselves as highly in- 
 debted to your public spirit. Be not in a huri'y ; let 
 us go on correctly, and your name shall be immortal. 
 
 I am preparing a flaming preface for your third vo- 
 lume. I see every day new musical pubhcations adver- 
 tised ; but what are they ? Gaudy, painted butterflies 
 of a day, and then vanish for ever : but your work will 
 outlive the momentary neglects of idle fasliion, and defy 
 the teeth of time. 
 
 Have you never a fair goddess that leads you a wild- 
 goose chase of amorous devotion ? Let me know a few 
 of her quahties, such as whether she be rather black 
 or fair, plump or tliin, short or tall, &c. ; and choose 
 your air, and I shall task my muse to celebrate her. 
 
 KB. 
 
 No. CXXVII. 
 TO DR BLACKLOCK. 
 
 Mauchline, November 15th, 1788. 
 
 RE^^rRE^'D and dear Sir — As I hear nothing of your 
 motions, but that you are, or were, out of town, I do 
 not know where this may find you, or whether it ^viU 
 find you at all. I "vvrote you a long letter, dated from 
 the land of matrimony, in June ; but either it had not 
 found you, or, what I dread more, it found you or Mrs 
 Blacklock in too precarious a state of health and spii'its 
 to take notice of an idle packet. 
 
 I have done many little things for Johnson, since I 
 had the pleasure of seeing you ; and I have finished one 
 piece in the way of Pope's " Moral Epistles ;" but, from 
 your silence, I have every thing to fear, so I have only 
 sent you two melancholy things, wliich I tremble lest 
 they should too well suit the tone of your present feel- 
 ings. 
 
 In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to Nithsdale ; 
 tiU then, my direction is at this place ; after that period, 
 it wOl be at Ellisland, near Dumfries. It would ex- 
 tremely obhge me were it but half a line, to let me know 
 how you are, and where you are. Can I be indifierent 
 to the fate of a man to whom I owe so much — a man 
 whom I not only esteem, but venerate ? 
 
 My warmest good -nishes and most respectful com- 
 pliments to Mrs Blacklock, and Miss Johnston, if she 
 is with you. 
 
 I cannot conclude without telling you that I am more 
 and more pleased with the step I took respecting " my 
 Jean." Two things, from my happy experience, I set 
 down as apophthegms in life. A wife's head is imma- 
 terial, compared with her heart; and — "Vii'tue's (for 
 wisdom what poet pretends to it ?) ways are ways of 
 pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." Adieu ! 
 
 R. B. 
 
 [Here follow " The mother's lament for the loss of her son," 
 and the song beginning " The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 
 the hill."J 
 
 No. CXXVIII. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Ellisland, 17th December, 1788. 
 My dear honoured Friend — Yours, dated Edinburgh, 
 which I have just read, makes me very unhappy. "Al- 
 most bhnd and wholly deaf," are melancholy news of 
 human nature ; but Avhen told of a much-loved and ho- 
 noiired friend, they carry misery in the sound. Good- 
 ness on your part, and gratitude on mine, began a tie 
 which has gradually entwisted itself among the dearest 
 
 chords of my bosom, and I tremble "at the omens of 
 your late and present ailing habit and shattered health. 
 You miscalculate matters widely, when you forbid my 
 waiting on you, lest it should hurt my worldly concerns. 
 My small scale of farming is exceedingly more simple 
 and easy than what you have lately seen at Moreham 
 Mains. But, be that as it may, the heart of the man 
 and the fancy of the poet are the two grand considera- 
 tions for which I live : if miry ridges and dirty dung- 
 hills-are to engross the best part of the functions of my 
 soul immortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie at 
 once, and then I should not have been plagued with any 
 ideas superior to breaking of clods and picking up grubs ; 
 not to mention barn-door cocks or mallards, creatures 
 with which I could almost exchange Hves at any time. 
 If you continue so deaf, I am afraid a visit \viU be no 
 great pleasure to either of us ; but if I hear you are got 
 so well again as to be able to relish conversation, look 
 you to it. Madam, for I will make my threatenings good. 
 I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr : and, by 
 all that is sacred in the w^orld, friend, I \vill come'and 
 see you. 
 
 Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your 
 old schoolfellow and friend, was truly interesting. Out 
 upon the Avays of the world ! They spoil these " social 
 offsprings of the heart." Two veterans of the " men of 
 the world" would have met with little more heart-work- 
 ings than two old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, 
 is not the Scotch phrase, " auld lang syne," exceedingly 
 expressive ? There is an old song and tune which has 
 often thrilled through my soul. You know I am an 
 enthusiast in old Scotch songs. I shall give you the 
 verses on the other sheet, as I suppose Mr Ker will 
 save you the postage. 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot ? &c. 
 
 Light be the turf on the breast of the Heaven-in- 
 spired poet who composed this glorious fragment ! * 
 There is more of the fire of native genius in it than in 
 half a dozen of modern EngHsh Bacchanalians ! Now I 
 am on my hobby-horse, I cannot help inserting two 
 other old stanzas, which please me mightily :— 
 Go fetch to me a pint o* wane, &c.* 
 
 R.B. 
 
 No. CXXIX. 
 TO MISS DAVIES. 
 
 December, 1788. 
 Madam — I understand my very worthy neighbour, 
 Mr Riddel, has informed you that I have made you the 
 subject of some verses. There is something so pro- 
 voking in the idea of being the l)urden of a ballad, that 
 I do not think Job or Moses, though such patterns of 
 patience and meekness, could have resisted the curio- 
 sity to know what that ballad was ; so my worthy friend 
 has done me a mischief, which I dare say he never in- 
 tended^ and reduced me to the unfortunate alternative 
 of leaving your curiosity ungratified, or else disgusting 
 you with foolish verses, the unfinished production of a 
 random moment, and never meant to have met your 
 ear. I have heard or read somewhere of a gentleman 
 who had some genius, much eccentricity, and very con- 
 siderable dexterity with his pencil. In the accidental 
 group of life into which one is thrown, wherever this 
 gentleman met with a character in a more than ordi- 
 nary degree congenial to his heart, lie used to steal a 
 sketch of the face, merely, he said, as a nota bene, to 
 point out the agreeable recollection to his memory. 
 What this gentleman's pencil was to him, my muse is 
 to me ; and the verses I do myself the honour to send 
 you are a memento exactly of the same kind that he in- 
 dulged in. 
 
 It may be more owing to the fastidiousness of my 
 caprice than the delicacy of my taste, but I am so often 
 tired, disgusted, and hurt, with the insipidity, affecta- 
 tion, and pride of mankind, that when I meet with a 
 person " after my own heart," I positively feel what an 
 orthodox Protestant would call a species of idolatry, 
 * [It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader, that these 
 songs are both of Burns's owti composition.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDEXCE. 
 
 47 
 
 which acts on my fancy like inspiration ; and I can no | 
 more desist rhj-ming on the impulse, than an -dEoHan j 
 harp can refuse its tones to the streaming air. A dis- j 
 tich or two would he the consequence, though the ob- j 
 ject which hit my fancy were grey-bearded age ; but i 
 whei-e my theme is youth and beauty, a yovmg lady | 
 whose personal charms, \dt, and sentiment, are equally \ 
 striking and unaffected — by Heavens ! though I had j 
 lived threescore years a married man, and threescore 
 vears before I was a married man, my imagination 
 would hallow the very idea : and I am truly sorry that 
 the enclosed stanzas have done such poor justice to 
 such a subject R. B. 
 
 No. CXXX. 
 TO MR JOHN TENNANT. 
 
 December 22d, 1788. 
 I rESTERDAY tried my cask of whisky for the first 
 time, and I assure you it does you great credit. It 
 will bear five waters, strong, or six, ordinary toddy. 
 The whisky of this countrj- is a most rascally Hquor ; 
 and, by co'nsequence, only drunk by the most rascally 
 part of the inhabitants. I am persuaded, if you once 
 get a footing here, you might do a great deal of busi- 
 ness, in the way of consumpt ; and should you com- 
 mence distiller again, this is the native barley country. 
 I am ignorant if, in your present way of dealing, you 
 would think it worth your while to extend your busi- 
 ness so far as this country' side. I write you this on 
 the accoimt of an accident, which I must take the merit 
 of ha^'ing partly designed to. A neighbour of mine, a 
 John Currie, miller in C arse-mill — a man who is, in a 
 word, a " very"' good man, even for a £500 bargain — 
 he and his wife were in my house the time I broke open 
 the cask. They keep a countr\- pubUe-house and sell a 
 great deal of foreign spirits, but all along thought that 
 whisky would have degraded this house. They were 
 perfectly astonished at my whisk}', both for its taste 
 and strength ; and, by their desire, I write you to know 
 if you could supply them with Kquor of an equal qua- 
 lity, and what price. Please write me by first post, 
 and direct to me at F.ll island, near Dumfries. If }'ou 
 could take a jaunt this way youireelf, I have a spare 
 spoon, knife, and fork, revy much at your sers-ice. !My 
 compliments to Mrs Tennant, and all the good folks in 
 Glenconner and Barqnharrie. R. B. 
 
 No. CXXXI. 
 TO MRS DUXLOP. 
 Ellisland, Xevc-year-day Morning^ 1789. 
 
 Teus, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, and would 
 to God that I came under the apostle James's descrip- 
 tion ! — the prayer of a righteous man avaxleth much. In 
 that case, Madam, you should welcome m a year full of 
 blessings : eveiy thing that obstructs or disturbs tran- 
 quiUity and seif-enjo%TQent, should be removed, and 
 ever>' pleasure that fi.'ail humanity can taste, should be 
 yours. I own myself so httle a Presbyterian, that I 
 approve of set times and seasons of more than ordinary 
 acts of devotion, for breaking in on that habituated 
 routine of life and thought, which is so apt to reduce 
 our existence to a kind of instinct, or even sometimes, 
 and A%-ith some minds, to a state very little superior to 
 mere machinen,'. 
 
 This day ; the first Sunday of ^May ; a breezy, blue- 
 skied noon some time about the beginning, and a hoarv 
 morning and calm sunny day about the end, of autumn'; 
 these, time out of mind, have been with me a kind of 
 hohday. 
 
 I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in the Spec- 
 tator, " The Vision of ^Mirza,'' a piece that struck my 
 young fancy before I was capable of fixing an idea to a 
 word of three syllables : " On the 5th dayof the moon, 
 ■which, according to the custom of my 'forefathers, I 
 always keep holy, after having washed' myseh' and of- 
 fered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high 
 hiU of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day In 
 meditation and prayer." 
 
 We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance 
 or structure of our souls, so cannot account for those 
 seeming caprices in them, that one should be particu- 
 larly pleased with this thing, or struck with that, which, 
 on minds of a different cast, makes no extraordinary 
 impression. I have some favourite flowers in spring, 
 among which are the moiintain-daisy, the harebell, the 
 fox-glove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and 
 the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with 
 particular delight. I never hear the loud, sohtary 
 whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild 
 mixing cadence of a troop of grey plovers, in an au- 
 tumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul 
 nke the enthusiasm of devotion or poetrj-. Tell me, my 
 dear friend, to what can this be owing \ Are we a piece 
 of machinery, which, like the ^Eolian harp, passive, 
 takes the impression of the passing accident ? Or do 
 these workings argue something within us above the 
 trodden clod ? I own myself partial to such proofs of 
 those awful and important realities — a God that made 
 all things — man's unmaterial and inmiortal nature— 
 and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the grave. 
 
 R. B.* 
 
 Xo. CXXXII. 
 TO DR MOORE. 
 
 EUisIand, 4.th Jan. 1789. 
 
 Sifi — As often as I tbinlc of writing to you, which has 
 been three or four times every week these six months, 
 it gives me something so like the idea of an ordinary- 
 sized statue offering at a conversation with the Rhodian 
 colosstis, that my mind misgives me, and the affair 
 always miscarries somewhere between purpose and re- 
 solve. I have at last got some business ydxh you, and 
 business letters are written by the stjie-book. I say my 
 business is %vith you. Sir, for you never had any with 
 me, except the business that benevolence has 'in the 
 mansion of poverty. 
 
 The character and employment of a poet were for- 
 merly my pleasure, but are now my pride. I know 
 that a ver^- great deal of my late eclat was owing to the 
 singularity of my situation, and the honest prejudice of 
 Scotsmen ; but still, as I said in the preface to my first 
 edition, I do look upon myself as having some preten- 
 sions from nature to the poetic character. I have not 
 a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to learn the muses* 
 trade, is a gift bestowed by Him '•' who forms the secret 
 bias of the soul ;" — but I as firmly beheve, that excel- 
 lence in the profession is the fruit of industry, labour, 
 attention, and pains. At least I am resolved to try my 
 doctrine by the test of experience. Another appear- 
 ance from the press I put off to a very- distant day, 
 a day that may never arrive — but poesy I am deter- 
 mined to prosecute T^ith all my vigour. Xature bq.g 
 given ver>- few, if any, of the profession, the talents of 
 shining in everj' species of composition. I shall try 
 (for until trial it is impossible to know) whether she 
 has qualified me to shine in any one. The worst of 
 it is, by the time one has finished a piece, it has been 
 so often viewed and reviewed before the mental eye, 
 that one loses in a good measure the powers of critical 
 discrimination. Here the best criterion I know is a 
 
 * [The piety of this letter receives a harmonious reponse from 
 the fcllowing, addressed on the same day by Gilbert Bums to his 
 poetical brother :— 
 
 " Mossgid, \st Jan. 1789. 
 
 Dear Brother — I have just finished my new-year's-day 
 
 breakfast in the usual form, which naturally makes me call to 
 
 mind the days of former years, and the society in which we used 
 
 to begin them; and when I look at our family Ticissinides, 
 
 ' through the dark postern of time long elapsed," I cannot help 
 
 remarking to you, my dear brother, how good the God of Sea- 
 
 i soxs is to MB, and that, however some clouds may seem to lower 
 
 I over the portion of time before us, we have great reason to hopa 
 
 that aU wiU turn out welL 
 
 Your mother and sisters, with Robert the second, join me in 
 the compliments of the season to you and Mrs Bums, and beg 
 you will remember us in the same manner to William the first 
 time you see him. I am, dear brother, yours, 
 
 Gilbert Bl'bxs,'" 
 
48 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 friend — not only of abilities to judge, but with good-na- 
 ture enough, hke a prudent teacher with a young 
 learner, to pi'aise perhaps a httle more than is exactly 
 just, lest the thin-sldnned animal fall into that most 
 deplorable of all poetic diseases — heart-breaking despon- 
 dency of himselt'. Dare I, Sir, already immensely in- 
 debted to your goodness, ask the additional obligation 
 of your being that friend to me ? I enclose you an essay 
 of mine, in a walk of poesy to me entirely new ; I mean 
 the epistle addressed to R. G. Esq., or Robert Graham 
 of Fintry, Esq., a gentleman of uncommon worth, to 
 whom I he imder very great obligations. The story of 
 the poem, Hke most of my poems, is connected with my 
 own story, and to give you the one I must give you 
 something of the other. I cannot boast of Mr Creech's 
 ingenuous fair dealing to me. He kept me hanging 
 about Edinburgh from the 7th August 1787, until the 
 13th April 1788, before he would condescend to give 
 me a statement of affairs ; nor had I got it even then, 
 but for an angry letter I wrote him, which irritated his 
 pride. " I could" not a "tale" but a detail "unfold ;" 
 but what am I that should speak against the Lord's 
 anointed Bailie of Edinburgh ?* 
 
 I believe I shall, in whole, £100 copy-right included, 
 clear about £400 some httle odds ; and even part of 
 this depends upon what the gentleman has yet to settle 
 with me. I give you this information, because you did 
 me the honour to interest yourself much in my w^elfare. 
 I give you this information, but I give it to yourself only, 
 for I am still much in the gentleman's mercy. Perhaps 
 I injure the man in the idea I am sometimes tempted 
 to have of him — God forbid I should ! A Httle time 
 will try, for m a month I shall go to town to wind up 
 the business if possible. 
 
 To give the rest of my story in brief, I have married 
 " my Jean," and taken a farm : with the first step I 
 have every day more and more reason to be satisfied ; 
 with the last, it is rather the reverse. I have a younger 
 brother, who supports my aged mother ; another stiU 
 younger brother, and three sisters, in a farm. On my 
 last return from Edinburgh, it cost me about £180 to 
 save them from ruin. Not that I have lost so much — 
 I only interposed between my brother and his impend- 
 ing fate by the loan of so much. I give myself no airs 
 on this, for it was mere selfishness on my part : I was 
 conscious that the A\T.'ong scale of the balance was pretty 
 heavily charged, and I thought that throwing a little 
 fiHal piety and fraternal aflFection into the scale in my 
 favour, might help to smooth matters at the grand 
 reckoning. There is still one thing would make my 
 circumstances quite easy: I have an excise officer's 
 commission, and I live in the midst of a country divi- 
 sion. My request to Mr Graham, who is one of the 
 commissioners of excise, was, if in his power, to procure 
 me that division. If I were very sanguine, I might 
 hope that some of my great patrons might procure me 
 a treasury wari'ant for supervisor, surveyor-general, &c. 
 Thus, secure of a liveliliood, " to thee, sweet poetry, 
 delightful maidj" I would consecrate my future days. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CXXXIII. 
 TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 
 
 Ellisland, January 6th, 1789. 
 
 Many happy returns of the season to you, my dear 
 Sir ! May you be comparatively happy up to your 
 comparative worth among the sons of men ; which ^^ish 
 would, I am sure, make you one of the most blest of 
 the human race. 
 
 I do not know if passing a " writer to the signet " be 
 a trial of scientific merit, or a mere business of friends 
 and interest. However it be, let me quote you my two 
 
 * [Those who publish books for authors are not in general the 
 most prompt in rendering returns, and for this there is some rea- 
 son, as well as excuse, in the forms and circumstances of the 
 book-trade ; but Sir Creech was remarkable for his reluctance to 
 settle accoimts of any kind, and of this the poet seems to have 
 •been eminently a victim.] 
 
 favourite passages, which, though I have repeated them 
 ten thousand times, stUl they rouse my manhood and 
 steel my resolution like inspiration. 
 
 On Reason build resolve, 
 
 That column of true majesty in man. — Young. 
 
 Hear, Alfred, hero of the state, 
 
 Thy genius heaven's high will declare ; 
 
 The triumph of the truly great. 
 
 Is never, never to despair ! 
 
 Is never to despair. Masque of Alfred. 
 
 I grant you enter the Hsts of life to struggle for bread, 
 business, notice, and distinction, in common with hun- 
 dreds. But who are they ? Men like yourself, and of 
 that aggregate body your compeers, seven-tenths of 
 them come short of your advantages, natural and acci- 
 dental ; while two of those that remain, either neglect 
 their parts, as flowers blooming in a desert, or misspend 
 their strength like a bull goring a bramble bush. 
 
 But to change the theme : I am stUl catering for John- 
 son's publication ; and among others, I have brushed 
 up the foUowing old favourite song a Httle, with a view 
 to your worship. I have only altered a word here and 
 there ; but if you like the humour of it, we shaU think 
 of a stanza or two to add to it.* R, B. 
 
 No. CXXXIV. 
 
 TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART. 
 
 Ellisland, 20th Jan. 1789, 
 
 Sir — The enclosed sealed packet I sent to Edinburgh, 
 a few days after I had the happiness of meeting you in 
 Ayrshire, but you were gone for the continent. I have 
 now added a few more of my productions, those for 
 which I am indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. The 
 piece inscribed to R. G. Esq. is a copy of verses I sent 
 Mr Graham of Fintry, accompanying a request for his 
 assistance in a matter to me of very great moment. To 
 that gentleman I am already doubly indebted ; for deeds 
 of kindness of serious import to my dearest interests, 
 done in a manner grateful to the deHcate feelings of 
 sensibility. This poem is a species of composition new 
 to me, but I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the 
 kind, as you wiU see by the " Poet's Progress." These 
 fragments, if my design succeed, are but a small part of 
 the intended whole. I propose it shall be the work of my 
 utmost exertions, ripened by years ; of course I do not 
 wish it much known. The fragment beginning " A Httle 
 upright,' pert, tart," &c. I have not shown to man 
 living, till I now send it you. It forms the postulata. 
 the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it 
 appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
 This particular part I send you merely as a sample of 
 my hand at portrait-sketching ; but, lest idle conjecture 
 should pretend to point out the original, please to let 
 it be for your single, sole inspection. 
 
 Need I make any apology for this trouble, to a gen- 
 tleman who has treated me with such marked benevo- 
 lence and peculiar Idndness ; who has entered into my 
 interests with so much zeal, and on whose critical de- 
 cisions I can so fully depend ? A poet as I am by trade, 
 these decisions are to me of the last consequence. My 
 late transient acquaintance among some of the mere 
 rank and file of greatness, I resign with ease ; but to 
 the distinguished champions of genius and learning, I 
 shall be ever ambitious of being known. The native 
 genius and accurate discernment in Mr Stewart's cri- 
 tical strictures ; the justice (iron justice, for he has no 
 bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) of Dr 
 Gregory's remarks, and the deHcacy of Professor Dal- 
 zel's taste, I shall ever revere. 
 
 I shall be in Edinburgh some time next month. I 
 have the honour to be, Sii', your highly obliged, and 
 very humble servant, R. B. 
 
 * [The nan^e of the song here alluded to has not been ascer- 
 tained.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 49 
 
 No. CXXXV. 
 TO BISHOP GEDDES.* 
 
 Ellisland, M Feb. 1789. 
 
 Venerable Father — As I am conscious that, wher- 
 ever I am, you do me the honour to interest yourself 
 in my welfare, it gives me pleasure to inform you, that 
 I am here at last, stationary in the serious business of 
 life, and have now not only the retired leisure, but the 
 hearty inclination, to attend to those great and impor- 
 tant questions — what I am ; where I am ; and for what 
 I am destined. 
 
 In that first concern, the conduct of the man, there 
 was ever but one side on which I was habitually blame- 
 able, and there I have secured myself in the way pointed 
 out by nature and nature's God. I was sensible that, 
 to so helpless a creature as a poor poet, a wife and fa- 
 mily were incumbrances, which a species of prudence 
 would bid him shun; but when the alternative was, 
 being at eternal warfare with myself, on account of 
 habitual follies, to give them no worse name, which no 
 general example, no licentious wit, no sophistical inli- 
 delity, would, to me, ever justify, I must have been a 
 fool to have hesitated, and a madman to have made 
 another choice. Besides, I had in "my Jean" a long 
 and much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery 
 among my hands, and Avho could trifle with such a de- 
 posit 1 
 
 ^ In the affair of a livelihood, I think myself tolerably 
 secure : I have good hopes of my farm ; but should they 
 fail, I have an excise commission, which, on my simple 
 petition, will at any time procure me bread. There is 
 a certain stigma affixed to the character of an excise 
 officer, but I do not pretend to borrow honour from my 
 profession ; and though the salary be comparatively 
 small, it is luxury to any thing that the first twenty-five 
 years of my life taught me to expect. 
 
 Thus, with a rational aim and method in life, you 
 may easily guess, my I'everend and much honoured 
 friend, that my characteristical trade is not forgotten. 
 I am, if possible, more than ever an enthusiast to the 
 muses. I am determined to study man and nature, and 
 in that view incessantly ; and to try if the ripening and 
 corrections of years can enable me to produce something 
 worth preserving. 
 
 You will see in your book, which I beg your pardon 
 for detaining so long,f that I have been tuning my lyre 
 on the banks of Nith. Some large poetic plans that are 
 floating in my imagination, or partly put in execution, 
 I shall impart to you when I have the pleasure of meet- 
 ing with you, which, if you are then in Edinburgh, I 
 shall have about the beginning of March. 
 
 That acquaintance, worthy Sir, with which you were 
 pleased to honour me, you must still allow me to chal- 
 lenge ; for with whatever unconcern I give up my tran- 
 sient connection with the merely great, I cannot lose 
 the patronising notice of the learned and good, without 
 the bitterest regret. R. B. 
 
 No. CXXXVI. 
 TO MR JAMES BURNESS. 
 
 EUisland, 9th Feb. 1789. 
 My dear Sir — Why I did not write to you long ago 
 is what, even on the rack, I could not answer. If you 
 
 * [Alexander Geddes, bom at Arradowl in Banffohire in 1737, 
 was reared as a Catholic clergyman, and long officiated in that 
 capacity in his native county, and elsewhere. As humbly born 
 as Burns, he possessed much of his strong and eccentric genius, 
 and it is not surprising that he and the Ayrshire bard should 
 have become friends. After 1700, his life was spent in London, 
 chiefly under the fostering patronage of a generous Catholic noble- 
 man, Lord Petre. The heterodox opinions of Dr Geddes, his ex- 
 traordinary attempts to translate the Bible, and his numerous 
 fugitive publications on controversial divinity, made much noise 
 at the time ; but he is now only remembered for some successful 
 Scotch verses. This singular man died in London, February 20, 
 1802, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.] 
 
 t [A copy of Burns's Poems, belonging to Dr Geddes, into which 
 the poet had transferred some of his more recent verses. The 
 volume is now in the possession of Mrs Hislop, Finsbpry Square, 
 London. : • " 
 
 can in your mind form an idea of indolence, dissipation, 
 hui'ry, cares, change of country, entering on untried 
 scenes of life, all combined, you will save me the trouble 
 of a blushing apology. It could not be want of regard 
 for a man for whom I had a high esteem before I knew 
 him — an esteem which has much increased since I did 
 know him ; and this caveat entered, I shall plead guilty 
 to any other indictment with which you shall please to 
 charge me. 
 
 After I parted from you, for many months my life 
 was one continued scene of dissipation. Here at last I 
 am become stationax'y, and have taken a farm and — a 
 wife. 
 
 The farm is beautifully situated on the Nith, a large 
 river that runs by Dumfries, and falls into the Solway 
 Frith. I have gotten a lease of my farm as long as I 
 pleased ; but how it may tui'n out is just a guess, and 
 it is yet to improve and enclose, &c. : however, I have 
 good hopes of my bargain on the whole. 
 
 My wife is my Jean, with whose story you are partly 
 acquainted. I found I had a much-loved fellow-crea- 
 ture's happiness or misery among my hands, and I durst 
 not trifle with so sacred a deposit. Indeed, I have not 
 any reason to repent the step I have taken, as I have 
 attached myself to a very good wife, and have shaken 
 myself loose of every bad failing. 
 
 I have found my book a very profitable business, and 
 with the profits of it I have begun life pretty decently. 
 Should fortune not favour me in farming, as I have no 
 great faith in her fickle ladyship, I have provided my- 
 self in another resource, which, however some folks 
 may affect to despise it, is still a comfortable shift in 
 the day of misfortune. In the heyday of my fame, a 
 gentleman, whose name at least I dare say you know, 
 as his estate lies somewhere near Dundee, Mr Graham 
 of Fintry, one of the commissioners of Excise, offered 
 me the commission of an excise-officer. I thought it 
 prudent to accept the offer ; and, accordingly, I took 
 my instructions, and have my commission by me. Whe- 
 ther I may ever do duty, or be a penny the better for 
 it, is what I do not know ; but I have the comfortable 
 assui'ance, that, come whatever ill fate will, I can, on 
 my simple petition to the Excise-board, get into employ. 
 
 We have lost poor uncle Robert this winter. He 
 has long been very weak, and with very little alteration 
 on him : he expired 3d January. 
 
 His son William has been with me this winter, and 
 goes in May to be an apprentice to a mason. His other 
 son, the eldest, John, comes to me, I expect, in summer. 
 They aro both remarkably stout young fellows, and pro- 
 mise to do well. His only daughter, Fanny, has been 
 with me ever since her father's death, and I purpose 
 keeping her in my family till she be quite woman grown, 
 and tit for better service. She is one of the cleverest 
 girls, and has one of the most amiable dispositions, I 
 have ever seen.* 
 
 All friends in this county and Ayrshire are well. 
 Remember me to all friends in the north. My wife 
 joins me in compliments to Mrs B. and family. I am 
 evei', my dear cousin, yours sincerely, R. B. 
 
 No. CXXXVII. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 EUisland, ith March, 1789. 
 
 Here am I, my honoured friend, returned safe from 
 the capital. To a man who has a home, however humble 
 or remote — if that home is like mine, the scene of do- 
 mestic comfort — the bustle of Edinburgh will soon be 
 a business of sickening disgust. 
 
 Vain pomp and gloi-y of this world, I hate you ! 
 
 When I must skulk into a corner, lest the rattling 
 equipage of some gaping blockhead should mangle me 
 in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim, " What merits 
 has he had, or what demerit have I had, in some state 
 of pre-existence, that he is ushered into this state of 
 
 * [This estimable woman became the wife of Adam Armour, 
 mason, a brother of Mrs Robert Burns. She still lives in Mauch- 
 linc, 1838.] 
 
50 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 being with the sceptre of rule, and the key of riches in 
 his puny fist, and I am kicked into the world, the sport 
 of folly, or the victim of pride V I have read some- 
 where of a monarch (in Spain I think it was), who was 
 so out of humour with the Ptolemean system of astro^ 
 nomy, that he said, had he been of the Creator's council, 
 he could have saved him a great deal of labour and ab- 
 surdity. I will not defend this blasphemous speech ; 
 but often, as I have ghded Avith huinble stealth through 
 the pomp of Princes' Street, it has suggested itself to 
 me, as an improvement on the present human figure, 
 that a man, in proportion to his OAvn conceit of his con- 
 sequence in the world, could have pushed out the lon- 
 gitude of his common size, as a snail pushes out his 
 horns, or as we draw out a perspective. This trifling- 
 alteration, not to mention the prodigious saving it would 
 be in the tear and wear of the neck and limb-sinews of 
 many of his Majesty's liege-subjects, in the way of toss- 
 ing the head and tiptoe strutting, would evidently turn 
 out a vast advantage, in enabling us at once to adjust 
 the ceremonials in making a bow, or making way to a 
 great man, and that too within a second of the precise 
 spherical angle of reverence, or an inch of the particu- 
 lar point of respectful distance, which the important 
 creature itself requires ; as a measuring-glance at its 
 towering altitude would determine the affair like in- 
 stinct. 
 
 You are right. Madam, in your idea of poor Mylne's 
 poem, which he has addressed to me. The piece has a 
 good deal of merit, but it has one great fault — ^it is by 
 far too long. Besides, my success has encouraged such 
 a shoal of ill-spawned monsters to crawl into public no- 
 tice, under the title of Scottish poets, that the very term 
 Scottish poetry borders on the burlesque. When I 
 write to Mr Carfrae, I shall advise him rather to try 
 one of his deceased friend's English pieces. I am pro- 
 digiously hurried with my own matters, else I would 
 have requested a perusal of all Mylne's poetic perform- 
 ances, and would have offered his friends my assistance 
 in either selecting or correcting what would be proper 
 for the press. What it is that occupies me so much, 
 and perhaps a little oppresses my present sjJirits, shall 
 fill up a paragraph in some future letter. In the mean- 
 time, allow me to close this epistle with a few lines done 
 by a friend of mine. ***** I give you them, 
 that, as you have seen the original, you may guess whe- 
 ther one or two alterations I have ventured to make in 
 them be any real improvement. 
 
 Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws. 
 Shrink, mildly fearful, even from applause. 
 Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream. 
 And all you are, my charming * * * * seem. 
 Straight as the fox-glove, ere her bells disclose. 
 Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn blows. 
 Fair as the fairest of each lovely kind, 
 Your form shall be the image of your mind ; 
 Your manners shall so true your soul express. 
 That all shall long to know the worth they guess ; 
 Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love, 
 And even sick'ning envy must approve.* 
 
 " R. B. 
 
 No. CXXXVIII. 
 TO THE REV. P. CARFRAE. 
 
 1789. 
 
 Rev", Sik — I do not recollect that I have ever felt a 
 severer pang of shame, than on looking at the date of 
 your obliging letter which accompanied Mr Mylne's 
 poem. 
 
 I am much to blame: the honour Mr Mylne has 
 done me, greatly enhanced in its value by the endear- 
 ing, though melancholy circumstance of its being the 
 last production of his muse, deserved a better return. 
 
 I have, as you hint, thought of sending a copy of the 
 poem to some periodical publication ; but, on second 
 thoughts, I am afraid that, in the present case, it would 
 be an improper step. My success, perhaps as much 
 accidental as merited, has brought an inundation of 
 * These beautiful lines, we have reason to believe, are the pro- 
 duction of the lady to whom this letter is addressed.— Cuhrxk. 
 
 nonsense under the name of Scottish poetry. Subscrip- 
 tion-bills for Scottish, poems have so dunned, and daily 
 do dun the public, that the very name is in danger of 
 contempt. For these reasons, if publishing any of Mr 
 Mylne's poems in a Magazine, &c. be at all prudent, 
 in my opmion it certainly should not be a Scottish poem. 
 The profits of the labours of a man of genius, are, I 
 hope, as honourable as any profits whatever ; and Mr 
 Mylne's relations are most justly entitled to that honest 
 harvest which fate has denied himself to reap. But let 
 the friends of Mr Mylne's fame (among whom I crave 
 the honour of rankiog myself) always keep in eye his 
 respectability as a man and as a poet, and take no mea- 
 sure that, before the world knows any thing about him, 
 would risk his name and character being classed wi^h 
 the fools of the times. 
 
 I have. Sir, some experience of publishing ; and the 
 way ia which I would proceed with Mr Mylne's poems, 
 is this : — I will publish, in two or three English and 
 Scottish public papers, any one of his EngUsh poems 
 which should, by private judges, be thought the most 
 excellent, and mention it, at the same time, as one of 
 the productions of a Lothian farmer of respectable 
 character, lately deceased, whose poems his friends had 
 it in idea to publish soon by subscription, for the sake 
 of his numerous family ; not in pity to that family, but 
 in justice to what his friends think the poetic merits of 
 the deceased ; and to secure, in the most effectual man- 
 ner, to those tender connexions, whose right it is, the 
 pecuniary reward of those merits. R, B.* 
 
 No. CXXXIX. 
 TO DR MOORE. 
 
 EUisland, 1M March, 1789. 
 Sir — The gentleman who will deliver this is a Mv 
 Neilson, a worthy clergyman in my neighbourhood,t 
 
 * [The following letter from Mr Carfrae explains the subject 
 of the above epistle of Burns :— 
 
 " 2d January, 1789. 
 Sir— If you have lately seen Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop, you have 
 certainly heard of the author of the verses which accompany this 
 letter. He was a man highly respectable for every accomplish- 
 ment and virtue which adorns the character of a man or a Chris- 
 tian. To a great degree of literature, of taste, and poetic genius, 
 was added an invincible modesty of temper, which prevented, 
 in a great degree, his figui-ing in life, and confined the perfect 
 knowledge of his character and talents to the small circle of his 
 chosen friends. He was imtimely taken from us a few weeks 
 ago, by an inflammatory fever, in the prime of life ; beloved by 
 all who enjoyed his acquaintance, and lamented by all who have 
 any regard for virtue or genius. There is a woe pronoimced in 
 Scripture against the person wh(»n all men speak well of ; if ever 
 that woe fell upon the head of mortal man, it fell upon him. He 
 has left behind him a considerable number of compositions, 
 chiefly poetical, sufficient, I imagine, to make a large octavo vo- 
 lume. In particular, two complete and regular tragedies, a farce 
 of three acts, and some smaller poems on diflferent subjects. It 
 falls to my share, who have lived in the most intimate and un- 
 interrupted friendship with him from my youth upwards, to 
 transmit to you the verses he wrote on the publication of your 
 incomparable poems. It is probable they were his last, as they 
 were found in his scrutoire, folded up with the form of a letter 
 addressed to you, and, I imagine, were only prevented from being 
 sent by himself, by that melancholy dispensation which we still 
 bemoan. The verses themselves I will not pretend to criticise, 
 when writing to a gentleman whom I consider as entirely qualified 
 to judge of their merit. They are the only verses he seems to 
 have attempted in the Scottish style ; and I hesitate not to say, 
 in general, that they will bring no dishonour on the Scottish 
 muse ; and allow me to add, that, if it is your opinion they are 
 not unworthy of the author, and^vill be no discredit to you, it is 
 the inclination of Mr Mylne's friends that they should be imme- 
 diately published in some periodical work, to give the world a 
 specimen of what may be expected from his performances in the 
 poetic line, which, perhaps, will be afterwards published for the 
 advantage of his family. * * * 
 
 I must beg the favour of a letter from you, acknowledging the 
 receipt of this, and to be allowed to subscribe myself, with great 
 regard, Sir, your most obedient servant, P. Carfrak."] 
 
 t [The Kev. Edward Nielson, minister of KiiTcbean, in the 
 Stewartry of Kirkcudbright.] " 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 5K 
 
 and a very particulai' acquaintance of mine. As I have 
 troubled him with this packet, I must turn him over 
 to your goodness, to recompense him for it in a way in 
 which he much needs your assistance, and where you 
 can effectually serve him. JNIr Nielson is on his way 
 for France, to wait on liis Grace of Queensberry, on 
 some little business of a good deal of importance to him, 
 and he wishes for your instructions respecting the most 
 eligible mode of travelling, &c. for huu, when he has 
 crossed the channel. I should not have dared to take 
 this liberty with you, but that I am told, by those who 
 have the honour of your personal acquaintance, that to 
 be a poor honest Scotchman is a letter of recommen- 
 dation to you, and that to have it in your power to serve 
 such a character, gives you much pleasure. 
 
 The enclosed Ode is a compliment to the memory of 
 the late Mrs Oswald of Auchencruive. You probably 
 knew her personally, an honour of wliich I cannot boast ; 
 but I spent my early years in her neighbourhood, and 
 among her servants and tenants. I know that she was 
 detested with the most heartfelt cordiahty. However, 
 in the particular part of her conduct which roused my 
 poetic wi-ath, she was much less blameable. In Janu- 
 ary last, on my road to Ayrsliire, I had put up at Bailie 
 Whigham's, in Sanquhar, the only tolerable inn in the 
 place. The frost was keen, and the grim evening and 
 howling wind w^ere iishering in a night of snow and 
 drift. My horse and I were both much fatigued Avith 
 the labours of the day, and just as my friend the Bailie 
 and I were bidding defiance to the storm, over a smok- 
 ing bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the late 
 great Mrs Oswald, and poor I am forced to brave all 
 the horrors of the tempestuous night, and jade my 
 horse, my young favourite horse, whom I had just 
 christened Pegasus, twelve miles farther on, through 
 the wildest moors and hills of Ayrshire, to New Cum- 
 nock, the next inn. The powers of poesy and prose sink 
 under me, when I would describe Avhat I felt. Suffice 
 it to say, that when a good fire at New Cumnock had so 
 far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and vn:ote 
 the enclosed Ode. 
 
 I was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally -with. 
 Mr Ci'eech ; and I must own, that at last he has been 
 amicable and fair with me. R. B." 
 
 * [Dr Moore's answer to this letter was as follows :— 
 
 " Clifford Street, lOth June, 1789. 
 
 Dear Sir— I thank you for the diflferent communications you 
 have made me of your occasional productions ia manuscript, all 
 of which have merit, and some of them merit of a different kind 
 from what appears in the poems you have published. You ought 
 carefully to preserve all your occasional productions, to correct 
 and improve them at your leisure ; and when you can select as 
 many of these as will make a volume, publish it either at Edin- 
 burgh or London by subscription : on such an occasion, it may 
 be in my power, as it is very much in my inclination, to be of 
 service to you. 
 
 If I were to offer an opinion, it would be, that, in yoiu: fu- 
 ture productions, you should abandon the Scottish stanza and 
 dialect, and adopt the measure and language of modem English 
 poetry. 
 
 The stanza which you use in imitation of ' Christ Kirk on the 
 Green,' with the tiresome repetition of ' that day,' is fatiguing 
 to English ears, and I should think not very agreeable to Scottish. 
 
 All the fine satire and himiour of your ' Eoly Fair,' is lost on 
 the English ; yet, without more trouble to yom-self, you could 
 have conveyed the whole to them. The same is true of some of 
 yoirr other poems. In your Epistle to J. Smith, the stanzas from 
 that beginning with this line, ' This Ufe, so far's I understand,' 
 to that which ends mth, ' Short while it grieves,' are easy, flow- 
 ing, gaily philosophical, and of Horatian elegance — the language 
 is English, with a few Scottish words, and some of those so hai-- 
 monious as to add to the beauty ; for what poet would not prefer 
 gloaming to twilight 9 
 
 I imagine, that by cai'efuUy keeping, and occasionally polish- 
 ing and correcting those verses which the miise dictates, you vriW, 
 within a year or two, have another volume as large as the first, 
 ready for the press ; and this, without diverting you from every 
 proper attention to the study and practice of husbandry, in which 
 I understand you are very leai-ned, and which I fancy you will 
 choose to adhere to as a wife, while poetry amuses you from time 
 to tune as a mistress. The former, like a prudent ynfe, must not 
 
 No. CXL. 
 TO MR HILL. 
 
 Ellisland, 2d April, 1789. 
 
 I WILL make no excuse, my dear Bibliopolus, (God 
 forgive me for murdering language !) that I have sat 
 down to Avi'ite you on this vile paper. 
 
 It is economy. Sir ; it is that cardinal virtue, pru- 
 dence ; so I beg you will sit down, and either compose 
 or borrow a panegyric. If you are going to borrow, 
 apply to ^ '• * "t to compose, or rather to compound, 
 something vei'y clever on my remarkable frugality; 
 that I write to one of my most esteemed friends on this 
 wretched paper, which was originally intended for the 
 venal fist of some drunken exciseman, to take dirty 
 notes in a miserable vault of an ale-cellar. 
 
 Oh Frugahty ! thou mother of ten thousand bless- 
 ings — thou cook of fat beef and dainty greens ! — thou 
 manufacturer of warm Shetland hose, and comfortable' 
 surtouts ! — ^thou old housewife, darning thy decayed 
 stockings with thy ancient spectacles on thy aged nose ! 
 — lead me, hand me in thy clutching palsied fist, up 
 those heights, and through those thickets, hitherto in- 
 accessible and impervious to my anxious, weary feet — 
 not those Parnassian crags, bleak and barren, where 
 the himgry worsliippers of fame are, breathless, clam- 
 bering, hanging between heaven and heU, but those 
 guttering cliffs of Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all- 
 powerful deity, wealth, holds liis immediate court of 
 joys and pleasures ; where the sunny exposure of plenty, 
 and the hot walls of profusion, produce those blissful 
 fruits of luxury, exotics in this world, and natives of 
 paradise ! Thou withered sibyl, my sage conductress, 
 usher me into thy refulgent, adored presence ! The 
 power, splendid and potent as he now is, was once the 
 puling nursling of thy faithful care and tender arms ! 
 Call me thy son, thy cousin, thy kinsman, or favourite, 
 and adjure the god, by the scenes of his infant years, no 
 longer to repulse me as a strangei', or an aUen, but to 
 favour me \vith his pecuhar countenance and protec- 
 tion ! He daily bestows his greatest Idndness on the 
 undeserving and the worthless — assure him that I bring 
 ample documents of meritorious demerits ! Pledge 
 yourself for me, that, for the glorious cause of lucre, I 
 will do any thing, be any thing, but the horse-leech of 
 private oppression, or the vulture of pubhc robbery ! 
 
 But to descend from heroics. 
 
 I want a Shakspeare ; I want likewise an EngEsli 
 dictionary — Johnson's, I suppose, is best. In these 
 and all my prose commissions, the cheapest is always 
 the best for me. There is a small debt of honour that 
 I owe j\Ir Robert Cleghorn, in Saughton ]\Iills, my 
 worthy friend, and your well-Avisher. Please give him, 
 and urge him to take it, the first time you see him, ten 
 shillings' worth of any thing you have to sell, and place 
 it to my account. 
 
 The Ubrary scheme that I mentioned to you is already 
 begun, under the direction of Captain Riddel. There 
 is another in emulation of it going on at Closeburn, 
 under the auspices of Mr Monteath of Closeburn, which 
 will be on a greater scale than ours. Captain Riddel 
 gave his infant society a great many of his old books, 
 else I had written )t>u on that subject ; but, one of these 
 days, I shall trouble you with a commission for " The 
 Monkland Friendly Society." A copy of The Specta- 
 
 show ill humour, although you retain a sneaking kindness to this 
 agreeable gipsy, and pay her occasional visits, which in no man- 
 ner alienates your heart from your lawful spouse, but tends, on 
 the contrary, to promote her interest. 
 
 I desked Mr Cadell to write to JMr Creech to send you a copy 
 of Zeluco. This performance has had great success here ; but I 
 shall be glad to have your opinion of it, because I value your opi- 
 nion, and because I know you are above saying what you do not 
 think. 
 
 I beg you will offer my best wishes to my very good friend Mrs 
 Hamilton, who, I understand, is your neighbour. If she is as 
 happy as I wish her, she is happy enough. Make my compli- 
 ments also to Mrs Bums; and believe me to be, Avith sincere 
 esteem, dear Sir, yom-s, &;c."] 
 
 t [Probably, the word required to fill up this blank is Creech.} 
 
52 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 tor, Mirror, and Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the 
 World, Guthrie's Geographical Gi'amraar, with some 
 religious pieces, will likely be our first order. 
 
 When I grow richer, I will write to you on gilt-post, 
 to make amends for this sheet. At present every guinea 
 h^s a five guinea errand with, my dear Sir, your faith- 
 ful, poor, but honest friend, R. B. 
 
 No. CXLI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 EUisland, Ath April, 1789. 
 
 I NO sooner hit on any poetic plan or fancy, but I 
 wish to send it to you ; and if Imowing and reading these 
 give half the pleasure to you, that communicating them 
 to you gives to me, I am satisfied. 
 
 I have a poetic whim in my head, which I at present 
 dedicate, or rather inscribe, to the Right Hon. Charles 
 James Fox ; but how long that fancy may hold, I can- 
 not say. A few of the first lines I have just rough 
 sketched as follows : — 
 
 " SKETCH. 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
 How virtue and vice blend their black and their white ; 
 How genius, the illusti'lous father of fiction. 
 Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
 I sing : if these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
 I care not, not I, let the critics go whistle. 
 
 But now for a patron, whose name and Avhose glory. 
 At once may illustrate and honour my story. 
 
 Thou first of our orators, first of our wits. 
 Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mei'e lucky hits; 
 With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong. 
 No man A\'ith the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 
 With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 
 No man with the half of 'em e'er wert quite right ; 
 A sorry, poor misbegot son of the muses, 
 For using thy name off'ers fifty excuses." 
 
 On the 20th current I hope to have the honour of 
 assuring you, in person, how sincerely I am, R. B. 
 
 No. CXLII. 
 TO MRS M-MURDO, DRUMLANRIG.- 
 
 Ellisland, 2d Maij, 1789. 
 
 Madabi — I have finished the piece which had the 
 happy fortune to be honoured with your approbation ; 
 and never did little Miss with more sparkling pleasure 
 show her applauded sampler to partial Mamma, than 
 I now send my poem to you and Mr M'Murdo, if he is 
 returned to Drumlanrig, You cannot easily imagine 
 what thin-skinned animals, what sensitive plants, poor 
 poets are. How do we shrink into the embittered corner 
 of self-abasement, when neglected or condemned by 
 those to whom we look up ! — and how do we, in erect 
 importance, add another cubit to our stature, on being 
 noticed and applauded by those whom we honour and 
 respect ! My late visit to Drumlanrig has, I can tell 
 you. Madam, given me a balloon waft up Parnassus, 
 where on my fancied elevation I regard my poetic self 
 with no small degree of complacency. Surely, with all 
 their sins, the rhyming ti'ibe are not ungrateful crea- 
 tures. I recollect your goodness to your humble guest 
 — I see Mr M'Murdo adding to the politeness of the 
 gentleman the kindness of a friend, and my heart 
 swells as it would burst, with A\'arm emotions and ar- 
 dent wishes ! It may be it is not gratitude — it may be 
 a mixed sensation. That strange, shifting, doubling 
 animal man is so generally, at best, but a negative, often 
 a worthless creature, that we cannot see real goodness 
 and native worth without feeling the bosom glow with 
 sympathetic approbation. With every sentiment of 
 grateful respect, I have the honour to be, Madam, your 
 obHged and grateful humble servant, R. B. 
 
 * [The husband of this lady was chamberlain to the Diike of 
 Queensberry, at whose house of Drumlanrig the family conse- 
 quently lived. The beautiful daughters of Mr and Mrs M' IMurdo 
 are the heroines of several of Burns's songs.] 
 
 No. CXLIII. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 EUisland, 4th May, 1789. 
 
 My Dear Sir— Your duty-free favour of the 26th' 
 April I received two days ago ; I will not say I perused 
 it Avith pleasure — that is the cold compliment of cere- 
 mony— I perused it. Sir, with deUcious satisfaction ; in 
 short, it is such a letter, that not you, nor your friend, 
 but the legislature, by express proviso in their postage 
 laws, should frank. A letter informed with the soul of 
 friendship is such an honour to human nature, that 
 they should order it free ingress and egress to and from 
 their bags and mails, as an encouragement and mark of 
 distinction to supereminent virtue. 
 
 I have just put the last hand to a little poem, which 
 I think will be something to your taste. One morning 
 lately, as I was out pretty early in the fields, sowing 
 some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a shot from a 
 neighbouring plantation, and presently a poor little 
 wounded hare came crippling by me. You will guess 
 my indignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot 
 a hare at this season, when all of them have young ones. 
 Indeed, there is something in that business of destroy- 
 ing for our sport individuals in the animal creation 
 that do not injure us materially, which I could never 
 reconcile to my ideas of virtue. 
 
 " Inhuman man ! curse on thy bai'b'rous art. 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ! 
 May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 
 
 Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 
 
 Go live, poor wanderer of the v/ood and field. 
 
 The bitter little that of life remains ; 
 
 No more the thickening brakes or verdant plaine. 
 To thee a home, or food, or pastime yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled innocent, some wonted form ; 
 That wonted form, alas ! thy dying bed. 
 The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
 
 The cold earth with thy blood-stain'd bosom warm. 
 
 Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe ; 
 
 The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side ; 
 
 Ah ! helpless nurslings, who will now provide 
 Thaklife a mother only can bestow ? 
 
 Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
 I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. 
 
 And curse the ruthless wretch, and mourn thy hapless 
 fate." 
 
 Let me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful 
 whether it would not be an improvement to keep out 
 the last stanza but one altogether. 
 
 Cruikshank is a glorious production of the author of 
 man.* You, he, and the noble Colonel f of the Croch- 
 allan Fencibles are to me 
 
 Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart. 
 I have got a good mind to make verses on you all, to 
 the tune of " Thi'ee guid fellows ayont the glen." 
 
 R. B.: 
 
 * [Mr Cniikshank of the High School. We know a gentleman 
 in mature life, who lived as a boarder and pupil with Cruikshank, 
 and to whom the character of the man, in consequence of the 
 severity of his discipline, appeared in a very diflPerent light from 
 what it did in the eyes of boon-companion Burns.] 
 
 t [Mr William Dunbar, W. S.] 
 
 :; [The poem in the above letter had also been sent by our bard 
 to Dr Gregory for his criticism. The following is that gentle- 
 man's reply : — 
 
 " Edinburgh, M June, 178P. 
 
 Dear Sir— I take the first leisure hour I could command, to 
 thank j'ou for your letter, and the copy of verses enclosed in it. 
 As there is real poetic merit, I mean both fancy and tenderness, 
 and some happy expressions in them, I think they well deserve 
 that you should revise them carefully, and polish them to the 
 utmost. This I am sure you can do if you please, for you haAe 
 great command both of expression and of rhymes : and you may 
 judge, from the two last pieces of Mrs Hunter's poetry that I gave 
 you, how much correctness and high polish enhance the value of 
 such compositions. As you dcbirc it, I shall, with groat frccdum. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 53 
 
 No. CXLIV. 
 TO MR SAMUEL BROWN. 
 
 Mossgiel, ith May, 1 789. 
 De.\.r Uncle — This, I hope, will find you and your 
 conjugal yoke-fellow in your good old way ; I am impa- 
 tient to know if the Ailsa fowling be commenced for this 
 season yet, as I want three or four stones of feathers, 
 and I hope you will bespeak them for me. It would be 
 a vain attempt for me to enumerate the various trans- 
 actions I have been engaged in since I saw you last, 
 but this know, I am engaged in a smuggling trade, and 
 God knows if ever any poor man experienced better 
 returns, two for one ; but as freight and deUvery have 
 turned out so dear, I am thinldng of taking out a li- 
 cence and beginning in fair trade. I have taken a farm 
 on the borders of the Nith, and, in imitation of the old 
 patriarchs, get men-servants and maid-servants, and 
 flocks and herds, and beget sons and daughters. Your 
 obedient nephew, R- B. 
 
 No. CXLV. 
 
 TO RICHARD BROWN. 
 
 Mauchline,2lst May, 11^9. 
 My dear Friend — I was in the country by accident, 
 and hearing of your safe arrival, I could not resist the 
 temptation of wishing you joy on your return — wishing 
 you would wTite to me before you sail again — wishing 
 you would always set me down as your bosom friend — 
 wishing you long life and prosperity, and that every 
 good thing may attend you — wishing Mrs Brown and 
 vour little ones as free of the evils of this world as is 
 consistent with humanity — wishing you and she were 
 
 give you my most rigorous criticisms on your verses. I wish you 
 would give me another edition of them, much amended, and I 
 will send it to Mrs Hunter, who, I am sure, vviU have much plea- 
 sure in reading it. Pray give me likewise for myself, and her too, 
 a copy (as much amended as you please) of the * Water Fowl on 
 Loch Turit.' 
 
 « The Wounded Hare' is a pretty good subject ; but the mea- 
 sure or stanza you have chosen for it is not a good one ; it does not 
 How weU ; and the rhyme of the fourth line is almost lost by its 
 distance from the first, and the two interposed close rhymes. If 
 I were you, I would put it into a diflFerent stanza yet. 
 
 Stanza 1. The execrations in the first two lines are too strong 
 cr coarse ; but they may pass. ' Murder-aiming' is a bad com- 
 pound epithet, and not very intelligible. ' Blood-stained in 
 stanza iii. line 4, has the same fault : Bleeding bosom is infinitely 
 better. You have accustomed yourself to such epithets, and have 
 no notion how stifiF and quaint they appear to others, and how 
 incongruous with poetic fancy and tender sentiments. Suppose 
 Pope had written, ' AMiy that blood-stained bosom gored,' how 
 would you have liked it ? Form is neither a poetic, nor a digni- 
 fied, nor a plain common word : it is a mere sportsman's word ; 
 unsuitable to pathetic or serious poetry. 
 
 ' Mangled' is a coarse word. ' Innocent,' in this sense, is a 
 nursery word, but both may pass. 
 
 Stanza 4. ' Who will now provide that life a mother only can 
 bestow ?' will not do at all : it is not grammar— it is not intelli- 
 gible. Do you mean, ' provide for that life which the mother 
 had bestowed and used to provide for ?' 
 
 There was a ridiculous slip of the pen, ' Feeling' (I suppose) for 
 ' Fellow,' in the title of your copy of verses ; but even fellow 
 would be wrong ; it is but a colloquial and vulgar word, imsuit- 
 able to your sentiments. ' Shot' is improper too. On seeing a 
 person (or a sportsman) wound a hare ; it is needless to add with 
 what weapon ; but if you think otherwise, you should say, with a 
 fowling-piece. 
 
 Let me see you when you come to town, and I will show you 
 some more of Mrs Hunter's poems." 
 
 It must be admitted, that this criticism is not more distin- 
 guished by its good sense, than by its freedom from ceremony. It 
 is impossible not to smile at the manner in which the poet may 
 be supposed to have received it. In fact it appears, as the sailors 
 say, to have thrown him quite aback. In a letter which he wrote 
 soon after, he says, " Dr Gregory is a good man, but he crucifies 
 me." And again, " I believe in the iron justice of Dr Gregory ; 
 but, like the devils, I believe and tremble." However, he pro- 
 fited by these criticisms, as the reader will find by comparing 
 this first edition of the poem witU that elsewhere published.— 
 
 CURRTE.] 
 
 to make two at the ensuing lying-in, with which Mrs B. 
 threatens very soon to favour me — wishing I had longer 
 time to write to you at present ; and, finally, wishing 
 that, if there is to be another state of existence, Mr B., 
 Mrs B., our little ones, and both families, and you and 
 I, in some snug retreat, may make a jovial party to all 
 eternity ! 
 
 My direction is at EUisland, near Dumfries. Yours, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CXLVI. 
 TO MR JAMES HAMILTON.* 
 
 EUisland, 26th May, 1789. 
 
 Dear Sir — I send you by John Glover, carrier, the 
 above account for Mr TurnbuU, as I suppose you know 
 liis address. 
 
 I would fain offer, my dear Sir, a word of s}Tnpathy 
 with your misfortunes ; but it is a tender string, and I 
 know not how to touch it. It is easy to flourish a set 
 of high-flown sentiments on the subjects that would 
 give great satisfaction to — a breast quite at ease ; but 
 as ONE observes w^ho was very seldom mistaken in the 
 theory of life, " The heart knoweth its own sorrows, 
 and a stranger intermeddleth not therewith." 
 
 Among some distressful emergencies that I have ex- 
 perienced in Ufe, I ever laid this down as my foundation 
 of comfort — That he ivho has lived the life of an honest 
 man, has by no means lived in vain I 
 
 With every wish for your welfare and future success, 
 I am, my dear Sir, sincerely yours, R. B. 
 
 No. CXLVII. 
 TO WILLIAM CREECH, 
 
 Esq. 
 
 EUisland, bOth May, 1789. 
 Sir — I had intended to have troubled you with a long 
 letter ; but at present the delightful sensations of an 
 omnipotent toothache so engross all my inner man, as 
 to put it out of my power even to write nonsense. How- 
 ever, as in duty bound, I approach my bookseller with , 
 an off'ering in my hand — a few poetic clinches, and a 
 song : — to expect any other kind of off'ering from the 
 rhyming tribe would be to know them much less than 
 you do. I do not pretend that there is much merit in 
 these morceaiix, but I have two reasons for sending 
 them ; primo, they are mostly ill-natured, so are in uni- 
 son with my present feelings, while fifty ti'oops of in- 
 fernal spirits are driving post from ear to ear along 
 my jaw-bones ; and, secondly, they are so short, that 
 you cannot leave off" in the middle, and so hurt my pride 
 in the idea that you found any work of mine too heavy 
 to get through. 
 
 I have a request to beg of you, and I not only beg of 
 you, but conjure you, by all your wishes and by all 
 I your hopes, that the muse will spare the satiric wink 
 in the moment of your foibles ; that she will warble 
 the song of rapture round your hymeneal couch ; and 
 that she will shed on your turf the honest tear of elegiac 
 gratitude ! Grant my request as speedily as possible — • 
 send me by the very first fly or coach for this place, 
 three copies of the last edition of my poems, which place 
 to my account. 
 
 Now may the good things of prose, and the good 
 things of verse, come among thy hands, until they be 
 filled with the good things of this life, prayeth R. B. 
 
 No. CXLVIII. 
 TO MR M'AULEY, of DUMBARTON. 
 
 EUisland, 4th June, 1789. 
 Dear Sir — Though I am not without my fears re- 
 specting my fate, at that grand, universal inquest of 
 right and wrong, commonly called The Last Day, yet I 
 trust there is one sin, which that arch- vagabond, Satan, 
 who I understand is to be king's evidence, cannot throw 
 in my teeth, I mean ingratitude. There is a certain 
 * [A gi-ocer in Glasgow.] 
 
54 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 pretty large quantum of kindness for which I remain, 
 and from inabiUty, I fear must still remain, your debtor ; 
 but though unable to repay the debt, I assure you. Sir, 
 T shall ever warmly remember the obligation. It gives 
 me the sincerest pleasure to hear by my old acquain- 
 tance, Mr Kennedy, that you are, in immortal Allan's 
 language, " Hale, and weel, and living ;" and that your 
 charming family are well, and promising to be an ami- 
 able and respectable addition to the company of per- 
 formers, whom the Great Manager of the Drama of 
 Man is bringing into action for the succeeding age. 
 
 With respect to my welfare, a subject in which you 
 once warmly and effectively interested yourself, I am 
 here in my old way, holding my plough, marking the 
 growth of my corn, or the health of my dairy ; and at 
 times sauntering by the delightful windings of the Nith, 
 on the margin of which I have built my humble domi- 
 cile, praying for seasonable weather, or holding an in- 
 trigue with the Muses, the only gipsies with whom I 
 have now any intercourse. As I am entered into the 
 holy state of matrimony, I trust my face is turned com- 
 pletely Zion-ward ; and as it is a rule with all honest 
 fellows to repeat no grievances, I hope that the little 
 poetic licences of former days will of course fall under 
 the oblivious influence of some good-natured statute of 
 celestial prescription. In my family devotion, which, 
 like a good Presbyterian, I occasionally give to my 
 household follcs, I am extremely fond of the psalm, 
 *' Let not the errors of my youth," &c., and that other, 
 " Lo ! children are God's heritage," &c., in which last 
 Mrs Burns, who, by the bye, has a glorious " wood-note 
 wild" at either old song or psalmody, joins me with the 
 pathos of Handel's Messiah. R. B. 
 
 No. CXLIX. 
 TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 
 
 Ellisland, Sth June, 1789. 
 
 My dear Friend — I am perfectly ashamed of myself 
 when I look at the date of your last. It is not that I 
 forget the fi'iend of my heart and the companion of my 
 peregrinations ; but I have been condemned to drudgei'y 
 beyond sufferance, though not, thank God, beyond re- 
 demption. I have had a collection of poems by a lady 
 put into my hands to prepare them for the press ; which 
 horrid task, with sowing corn with my own hand, a 
 parcel of masons, wrights, plasterers, &c., to attend to, 
 roaming on business through Ayrshu-e — all this was 
 against me, and the very first dreadful article was of 
 itself too much for me, 
 
 13th. — I have not had a moment to spare from inces- 
 sant toil since the 8th. Life, my dear Sir, is a serious 
 matter. You know by experience that a man's indivi- 
 dual self is a good deal, but believe me, a wife and 
 family of children, whenever you have the honour to 
 be a husband and a father, will show you that your 
 present and most anxious hours of solitude are spent 
 on trifles. The welfare of those who are very dear to 
 us, whose only support, hope, and stay we are — this, to 
 a generous mind, is another sort of more important 
 object of care than any concerns whatever which centre 
 merely in the individual. On the other hand, let no 
 young, unmarried, rakehelly dog among you, make a 
 song of his pretended liberty and freedom from care. 
 If the relations we stand in to king, country, kindred, 
 and friends, be any thing but the visionary fancies of 
 dreaming metaphysicians ; if religion, vk'tue, magnani- 
 mity, generosity, humanity, and justice, be aught but 
 empty sounds ; then the man who may be said to live 
 only for others, for the beloved, honourable female, 
 whose tender faithful embrace endears life, and for the 
 helpless little innocents who are to be the men and 
 women, the worshippers of his God, the subjects of his 
 king, and the support, nay the very vital existence, of 
 his COUNTRY, in the ensuing age — compare such a man 
 with any fellow whatever, who, whether he bustle and 
 push in business among labourei*s, clerks, statesmen ; 
 or whether he roar and rant, and di'ink and sing in 
 tciverns — a fellow over whose grave no one will breathe 
 
 a single heigh-ho, except from the cobweb-tie of what 
 is called good fellowship — who has no view nor aim but 
 what terminates in himself — if there be any groveUing 
 earth-born wretch of our species, a renegado to com- 
 mon sense, who would fain believe that the noble crea- 
 ture man is no better than a sort of fungus, generated 
 out of nothing, nobody knows how, and soon dissipating 
 in nothing, nobody knows where ; such a stupid beast, 
 such a crawling reptile, might balance the foregoing 
 unexaggerated comparison, but no one else would have 
 the patience. 
 
 Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long silence. To 
 make you amends, I shall send you soon, and more en- 
 couraging still, without any postage, one or two rhymes 
 of my later manufacture. R. B. 
 
 No. CL. 
 TO MR M'MURDO. 
 
 Ellisland, I9th June, 1789. 
 
 Sir — A poet and a beggar are, in so many points of 
 view, alike, that one might take them foj^ the same in- 
 dividual character under different designations ; were 
 it not that though, with a trifling poetic licence, most 
 poets may be styled beggars, yet the converse of the 
 proposition does not hold, that every beggar is a poet. 
 In one particular, however, they remarkably agree ; if 
 you help either the one or the other to a mug of ale, or 
 the picking of a bone, they Avill very wilhngly repay 
 you -svith a song. This occurs to me at present, as I 
 have just dispatched a well-lined rib of John Kirkpat- 
 rick's Highlander — a bargain for which I am indebted 
 to you, in the style of our ballad printers, " Five excel- 
 lent new songs." The enclosed is nearly my newest 
 song, and one that has cost me some pains, though that 
 is but an equivocal mark of its excellence. Two or 
 three others, which I have by me, shall do themselves 
 the honour to wait on your after leisure : petitioners 
 for admittance into favour, must not harass the con- 
 descension of their benefactor. 
 
 You see. Sir, what it is to patronise a poet. 'Tia 
 like being a magistrate in a petty borough ; you do them 
 the favour to preside in then' council for one year, and 
 your name bears the prefatory stigma of bailie for life. 
 
 With, not the compliments, but the best wishes, the 
 sincerest prayers of the season for you, that you may 
 see many and happy years with Mrs M'Murdo, and 
 your family ; two blessings, by the bye, to which your 
 rank does not, by any means, entitle you — a loving Avife 
 and fine family being almost the only good things of 
 this life to which the farm-house and cottage have an 
 exclusive right. I have the honour to be, Sir, your 
 much indebted and very humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. CLI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 <^ Ellisland, 2\st June, 1789. 
 
 Dear Madam — Will you take the effusions, the miser- 
 able effusions of low spirits, just as they flow from their 
 bitter spring 1 I know not of any particular cause for 
 this worst of all my foes besetting me ; but for some 
 time my soul has been beclouded with a thickening at- 
 mosphere of evil imaginations and gloomy presages. 
 
 Monday Evening. 
 
 I have just heard Mr Kirkpatrick preach a sermon. 
 He is a man famous for his benevolence, and I revere 
 him ; but from such ideas of my Creator, good Lord, 
 deliver me ! Religion, my honoured friend, is surely a 
 simple business, as it equally concerns the ignorant and 
 the learned, the poor and the rich. That there is an 
 incomprehensible Great Being, to whom I owe my ex- 
 istence, and that he must be intimately acquainted with 
 the operations and progress of the internal machuiery, 
 and consequent outward deportment of this creature 
 which he has made — these are, I thmk, self-evident 
 propositions. That there is a real and eternal distinc- 
 tion between virtue and vice, and, cohsequently, that I 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 am an accountable creature ; that from the seeming na- 
 ture of the human mmd, as well as from the evident 
 imperfection, nay, positive injustice, in the administra- 
 tion of affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds, 
 there must be a retributive scene of existence beyond 
 
 the grave must, I think, be allowed by evei-y one who 
 
 will give himself a moment's reflection. I will go far- 
 ther," and affirm, that from the sublimity, excellence, 
 and purity of his doctrine and precepts, unparalleled 
 by all the aggregated wisdom and learning of many 
 preceding ages, though, to appearance, he himself was 
 the obscurest and most illiterate of our species — there- 
 fore Jesus Christ was from God. 
 
 Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the hap- 
 piness of others, this is my criterion of goodness ; and, 
 whatever injures society at large, or any individual in 
 it, this is my measure of iniquity. 
 
 What thmk you, Madam, of my creed 1 I trust that 
 I have said nothing that will lessen me in the eye of 
 one whose good opinion I value almost next to the ap- 
 probation of my ovra. mind. R. B. 
 
 No. CLIL 
 TO MR 
 
 1789. 
 
 My dear Sir — The hurry of a farmer in this parti- 
 cular season, and the indolence of a poet at all times 
 and seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for neglect- 
 ing so long to answer your obliging letter of the 5th of 
 August. 
 
 That you have done well in quitting your laborious 
 concern'in * * * *, I do not doubt ; the weighty rea- 
 sons you mention, were, I hope very, and deservedly 
 indeed, weighty ones, and your health is a matter of 
 the last importance ; but whether the remaining pro- 
 prietors of the paper have also done well, is what I 
 much doubt. The * * * *, so far as I was a reader, 
 exhibited such a briUiancy of- point, such an elegance 
 of paragraph, and such a variety of inteUigenee, that I 
 can hardly conceive it possible to continue a daUy paper 
 in the same degree of excellence : but if there was a 
 man who had abihties equal to the task, that man's as- 
 sistance the proprietors have lost. 
 
 When I received your letter I was transcribing for 
 * * * * my letter to the magistrates of the Canongate, 
 Edinburgh, begging their permission to place a tomb- 
 stone over poor Fei'gusson, and their edict in conse- 
 quence of my petition, but now I shall send them to 
 
 * tThe following is the letter to which the above was an answer. 
 Dr Currie has unfortunately suppressed the name of this corre- 
 spondent of our poet :— 
 
 " London, 5th August, 1789. 
 
 JIy Dear Sir— Excuse me when I say, that the uncommon 
 abilities which you possess must render your correspondence very 
 acceptable to any one. I can assure you I am particularly proud 
 of your partiality, and shall endeavour, by every method in my 
 power, to merit a continuance of your politeness. 
 
 * * * *~ 
 
 When you can spare a few moments, I should be proud of a 
 letter from you, directed for me, Gerard Street, Soho. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 I cannot express my happiness sufficiently at the instance of 
 your attachment to my late inestimable friend, Bob Fergusson, 
 who was particularly intimate with myself and relations.* AYhile 
 I recollect with pleasure his extraordinary talents, and many 
 amiable qualities, it affords me the greatest consolation that I am 
 honoured with the correspondence of his successor in national 
 simplicity and genius. That Mr Burns has refined in the art of 
 poetry, must readily be admitted ; but notwithstanding many 
 favourable representations, I am yet to learn that he inherits his 
 convivial powers. 
 
 There was such a richness of conversation, such a plenitude of 
 fancy and attraction in him, that when I call the happy period 
 of our intercourse to my memory, I feel myself in a state of deli- 
 rium. I was then younger than him by eight or ten years, but 
 his manner was so felicitous, that he enraptured every person 
 arotmd him, and infused into the hearts of the young and old the 
 spirit and animation which operated on his own mind.— I am, 
 dear Sir, yours, &c.] 
 
 * The erection of a moniunent to him. 
 
 . Poor Fergusson ! If there be a life beyond 
 
 the grave, which I trust there is ; and if there be a good 
 God presiding over all nature, which I am sure there 
 is — thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious world, 
 where worth of the heart alone is distinction in the man ; 
 where riches, deprived of all their pleasure-purchasing 
 powers, return to their native sordid matter; where 
 titles and honours are the disregarded reveries of an 
 idle dream : and where that heavy virtue, which is the 
 negative consequence of steady dulness, and those 
 thoughtless, though often destructive follies, which are 
 the unavoidable aberrations of frail human nature, will 
 be thrown into equal obHvion as if they had never been ! 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ! So soon as your present views 
 and schemes are concentered in an aim, I shall be glad 
 to hear from you ; as your welfare and happiness is by 
 no means a subject indifferent to, yours, R. Bi 
 
 No. CLIII. 
 
 TO MISS WILLIAMS.* 
 
 Ellisland, 1789. 
 
 Madam— Of the many problems in the nature of that 
 wonderful creature, man, this is one of the most extra- 
 ordinary, that he shaU go on from day to day, from 
 week to week, from month to month, or perhaps from 
 year to year, suffering a hundred times more in an hour 
 from the impotent consciousness of neglecting what he 
 ought to do, than the very doing of it would cost him. 
 I am deeply indebted to you, first for a most elegant 
 poetic comphment ; then, for a poHte, obliging letter ; 
 and, lastly, for your excellent poem on the slave-trade ; 
 and yet, wretch that I am ! though the debts were debts 
 of honour, and the creditor a lady, I have put off and 
 put off even the very acknowledgment of the obhga- 
 tion, until you must indeed be the very angel I take 
 you for, if you can forgive me. 
 
 Your poem I have read with the highest pleasure. I 
 have a way whenever I read a book — ^1 mean a book in 
 our ovm trade. Madam, a poetic one — and when it is my 
 own property, that I take a pencil and mark at the ends 
 of verses, or note on margins and odd paper, little cri- 
 ticisms of approbation or disapprobation as I peruse 
 along. I will make no apology for presenting you with 
 a few imconnected thoughts that occurred to me in my 
 repeated pei'usals of your poem, I want to show you 
 that I have honesty enough to tell you what I take to 
 be truths, even when they are not quite on the side of 
 approbation ; and I do it in the firm faith that you have 
 equal greatness of mind to hear them with pleasure. 
 
 I had lately the honom' of a letter from Dr Moore, 
 where he tells me that he has sent me some books ; 
 they are not yet come to hand, but I hear they are ou 
 the way. 
 
 Wisliing you all success in your progress in the path 
 of fame, and that you may equaUy escape the danger 
 of stumbling through incautious speed, or losing gx-ound 
 through loitering neglect. R. B.f 
 
 * [Helen Maria Williams, to whom Bums had been introduced 
 by Dr Moore] 
 
 t [To the above letter the follo'wing is Miss Williams's answer : 
 
 " 1th August, 1789. 
 
 Dear Sir— I do not lose a moment in returning you my 
 sincere acknowledgments for your letter, and your criticism on 
 my poem, which is a very flattering proof that you have read it 
 with attention. I think your objections are perfectly just, ex- 
 cept in one instance. 
 
 You have indeed been very profuse of panegyric on my little 
 performance. A much less portion of applause from you would 
 have been gratifying to me ; since I think its value depends en- 
 tirely upon the source from whence it proceeds— the incense of 
 praise, like other incense, is more grateful from the quality than 
 the quantity of the odour. 
 
 I hope you stm cultivate the pleasures of poetry, which are 
 precious even independent of the rewards of fame. Perhaps the 
 most valuable property of poetry is its power of disengaging the 
 mind from worldly cares, and leading the imagination to the 
 richest springs of intellectual enjoyment ; since, however fre- 
 quently life may be chequered with gloomy scenes, those who 
 truly love the muse can always find one little path adorned with 
 flowers and cheered by sunshine, "J 
 
56 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. CLIV. 
 TO MR JOHN LOGAN.* 
 
 Ellisland, near Dumfries, 1th Aug. 1789. 
 Dear Sir — I intended to have written you long ere 
 now, and as I told you I had gotten three stanzas and 
 a half on my way in a poetic epistle to you ; but that 
 old enemy of all good works, the devil, threw me into a 
 prosaic mire, and for the soul of me I cannot get out 
 of it. I dare not write you a long letter, as I am going 
 to intrude on your time with a long ballad. I have, as 
 you will shortly see, finished " The Kirk's Alarm ;" but 
 now that it is done, and that I have laughed once or 
 twice at the conceits in some of the stanzas, I am de- 
 termined not to let it get into the public ; so I send you 
 this copy, the first that I have sent to Ayrshire, except 
 some few of the stanzas, which I wrote off in embryo 
 for Gavin Hamilton, under the express provision and 
 request that you will only read it to a few of us, and 
 do not on any account give, or permit to be taken, any 
 copy of the ballad. If I could be of any service to Dr 
 M*Gill, I would do it, though it should be at a much 
 greater expense than irritating a few bigoted priests ; 
 but I am afraid serving him in his present embarras is 
 a task too hard for me. I have enemies enow, God 
 knows, though I do not wantonly add to the number. 
 Still, as I think there is some merit in two or three of 
 the thoughts, I send it to you as a small, but sincere 
 testimony how much, and with what respectful esteem, 
 I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CLV. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Ellisland, 6ih Sept 1789. 
 
 Dear Madam — I have mentioned in my last, my ap- 
 |)ointment to the Excise, and the birth of little Frank ; 
 who, by the bye, I trust will be no discredit to the 
 honourable name of Wallace, as he has a fine manly 
 countenance, and a figure that might do credit to a 
 little fellow two months older ; and likewise an excel- 
 lent good temper, though when he pleases he has a 
 pipe, only not quite so loud as the horn that his im- 
 mortal namesake blew as a signal to take out the pin 
 of StirUng bridge.* 
 
 I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic and part 
 prosaic, from your poetess, Mrs J. Little, a very inge- 
 nious, but modest composition.f I should have written 
 her as she requested, but for the hurry of this new 
 business. I have heard of her and her compositions 
 in this country ; and, I am happy to add, always to the 
 honour of her character. The fact is, I know not well 
 how to write to her ; I should sit down to a sheet of 
 paper that I knew not how to stain. I am no dab at 
 fine-drawn letter-writing ; and, except when prompted 
 by friendship or gratitude, or, which happens extremely 
 rarely, inspired by the muse (I know not her name) 
 that presides over epistolary writing, I sit down, when 
 necessitated to write, as I would sit down to beat hemp. 
 
 Some parts of your letter of the 20th August, struck 
 me with the most melancholy concern for the state of 
 your mind at present. 
 
 Would I could write you a letter of comfort, I would 
 sit down to it with as much pleasure, as I would to 
 write an epic poem of my own composition, that should 
 equal the Iliad. Religion, my dear friend, is the true 
 comfort ! A strong persuasion in a future state of ex- 
 istence ; a proposition so obviously probable, that, set- 
 ting revelation aside, every nation and people, so far as 
 investigation has reached, for at least near four thousand 
 years, have, in some mode or other, firmly believed it. 
 
 * [Of Knockshinnoch, in Glen Afton, Ayrshire.] 
 t [This child, named Francis Wallace after Mrs Dunlop, died 
 at the age of fourteen, lie is described as having been, to all ap- 
 pearance, the most promising of Burns's children.] 
 
 t [Dr Ciu-rie has thought proper to print this effusion in the 
 volume of the poet's general correspondence. Mrs Little was one 
 of the domestics of Mrs Henry, the daughter of Mrs Dunlop, at 
 Loudon Castle] 
 
 In vain Avould we reason and pretend to doubt. I have 
 myself done so to a very daring pitch ; but when I re- 
 flected that I was opposing the most ardent wishes, and 
 the most darling hopes of good men, and flying in the 
 face of all human belief, in all ages, I was shocked at 
 my own conduct. 
 
 I know not whether I have ever sent you the follow- 
 ing lines, or if you have ever seen them ; but it is one 
 of my favourite quotations, v/hich I keen constantly by 
 me in my progress through life, in the language of the 
 book of Job, 
 
 Against the day of battle and of war- 
 spoken of religion : 
 
 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright, 
 
 'Tis this that gilds the horror of our night. 
 
 When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few ; 
 
 When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue ; 
 
 'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart. 
 
 Disarms affliction, or repels his dart ; 
 
 Within the breast bids purest raptures rise. 
 
 Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies. 
 
 I have been busy with Zeluco. The doctor is so ob- 
 liging as to request my opinion of it ; and I have been 
 revolving in my mind some kind of criticisms on novel- 
 writing, but it is a depth beyond my research. I shall, 
 however, digest my thoughts on the subject as Avell as 
 I can. Zeluco is a most sterling performance. 
 
 Farewell ! A Dieu, le ban Dieu,je vous commende! 
 
 No. CLVI. 
 TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, CARSE. 
 
 Ellisland, IGth Oct. 1789. 
 
 Sir — Big with the idea of this important day at Friars 
 Carse, I have watched the elements and skies in the 
 full persuasion that they would announce it to the 
 astonished world by some phenomena of terrific por- 
 tent. Yesternight until a very late hour did I wait with 
 anxious horror for the appearance of some comet firing 
 half the sky ; or aerial armies of sanguinary Scandina- 
 vians, darting athwart the startled heavens, rapid as 
 the ragged Ughtning, and horrid as those convulsions 
 of nature that bury nations. 
 
 The elements, however, seem to take the matter very 
 quietly ; they did not even usher in this morning with 
 triple suns and a shower of blood, symbolical of the 
 three potent heroes, and the mighty claret-shed of the 
 day. For me, as Thomson in his Winter says of the 
 storm — I shall " Hear astonished, and astonished sing" 
 The whistle and the man ; I sing 
 The man that won the whistle, &c. 
 
 Here are we met, three merry boys. 
 Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 
 
 And mony a night we've merry been. 
 And mony mae we hope to be. 
 
 Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
 
 A cuckold cowax'd loun is he : 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
 
 He is the king amang us three. 
 
 To leave the heights of Parnassus, and coix|e to the 
 bumble vale of prose. I have some misgivings that I 
 take too much upon me, when I request you to get your 
 guest. Sir Robert Lawrie, to frank the two enclosed 
 covers for me, the one of them to Sir William Cunning- 
 ham, of Robertland, Bart, at Kilmarnock — the other, 
 to Mr Allan Masterton, writing-master, Edinburgh. 
 The first has a kindred claim on Sir Robert, as being a 
 brother Baronet, and likewise a keen Foxite ; the other 
 is one of the worthiest men in the world, and a man of 
 real genius ; so, allow me to say, he has a fi-aternal 
 claim on you. I want them franked for to-morrow, as 
 I cannot get them to the post to-night. I shall send a 
 servant again for them in the evening. Wishing that 
 your head may be crowned with laurels to-night, and 
 free from aches to-morrow, I have the honour to be, 
 Sir, your deeply indebted humble sex'vant, R. B. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 57 
 
 No. CLVII. 
 TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL. 
 
 EUisland, 1789. 
 
 Sir — I wish from my inmost soul it were in my power 
 to give you a more substantial gratification and return 
 for all the goodness to the jjoet, than ti-anscribing a few 
 of his idle rhymes. However, " an old song," though 
 to a proverb an instance of insignificance, is generally 
 tlie only coin a poet has to pay with. 
 
 If my poems which I have transcribed, and mean 
 still to transcribe, into your book, were equal to the 
 gi-ateful respect and high esteem I bear for the gentle- 
 man to whom I present them, they would be the finest 
 poems in the language. As they are, they will at least 
 be a testimony with what sincerity I have the honour 
 to be, Sir, your devoted humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. CLVIII. 
 TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 
 
 EUisland, 1st Xov. 178P. 
 
 My de.vr Friend — I had ^^ritten you long ere now, 
 could I have guessed where to find you, for I am sure 
 you have more good sense than to waste tlie precious 
 days of vacation time in the dirt of business and Edin- 
 burgh. Wherever you are, God bless you, and lead 
 you not into temptation, but dehver you from evil ! 
 
 I do not know if I hav-e informed you that I am now- 
 appointed to an Excise division, in the middle of which 
 my house and farm he. In this I was extremely lucky. 
 Without ever having been an expectant, as they call 
 their journev-men excisemen, I was directly planted 
 down to all mtents and purposes an officer of Excise, 
 there to flourish and bring forth fruits — worthy of re- 
 pentance. 
 
 I know not how the word exciseman, or still more 
 opprobrious, ganger, will sound in your ears. I too 
 have seen the day when my auditory nerves would have 
 felt very dehcately on this subject ; but a wife and chil- 
 dren are things which have a wonderful power in blunt- 
 ing these kind of sensations. Fifty pounds a-year for 
 life, and a provision for widows and orphans, you wiU 
 allow is no bad settlement for a poet. For the ignominy 
 of the profession, I have the encouragement which I 
 once heard a recruiting serjeant give to a numerous, if 
 not a respectable audience, in the streets of Kilmarnock. 
 *•' Gentlemen, for your further and better encourage- 
 ment, I can assure you that our regiment is the most 
 blackguard corps under the crown, and consequently 
 ■with us an honest fellow has the surest chance of pre- 
 ferment." 
 
 You need not doubt that I find several very unplea- 
 sant and disagreeable circumstances in my business ; 
 but I am tired with and disgusted at the language of 
 complaint against the evils of life. Human existence 
 in the most favourable situations does not abound with 
 pleasures, and has its inconveniences and ills ; capricious 
 foolish man mistakes these inconveniences and ills as if 
 they were the peculiar property of his particular situa- 
 tion ; and hence that eternal fickleness, that love of 
 change, which has ruined, and daily does ruin, many a 
 fine fellow, as well as many a blockhead, and is almost 
 without exception a constant source of disappointment 
 and miser-y. 
 
 I long to hear from you how you go on — not so much 
 in business as in life. Are you pretty well satisfied with 
 your own exertions, and tolerably at ease in your in- 
 ternal I'eflections ? 'Tis much to be a great character 
 as a lawyer, but beyond comparison more to be a great 
 character as a man. That you may be both the one and 
 the other is the earnest wish, and'that you tcill be both 
 is the firm persuasion of, my dear Sir,'&c. R. B. 
 
 No. CLIX. 
 TO MR RICHARD BROWN. 
 
 EUisland, ith November, 1789. 
 I HAVE been so hurried, my ever dear friend, that 
 though I got both your lettei's, I have not been able to 
 
 command an hour to answer them as I wished ; and 
 even now, you are to look on this as merely confessing 
 debt, and craving days. Few things could have given 
 me so much pleasure as the news that you \vei*e once 
 more safe and sound on terra firma, and happy in that 
 place where happiness is alone to be found — in the fire- 
 side circle. May the benevolent Director of all things 
 peculiarly bless you in all those endearing connections 
 consequent on the tender and venerable names of hus- 
 band and father ! I have indeed been extremely lucky 
 in getting an additional income of £50 a-year, while, at 
 the same time, the appointment will not cost me above 
 £10 or £12 per annum of expenses more than I must 
 have inevitably incurred. The worst circumstance is, 
 that the Excise division which I have got is so exten- 
 sive, no less than ten parishes to ride over ; and it 
 abounds besides with so much business, that I can 
 scarcely steal a spare moment. However, labour en- 
 dears rest, and both together are absolutely necessary 
 for the proper enjo^Toent of human existence. I can- 
 not meet you any where. No less than an order from 
 the Board of Excise, at Edinburgh, is necessarj- before I 
 can have so much time as to meet you in AjTshire. But 
 do you come, and see me. We must have a social day, 
 and perhaps lengthen it out with half the night, before 
 you go again to sea. You are the earliest friend I now 
 have on earth, my brothers excepted ; and is not that 
 an endearing cn-cumstance ? When you and I first met, 
 we were at the green period of human life. The twig 
 w^ould easily take a bent, but would as easily return to 
 its former state. You and I not only took a mutual 
 bent, but, by the melancholy, though strong influence 
 of being both of the family of the unfortunate, we were 
 entwined with one another m our growth towards ad- 
 vanced age ; and blasted be the sacrilegious hand that 
 shall attempt to undo the union ! You and I must have 
 one bumper to my favourite toast, " May the compa- 
 nions of our youth be the friends of our old age 1" Come 
 and see me one year ; I shall see you at Port-Glasgow 
 the next, and if we can contrive to have a gossiping 
 between our two bed-feUows, it will be so much addi- 
 tional pleasure. Mrs Burns joins me in kind compli- 
 ments to you and Mrs Brown. Adieu ! I am ever, my 
 dear Sir, yours, R. B. 
 
 No. CLX. 
 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. 
 
 OF FIN TRY 
 
 9th Deccmler, 1789. 
 
 Sir — I have a good while had a wish to trouble you 
 with a letter, and had certainly done it long ere now — 
 but for a humiliating something that throws cold water 
 on the resolution, as if one should say, '•' You have found 
 yiv Graham a very powerful and kind friend indeed, 
 and that interest he is so kindly taking in your concerns, 
 you ought, by every thing in your power, to keep alive 
 and cherish." Now, though since God has thought 
 proper to make one powerful and another helpless, the 
 connection of obligor and obliged is all fair ; and though 
 my being under your patronage is to me highly honour- 
 able, yet, Sir, allow me to flatter myself, that,*as a poet 
 and an honest man, you first interested yourself in my 
 welfare, and principally as such, still you permit me to 
 approach you. 
 
 I have found the Excise business go on a great deal 
 smoother with me than I expected, owing a good deal 
 to the generous friendship of Mr ^litchel, my collector, 
 and the Idnd assistance of Mr Findlater, my supervisor, 
 I dai'e to be honest, and I fear no labour. Nor do I 
 find my hurried life greatly inimical to my correspon- 
 dence with the Muses, Their visits to me, indeed, and 
 I believe to most of their acquaintance, like the visits 
 of good angels, are short and far between ; but I meet 
 them now and then as I jog through the hills of Niths- 
 dale, just as I used to do on the banks of Ayr, I take 
 the liberty to enclose you a few bagatelles, all of them 
 the productions of my leisure thoughts in my Excise 
 rides. 
 
 If you know or liave ever seen Captain Grose, the 
 
58 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 antiquary, you will enter Into any humour that is in 
 the verses on him. Perhaps you have seen them be- 
 fore, as I sent them to a London newspaper. Though 
 I dare say you have none of the solemn-league-and- 
 covenant fire, which shone so conspicuous in Lord 
 George Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I 
 think you must have heard of Dr M'Gill, one of the 
 clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical book. God help 
 him, poor man ! Though he is one of the worthiest, as 
 well as one of the ablest, of the whole priesthood of the 
 Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous 
 terai, yet the poor Doctor and his numerous family are 
 in imminent danger of being thrown out to the mercy 
 of the winter- winds. The enclosed ballad on that busi- 
 ness is, I confess, too local, but I laughed myself at 
 some conceits in it, though I am convinced in my con- 
 science that there are a good many heavy stanzas in 
 it too. 
 
 The election ballad, as you will see, alludes to the 
 present canvass in our string of boroughs. I do not 
 believe there will be such a hard I'un match in the 
 
 whole general election. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 I am too little a man to have any political attachments ; 
 I am deeply indebted to, and have the warmest vene- 
 ration foi', individuals of both parties ; but a man who 
 has it in his power to be the father of a country, and 
 who * * * * *,f is a character that one cannot speak 
 of with patience. 
 
 Sir J. J. does " what man can do," but yet I doubt 
 his fate. R. B. 
 
 TO 
 
 No. CLXI. 
 MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 ElUsland, IZth December^ 1789. 
 Many thanks, my dear Madam, for your sheetful of 
 rhymes. Though at present I am below the veriest 
 prose, yet from you every thing pleases. I am groan- 
 ing under the miseries of a diseased nervous system — 
 a system, the state of which is most conducive to our 
 happiness, or the most productive of our misery. For 
 now near three weeks I have been so ill with a ner- 
 vous headache, that I have been obliged for a time to 
 give up my Excise-books, being scarce able to lift my 
 head, much less to ride once a-week over ten muir 
 parishes. What is man ? To-day, in the luxuriance 
 of health, exulting in the enjoyment of existence ; in a 
 few days, perhaps in a few hours, loaded with conscious 
 painful being, counting the tardy pace of the lingering 
 moments by the repercussions of anguish, and refusing 
 or denied a comforter. Day follows night, and night 
 comes after day, only to curse him with life which gives 
 him no pleasure ; and yet the awful, dark termination 
 of that life is something at which he recoils. 
 Tell us, ye dead ; will none of you in pity 
 
 Disclose the secret ^ • 
 
 What 'tis you are, and toe must shortly be ? 
 
 'tis no matter : 
 
 A little time will make us leam'd as you are. 
 Can it be possible, that when I resign this frail, fever- 
 ish being, I shall still find myself in conscious existence ? 
 When the last gasp of agony has announced that I am 
 no more to those that knew me, and the few who loved 
 me ; when the cold, stiffened, unconscious, ghastly corse 
 is resigned into the earth, to be the prey of unsightly 
 reptiles, and to become in time a trodden clod, shall I 
 be yet warm in life, seeing and seen, enjoying and en- 
 joyed ? Ye venerable sages, and holy flamens, is there 
 probability in your conjectures, truth in your stories, 
 of another world beyond death ; or are they all ahke 
 baseless visions, and fabricated fables? If there is 
 another life, it must be only for the just, the benevo- 
 lent, the amiable, and the humane ; what a flattering 
 idea, then, is a world to come ! Would to God I as 
 firmly believed it as I ardently wish it ! There I should 
 meet an aged parent, now at rest from the many buf- 
 t [Dr Carrie has here ohviously suppressed a bitter.allusion to 
 the Duke of Queensberry.] 
 
 fetings of an evil world, against which he so long and 
 so t^ravely struggled. There should I meet the friend, 
 the disinterested friend of my early life ; the man who 
 rejoiced to see me, because he loved me and could serve 
 me. Muir, thy weaknesses were the aberx'ations of 
 human nature, but thy heart glowed with every thing 
 generous, manly, and noble; and if ever emanation 
 from the All-good Being animated a human form, it 
 was thine ! There should I, with speechless agony of 
 rapture, again recognise my lost, my ever dear Mary ! 
 whose bosom was fraught with truth, honour, constancy, 
 and love. 
 
 My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of heavenly rest? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters ! I trust 
 thou art no impostor, and that thy revelation of bliss- 
 ful scenes of existence beyond death and the grave, is 
 not one of the manj^ impositions which time after time 
 have been palmed on credulous mankind. I trust that 
 in thee ^' shall all the famiHes of the earth be blessed," 
 by being yet connected together in a better world, where 
 every tie that bound heart to heart, in this state of ex- 
 istence, shall be, far beyond our present conceptions, 
 more endearing. 
 
 I am a good deal inclined to think with those who 
 maintain, that what are called nervous affections are 
 in fact diseases of the mind. I cannot reason, I can- 
 not think ; and but to you I would not venture to write 
 any thing above an order to a cobbler. You have felt 
 too much of the ills of hfe not to sympathise with a 
 diseased wretch, who has impaired more than half of 
 any faculties he possessed. Your goodness will excuse 
 this distracted scrawl, which the writer dare scarcely 
 read, and wliich he would throw into the fire, were he 
 able to write any thing better, or indeed any thing at all. 
 Rumour told me something of a son of yours, who 
 was returned from the East or West Indies. If you 
 have gotten news from James or Anthony, it was cruel 
 in you not to let me know ; as I promise you, on the 
 sincerity of a man, who is weary of one world, and 
 anxious about another, that scarce any thing could give 
 me so much pleasure as to hear of any good thing be- 
 falling my honoured friend. 
 
 If you have a minute's leisure, take up your pen in 
 pity to le pauvre miserable ' . R. B. 
 
 No CLXII. 
 
 TO LADY W[INIFRED] M[AXWELL] 
 CONSTABLE.^^ 
 
 ElUsland, \Qth December, 1789. 
 ]\Iy Lady — In vain have I from day to day expected 
 to hear from Mrs Young, as she promised me at Dal- 
 swinton that she would do me the honour to introduce 
 pie at Tinwald ; and it was impossible, not from your 
 ladyship's accessibility, but from my own feelings, that 
 I could go alone. Lately, indeed, Mr Maxwell of Car- 
 ruchen in his usual goodness offered to accompany me, 
 when an unlucky indisposition on my part hindered my 
 embracing the opportimity. To court the notice or the 
 tables of the great, except where I sometimes have had 
 a little matter to ask of them, or more often the plea- 
 santer task of witnessing my gratitude to them, is what 
 I never have done, and I trust never shall do. But 
 with your ladyship I have the honour to be connected 
 by one of the strongest and most endearing ties in the 
 whole moral world. Common sufferers, in a cause 
 where even to be unfortunate is glorious, the cause of 
 heroic loyalty ! Though my fathers had not illustrious 
 honours and vast properties to hazard in the contest, 
 though they left their humble cottages only to add so 
 many units more to the unnoted crowd that followed 
 their leaders, yet what they could they did, and what 
 they had they lost : with unshaken firmness and uncon- 
 cealed political attachments, they shook hands \vith ruin 
 for what they esteemed the cause of their king and their 
 * [Representative of the ancient family of Nithsdale.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 59 
 
 countrj*. This language and the enclosed verses* are 
 for your ladyship's eye alone. Poets are not very 
 famous for their prudence ; but as I can do nothing 
 for a cause which is now nearly no more, I do not wish 
 to hurt myself. I have the honour to he, my lady, your 
 ladyship's obliged and obedient humble servant, 
 
 K. B. 
 
 No. CLXIII. 
 TO PROVOST MAXWELL, OF LOCHMABEN. 
 
 Ellisland, 20ih December, 1789. 
 
 De.ir Provost — As my friend, i\Ir Graham, goes for 
 your good town to-morrow, I cannot resist the tempta- 
 tion to send you a few lines, and as I have nothing to 
 say, I have chosen this sheet of foolscap, and begun, as 
 you see, at the top of the first page, because I have ever 
 observed, that when once people have fairly set out, 
 they know not where to stop. Now that my first sen- 
 tence is concluded, I have nothing to do but to pray 
 Heaven to help me on to another. Shall I write you 
 on pohtics or reMgion, two master subjects for your 
 sayers of nothing 1 Of the first I dare say by this tune 
 you are nearly surfeited ;t and for the last, whatever 
 they may talk of it, who make it a kind of company 
 concern, I never could endure it beyond a soliloquy. I 
 might write you on farming, on buUding, on marketing ; 
 but my poor distracted naind is so torn, so jaded, so 
 racked and bedeviled with the task of the superlatively 
 damned to make one guinea do the business of three, 
 that I detest, abhor, and swoon, at the very word busi- 
 ness, though no less than four letters of my very short 
 surname are in it. 
 
 Well, to make the matter short, I shall betake myself 
 to a subject ever fruitful of themes — a subject the turtle 
 feast of the sons of Satan, and the delicious secret stjgar 
 plum of the babes of grace— a subject sparkling with all 
 the jewels that wit can find in the mines of genius, and 
 pregnant with aU the stores of learning from Moses 
 and Confucius to Franldin and Priestley — in short, 
 may it please your lordship, I intend to write * * * 
 
 [_He)-e the poet inserted a song, the specification of which could he 
 of no benefit to hisfame.^ 
 
 If at any time you expect a field-day in your town, a 
 day when dukes, earls, and knights, pay their court to 
 weavers, tailors, and cobblers, I should like to know of 
 it two or three days before-hand. It is not that I care 
 three skips of a cur dog for the politics, but I should 
 like to see such an exhibition of human nature. If you 
 meet with that worthy old veteran ia religion and good 
 fellowship, Mr Jefirey, or any of his amiable family,J 
 I beg you wUl give them my best compliments. 
 
 E. B. 
 
 ^ No. CLXIV. 
 TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR. 
 
 1790. 
 
 Sir — The following circumstance has, I believe, been 
 omitted in the statistical account, transmitted to you, of 
 the parish of Dunscore, in Nithsdale. I beg leave to 
 send it to you, because it is new, and may be useful. 
 How far it is deserving of a place in your patriotic pub- 
 lication, you are the best judge. 
 
 To store the mmds of the lower classes v/ith useful 
 knowledge, is certainly of very great importance, both 
 to them as individuals, and to society at large. Giving 
 them a turn for reading and reflection, is giving them 
 a source of innocent and laudable amusement, and, 
 besides, raises them to a more dignified degree in the 
 scale of rationahty. Impressed -vvith this idea, a gen- 
 tleman in this parish, Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, 
 set on foot a species of circulatmg Hbrary, on a*plan so 
 
 * [Those addressed to Mr William Tytler.] 
 
 t [The provost, as the leading voter in Marjorie of the Mony 
 Lochs, must have recently had a sufficiency of politics.] 
 
 ± [Mr Jeffrey Avas minister of Lochmaben. One of his daugh- 
 ters was celebrated by Burns in the song, «* I gaed a waefu' gate 
 yestreen."] 
 
 simple as to be practicable in any corner of the country; 
 and ,80 useful as to deserve the notice of every country 
 gentleman, who thinks the improvement of that part 
 of his own species, whom chance has thrown into the 
 humble walks of the peasant and the artizan, a matter 
 worthy of his attention. 
 
 Mr Riddel got a immber of his own tenants, and 
 farming neighbom-s, to form themselves into a society 
 for the purpose of having a hbrary among tliemselves. 
 They entered into a legal engagement to abide by it for 
 three years ; with a saving clause or two, in case of re- 
 moval to a distance, or of death. Each member, at his 
 entry, paid five shillings; and at each of their meetings, 
 which were held every fourth Saturday, sixpence more. 
 With their entry -money, and the credit which they took 
 on the faith of their future funds, they laid in a toler- 
 able stock of books at the commencement. What authors 
 they were to purchase, was always decided by the ma- 
 jority. At every meeting, all the books, under certain 
 fines and forfeitures, by way of penalty, were to be pro- 
 duced; and the members had their choice of the volumes 
 in rotation. He whose name stood for that night first 
 on the list, had his choice of what volume he pleased in 
 the whole collectioh ; the second had his choice after the 
 first ; the tliird after the second ; and so on to the last. 
 At next meeting, he who had been first on the Ust at 
 the preceding meeting, was last at this ; he who had 
 been second was first ; and so on through the whole 
 three years. At the expiration of the engagement, the 
 books were sold by auction, but only among the mem- 
 bers themselves ; and each man had his share of the 
 common stock, in money or in books, as he chose to be 
 a purchaser or not. 
 
 At the breaking up of this little society, which was 
 formed under Mr Riddel's patronage, what with bene- 
 factions of books from him, and what with their own 
 purchases, they had collected together upwards of one 
 hundred and fifty volumes. It will easily be guessed 
 that a good deal of trash would be bought. Among the 
 books, however, of this little Hbrary, were — Blair's Ser- 
 mons, Robertson's History of Scotland, Hume's His- 
 tory of the Stuarts, The Spectator, Idler, Adventurer, 
 Mirror, Lounger, Observer, Man of Feeling, Man of 
 the World, Chrysal, Don Quixote, Joseph Andrews, &c. 
 A peasant who can read, and enjoy such books, is cer- 
 tainly a much superior being to liis neighbour who per- 
 haps stalks beside his team, very little removed, except 
 in shape, from the brutes he drives. 
 
 Wishing your patriotic exertions their so much 
 merited success, I am, Sir, 5'our humble servant, 
 
 A Peasaist.* 
 
 No. CLXV. 
 TO CHARLES SHARPE, Esq. OF HODDAM,t 
 
 UNDER A FICTITIOUS SIGXATURE, ENCLOSING A B.VILAD. 
 
 1790 or 1791. 
 It is true, Sir, you are a gentleman of rank and for- 
 tune, and I am a poor devil — you are a feather in the 
 
 * [The above is extracted from the third volume of Sir John 
 Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, p. 598.— It was en- 
 closed to Sir John by 31 r Riddel himself in the following letter, 
 also printed there :— 
 
 " Sir John— I enclose jou a letter, written by Mr Bums, as 
 an addition to the account of Dunscore parish. It contains an 
 accoimt of a small library which he was so good (at my desire) as 
 to set on foot, in the barony of Monkland, or Friars Carse, in this 
 parish. As its utility has been felt, particularly among the 
 younger class of people, I think, that if a similar plan were esta- 
 blished in the different parishes of Scotland, it would tend greatly 
 to the speedy improvement of the tenantry, trades-people, and 
 work-people. Mr Burns was so good as to take the whole charge 
 of this small concern. He was treasurer, librarian, and censor, 
 to this little society, who will long have a grateful sense of his 
 public spirit and exertions for their improvement and infoi-ma- 
 tion. I have the honour to be, Sir John, yours most sincerely, 
 
 Robert Riddei.." 
 
 — CuRRis, Mr Cunningham adds, that the minister of Dun- 
 score probably omitted to notice the Monkland library scheme, 
 from disUke to the kind of literature patronised by it.] 
 
 t [Dumfrie'-shire.] 
 
CO 
 
 BtJRNS'S PROSE WORiCS. 
 
 cap of society, and I am a very liobuail in his shoes ; 
 }et I have the honour to belong to the same family Mith 
 you, and on that score I now address you. You will 
 perhaps suspect that I am going to claim affinity with 
 the ancient and honourable house of Kirkpatrick : No, 
 no. Sir ; I cannot indeed be properly said to belong to 
 any house, or even any province or Idngdom ; as my 
 mother, who for many years was spouse to a marching 
 regiment, gave me into this bad world, aboard the pac- 
 ket-boat, somewhere between Donaghadee and Port- 
 patrick. By our common family, I mean. Sir, the 
 family of the muses. I am a fiddler and a poet ; and 
 you, I am told, play an exquisite violin, and have a 
 standard taste in the belles lettres. The other day, a 
 brother catgut gave me a charming Scots air of your 
 composition. If I was pleased with the tune, I was in 
 raptures with the title you have given it ; and, taking 
 up the idea, I have spun it into the three stanzas en- 
 closed. Will you allow me. Sir, to present you them, 
 as the dearest oflfei-ing that a misbegotten son of poverty 
 and rhjone has to give ! I have a longing to take you 
 by the hand and unburden my heart by saying, " Sir, 
 I honour you as a man who supports the dignity of 
 human nature, amid an age when frivolity and avarice 
 have, between them, debased us below the brutes that 
 perish !" But, alas. Sir ! to me you are unapproach- 
 able. It is true, the muses baptised me in Castalian 
 streams ; but the thoughtless gipsies forgot to give me 
 a name. As the sex have served many a good fellow, 
 tlie Nine have given me a great deal of pleasure ; but, 
 bewitching jades ! they have beggared me. Would they 
 but spare me a little of their cast-lmen ! were it only 
 to put it in my power to say that I have a shirt on my 
 back ! But the idle wenches, lilce Solomon's lilies, "they 
 toil not, neither do they spin ;" so I must e'en continue 
 to tie my remnant of a cravat, hke the hangman's rope, 
 j'ound my naked throat, and coax my galligaskins to 
 Jceep together theii* many-coloured fragments. As to 
 the affair of shoes, I have given that iip. My pilgrim- 
 ages in my ballad -trade, from town to town, and on 
 your stony-hearted turnpikes too, are what not even 
 the hide of Job's behemoth could bear. The coat on 
 my back is no more ; I shall not speak evil of the dead. 
 It would be equally unhandsome and ungrateful to find 
 fault with my old surtout, which so kindly supplies and 
 conceals the want of that coat. J\Iy hat, indeed, is a 
 great favourite ; and though I got it literally for an old 
 song, I would not exchange it for the best beaver in 
 Britain. I was, during several years, a kind of facto- 
 tum servant to a country clergyman, where I picked 
 up a good many scraps of learning, particularly in some 
 branches of the mathematics. Whenever I feel in- 
 clined to rest myself on my way, I take my seat xmder 
 a hedge, laying my poetic wallet on the one side, and 
 my fiddle-case on the other, and, placing my hat be- 
 tween my legs, I can by means of its brim, or rather 
 brims, go through the whole doctrine of the conic sec- 
 tions. 
 
 However, Sir, don't let me mislead you, as if I would 
 intei'est your pity. Fortune has so much forsaken me, 
 that she has taught me to live without her ; and, amid 
 all my rags and poverty, I am as independent, and much 
 more happy, than a monarch of the woi-ld. According 
 to the hackneyed metaphor, I value the several actors 
 in the great drama of life, simply as they act their parts. 
 I can look on a worthless fellow of a duke with unqua- 
 lified contempt, and can regard an honest scavenger 
 with sincere respect. As you, Sir, go through your 
 role with such distinguished merit, permit me to make 
 one in the chorus of universal applause, and assure you, 
 that, with the highest respect, I have the honour to be, 
 &c.* R. B. 
 
 * [The gentleman to whom this letter was addressed was the 
 father of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., the friend of Sir 
 Walter Scott, and a contributor of original ballad poetry to the 
 Border Minstrelsy.] 
 
 No. CLXVi. 
 TO MR GILBERT BURNS. 
 
 Ellisland, Wth Jamiary, 1790. 
 
 Dear Brother — I mean to take advantage of the 
 frank, though I have not in my present frame of mind 
 much appetite for exertion in writing. My nerves ai'e 
 
 in a state. I feel that boi'rid hypochondria 
 
 pervading every atom of both body and soul. This farm 
 has undone my enjojTnent of myself. It is a ruinous 
 
 affair on all hands. But let it go to ! I'll fight it 
 
 out, and be off with it. 
 
 We have gotten a set of very decent players here just 
 now. I have seen them an evening or two. David 
 Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the manager of the 
 company, a Mr Sutherland, who is a man of apparent 
 worth. On New-year-day evening I gave him the fol- 
 lowing prologue, which he spouted to his audience with 
 applause : — 
 " No song nor dance I bring from yon great city," &c. 
 
 I can no more. If once I was clear of this damned 
 farm, I should respire more at ease. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 TO MR SUTHERLAND, PLAYER, 
 
 ENCLOSING A PROLOGUE. 
 
 Monday morning. 
 I AVAS much disappointed, my dear Sir, in wanting 
 your most agreeable company yesterday. However, I 
 heartily pray for good weather next Sunday ; and what- 
 ever aerial Being has the guidance of the elements, may 
 take any other half dozen of Sundays he pleases, and 
 clothe them with 
 
 Vapours, and clouds, and storms. 
 Until he terrify himself 
 At combustion of his own raising. 
 I shall see you on Wednesday forenoon. In the 
 
 greatest hurry, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CLXVIII. 
 
 TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S. 
 
 Ellisland, lUh January, 1790. 
 
 Since we are here creatures of a day, since " a few 
 summer days, and a few winter nights, and the life of 
 man is at an end," why, my dear much-esteemed Sir, 
 should you and I let negligent indolence, for I know it 
 is nothing woi'se, step in between us and bar the enjoy- 
 ment of a mutual correspondence ? We are not shapen 
 out of the common, heavy, methodical clod, the elemen- 
 tal stuff of the plodding selfish I'ace, the sons of Arith- 
 metic and Prudence ; our feelings and hearts are not 
 benumbed and poisoned by the cursed influence of 
 riches, which, whatever blessing they may be in other 
 respects, are no friends to the nobler qualities of the 
 heart : in the name of random sensibility, then, let never 
 the moon change on our silence any more. I have had 
 a tract of bad health most pai*t of this winter, else you 
 had heard from me long ei'e now. Thank Heaven, I am 
 now got so much better as to be able to partake a little 
 in the enjojTiients of life. 
 
 Our friend, Cunningham, will perhaps have told you 
 of my going into the Excise. The truth is, I found it 
 a very convenient business to have £50 per annum, 
 nor have I yet felt any of these mortifying circumstances 
 in it that I was led to fear. 
 
 Feb. 2d. — I have not, for sheer huriy of business, been 
 able to spai'e five minutes to finish my letter. Besides 
 my farm business, I ride on my Excise matters at least 
 200 miles every week. I have not by any means given 
 up the Muses. You will see in the 3d vol. of Johnson's 
 Scots songs that I have contributed my mite there. 
 
 But, my dear Sii', little ones that look up to you for 
 paternal protection are an important charge. I have 
 already two fine healthy stout little fellows, and I wish 
 to throw some light upon them. I have a thousand 
 reveries and schemes about them, and tlieir future des- 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 61 
 
 tiny. Not that T am a Utopian projector in these things. 
 I am resolved never to breed up a sou of mine to any 
 of the learned professions. I know the value of inde- 
 pendence ; and since I cannot give my sons an indepen- 
 dent fortune, I shall give them an independent line of 
 life. What a chaos of hurry, chance, and changes is 
 this world, when one sits soberly down to reflect on it ! 
 To a father, who himself knows the world, the thought 
 that he shall have sons to usher into it must fill him 
 with dread ; but if he have daughters, the prospect in 
 a thoughtful moment is apt to shock him. 
 
 I hope Mrs Fordyce and the two young ladies are 
 well. Do let me forget that they are nieces of yours, 
 and let me say that I never saw a more interesting, 
 sweeter pair of sisters in my life. I am the fool of my 
 feelings and attachments. I often take up a volume of 
 my Spenser to reaUse you to my imagination,* and think 
 over the social scenes we have had together. God grant 
 that there may be another world more congenial to ho- 
 nest fellows beyond this. A world where these rubs 
 and plagues of absence, distance, misfortunes, ill health, 
 &c., shall no more damp hilarity and divide friendship. 
 This I know is your throng season, but lialf a page wUl 
 much oblige, my dear Sir, yours sincerely. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXIX. 
 TO MRS.DUNLOP. 
 
 Eilislandf 25th January, 1790. 
 It has been owing to unremitting hurry of business 
 that I have not written to you, Madam, long ere now. 
 My health is greatly better, and I now begin once more 
 to share in satisfaction and enjo;)Tnent with the rest of 
 my fellow-creatures. 
 
 Many thanks, my much-esteemed friend, for your 
 kind letters ; but why will you make me run the risk of 
 being contemptible and mercenary in my own eyes? 
 When I pique myself on my independent spirit, I hope 
 it is neither poetic licence, nor poetic rant : and I am 
 so flattered with the honour you have done me, in 
 maldng me your compeer in friendship and friendly 
 correspondence, that I cannot without pain, and a de- 
 gree of mortification, be reminded of the real inequality 
 between our sitiiations. 
 
 Most sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear ]\Iadam, 
 in the good news of Anthony. Not only your anxiety 
 about his fate, but my own esteem for such a noble, 
 warm-hearted, manly young fellow, in the little I had 
 of his acquaintance, has interested me deeply in his for- 
 tunes. 
 
 Falconer, the unfortunate author of the " ShipAvreck," 
 which you so much admire, is no more. After witness- 
 ing the dreadful catastrophe he so feelingly describes 
 in his poem, and after weathering many hard gales of 
 fortune, he went to the bottom with the Aurora frigate ! 
 I foi-get what part of Scotland had the honour of 
 giving him birth, but he was the son of obscurity and 
 misfortune. He was one of those daring adventurous 
 spirits, which Scotland, beyond any other country, is 
 remarkable for producing. Little does the fond motlier 
 think, as she hangs delighted over the sweet little leech 
 at her bosom, where the poor fellow may hereafter 
 wander, and what may be his fate. I remember a 
 stanza in an old Scottish ballad, + which, notwithstand- 
 ing its rude simpHcity, speaks feelingly to the heart : — 
 Little did my mother think. 
 That day she cradled me. 
 What land I was to travel in, ' 
 
 Or what death I should die ! 
 Old Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite study 
 and pursuit of mine ; and now I am on that subject, 
 allow me to give you two stanzas of another old simple 
 ballad, which I am sure will please you. The catas- 
 * [The poet's copy of Spenser was a present from Mr Dunhar.] 
 t [Queen INIary had four attendants of her own Christian name. 
 In the hallad mentioned by Bums, one of these gentlewomen is 
 described as murdering her illegitimate child, and suffering for 
 the crime ; and the verse quoted is one of her last expressions at 
 the place of execution.] 
 
 trophe of the piece is a poor ruined female, lamentmg 
 her fate. She concludes with this pathetic wish : — 
 Oh that my father had ne'er on me smil'd ; 
 
 Oh that my mother had ne'er to me sung ! 
 Oh that my cradle had never been rock'd ; 
 But that I had died when I was yoimg ! 
 Oh that the grave it were my bed ; 
 
 My blankets were my winding-sheet ; 
 The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a' ; 
 And oh sae sound as I should sleep ! 
 I do not remember in all my reading to have met with 
 anything more truly the language of misery, than the 
 exclamation in the last line. Misei'y is like love ; to 
 speak its language truly, the author must have felt it. 
 
 I am every day expecting the doctor to give your 
 little godson* the small-pox. They are rife in the 
 country, and I tremble for his fate. By the way, I can- 
 not help congratulating you on his looks and spirit. 
 Every person who sees him acknowledges him to be 
 the finest, handsomest child he has ever seen. I am 
 myself delighted with the manly swell of his little chest, 
 and a certain miniature dignity in the carriage of his 
 head, and the glance of his fine black eye, which pro- 
 mise the undaunted gallantry of an independent mind. 
 I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time 
 forbids. I promise you poetry until you are tired of it, 
 next time I have the honour of assuring you how truly 
 lam, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXX. 
 TO MR PETER HILL, 
 
 BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH. 
 
 Ellisland, 2d Feb. 1790. 
 
 No I . I will not say one word about apologies or ex- 
 cuses for not writing — I am a poor, rascally ganger, 
 condemned to gallop at least 200 miles every week to 
 inspect dirty ponds and yeasty barrels, and where can 
 I find time to write to, or importance to interest any 
 body ? The upbraidings of my conscience, nay the up- 
 braidings of my wife, have persecuted me on your ac- 
 count these two or three months past. I wish to God I 
 was a great man, that my correspondence might throw 
 light upon you, to let the world see what you really are : 
 and then I would make your fortune, without putting 
 my hand in my pocket for you, which, like all other 
 great men, I suppose I would avoid as much as possible. 
 What are you doing, and how are you doing i Have 
 you lately seen any of my few friends ? What has be- 
 come of the BOROL'GH REFORM, or liow is the fate of my 
 poor namesake Mademoiselle Burns decided ? Oh man ! 
 but for thee and thy selfish appetites, and dishonest 
 artifices, that beauteous form,' and that once innocent 
 and still ingenuous mind, might have shone conspicuous 
 and lovely in the faithful wife, and the affectionate 
 mother ; and shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy 
 pleasures have no claim on thy hmnanity If 
 
 I saw lately in a review some extracts from a new 
 poem, called the " Village Curate ;" send it me. I want 
 likewise a cheap copy of " The World." Mr Arm- 
 strong, the young poet, who does me the honour to 
 mention me so kindly in his works, please give him my 
 best thanks for the copy of his book. I shall write him, 
 my first leisure hour. I Hke his poetry much, but I 
 think his style in prose quite astonishing. 
 
 Your book came safe, and I am going to trouble you 
 Avith further commissions. I call it troubling you — 
 because I want only, books ; the cheapest way, the best ; 
 so you may have to hunt for them in the evening auc- 
 tions. I want Smollett's Works, for the sake of his in 
 comparable humour. I have already Roderick Random, 
 and Humphrey Clinker. Peregrine Pickle, Launcelot 
 Greaves, and Ferdinand Count Fathom, I still want ; 
 but as I said, the veriest ordinary copies will serve me. 
 
 * [The bard's second son, Francis.] 
 
 t [The frail female here alluded to had been the subject of 
 some rather oppressive magisterial proceedings, which took their 
 character from Creech, and roused some public feeling in her 
 behalf.] 
 
62 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 I am nice only In the appearance of my poets. I for- 
 get the price of Cowper's Poems, but I believe I must 
 have them. I saw the other day proposals for a publi- 
 cation, entitled, " Banks's new and complete Christian's 
 Family Bible," printed for C, Cooke, Paternoster Row, 
 London. He promises at least to give in the work, I 
 think it is three hundred and odd engravings, to which 
 he has put the names of the first artists in London.* 
 You will know the character of the performance, as 
 some numbers of it are published : and if it is really 
 what it pretends to be, set me down as a subscriber, 
 and send me the published numbers. 
 
 Let me hear from you, your first leisui'e minute, and 
 trust me you shall in future have no reason to complain 
 of my silence. The dazzling perplexity of novelty will 
 dissipate, and leave me to pursue my course in the quiet 
 path of methodical routine. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXI. 
 TO MR W. NICOL. 
 
 Ellislandy Feb. 9, 1790. 
 
 My dear Sir — That — — mare of yours is dead. I 
 would freely have given her price to have saved her ; 
 she has vexed me beyond description. Indebted as I 
 was to your goodness beyond what I can ever repay, 
 I eagerly grasped at your offer to have the mare with 
 me. That I might at least show my readiness in wish- 
 ing to be grateful, I took every care of her in my power. 
 She was never crossed for riding above half a score of 
 times by me or in my keeping. I drew her in the plough, 
 one of three, for one poor week. I refused fifty -five 
 shillings for her, which was the highest bode I could 
 squeeze for her. I fed her up and had her in fine order 
 for Dumfi'ies fair ; when four or five days before the 
 fair, she was seized with an unaccountable disorder in 
 the sinews, or somewhere in the bones of the neck; 
 with a weakness or total want of power in her fillets, 
 and, in short, the whole vertebrae of her spine seemed 
 to be diseased and unhinged, and in eight and forty 
 hours, in spite of the two best farriers in the country, 
 
 she died, and be ■ to her ! The farriers said that 
 
 she had been quite strained in the fillets beyond cm'e 
 before you had bought her ; and that the poor devil, 
 though she might keep a little flesh, had been jaded and 
 quite worn out with fatigue and oppression. While she 
 was with me, she was under my own eye, and I assure 
 you, my much-valued friend, every thing was done for 
 her that could be done ; and the accident has vexed 
 me to the heart. In fact I could not pluck up spirits 
 to write to you, on account of the imfortunate business. 
 
 There is little new in this country. Our theatrical 
 company, of which you must have heard, leave us this 
 week. Their merit and character are indeed vei-y great, 
 both on the stage and ui pi'ivate life ; not a worthless 
 ci'eature among them ; and their encouragement has 
 been accordingly. Their usual run is from eighteen to 
 twenty-five pounds a-night : seldom less than the one, 
 and the house will hold no more than the other. There 
 have been repeated instances of sending away six, 
 and eight, and ten pounds a-night for want of room. 
 
 * Perhaps no set of men more effectually avail themselves of 
 the easy credulity of the public, than a certain description of 
 Paternoster Row booksellers. Three hundred and odd engrav- 
 ings ! — and by the fii-st artists in London, too !— no wonder that 
 j^ums was dazzled by the splendom- of the promise. It is no 
 unusual thing for this class of impostors to illustrate the Holy 
 Scriptures by plates originally engraved for the History of Eng- 
 land, and I have actually seen subjects designed by our celebrated 
 artist Stothard, from Clarissa Harlowe and the Novelist's Maga- 
 zine, converted, with incredible dexterity, by these bookselling- 
 Breslaws, into Scriptural embellishments ! One of these venders 
 of *' Family Bibles" lately called on me, to consult me profes- 
 sionally about a folio engraving he brought with him. It repre- 
 sented JMons. Buffon, seated, contemplating various groupsof 
 a;nimals that surrounded him : he merely wished, he said, to be 
 informed, whether by unclothing the naturalist, and giving him 
 a rather more resolute look, the plate could not, at a triflipg 
 expense, be made to pass for "Daniel in the Liona' Den!"— 
 Crombk. 
 
 A new theatre is to be built by subscription ; the first 
 stone is to be laid on Friday first to come. Three hun- 
 dred guineas have been raised by thirty subscribers, 
 and thirty more might have been got if wanted. The 
 manager, Mr Sutherland, was introduced to me by a 
 friend from Ayr ; and a worthier or cleverer fellow I 
 have rarely met with. Some of our clergy have slipt 
 in by stealth now and then ; but they have got up a 
 farce of their own. You must have heard how the Rev. 
 Mr Lawson of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Rev. Mr 
 Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, and the rest of that faction, 
 have accused, in formal process, the unfortunate and 
 Rev. Mr Heron of Kirkgunzeon, that in ordaining Mv 
 Nielsen to the cure of souls in Kirkbean, he, the said 
 Heron, feloniously and ti*easonably bound the said Niel- 
 sen to the confession of faith, so far as it zoas agreeable 
 to reason and the word of God! 
 
 Mrs B. begs to be remembered most gratefully to you. 
 Little Bobby and Frank are charmingly well and 
 healthy. I am jaded to death with fatigue. For these 
 two or three months, on an average, I have not ridden 
 less than 200 miles per week. I have done little in the 
 poetic way. I have given Mr Sutherland two Prologues ; 
 one of which was delivered last week. I have likewise 
 strung four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune of 
 Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor unfortunate 
 mare, begiiming (the name she got here was Peg Nichol- 
 son) 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 
 As ever trode on airn ; 
 But now she's floating down the Nith, 
 And past the mouth o* Cairn. 
 
 See Poetical JVorks, p. 78. 
 
 My best compliments to Mrs Nicol, and little Neddy, 
 and all the family ; I hope Ned is a good scholar, and 
 will come out to gather nuts and apples with me next 
 harvest. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXII. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM.* 
 
 Ellisland, 13th February/, 1790. 
 
 I BEG your pardon, my dear and much- valued friend, 
 for writing to you on this very unfashionable, unsightly 
 sheet. 
 
 My poverty but not my will consents. 
 
 But to make amends, since of modish post I have 
 none, except one poor vddowed half -sheet of gilt, which 
 lies in my drawer, among my plebeian foolscap pages, 
 like the widow of a man of fashion, whom that unpolite 
 scoundrel. Necessity, has driven from Burgundy and 
 Pineapple, to a dish of Bohea with the scandal-bearing 
 help -mate of a village-priest; or a glass of whisky- 
 toddy with a ruby-nosed yoke-fellow of a foot-padding 
 exciseman — I make a voav to enclose this sheet-full of 
 epistolai'y fragments in that my only scrap of gilt-paper. 
 
 * [Mr Cunningham had recently \vritten in the following terras 
 to Burns : — 
 
 " 28th January, 1790. 
 
 In some instances it is reckoned unpardonable to quote any 
 one's own words ; but the value I have for your friendship, no- 
 thing can more truly or more elegantly express than 
 Time but the impression stronger makes, 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 Having written to you twice without having heard from you, I. 
 am apt to think my letters have miscarried. My conjecture is 
 only framed upon the chapter of accidents turning up against me, 
 as it too often does, in the trivial, and, I may -with truth add, the 
 more important affairs of life ; but I shall continue occasionally 
 to inform you what is going on among the circle of your friends 
 in these parts. In these days of merriment, I ha?e frequently 
 heard your name proclaimed at the jovial board, under the roof 
 of oiu: hospitable friend at Stenhouse-mills ; there were no 
 
 Lingering moments number'd with care. 
 I saw your * Address to the New-year' in the Dumfries Journal. 
 Of your productions I shall say nothing ; but my acquaintances 
 allege that when your name is mentioned, which every man of 
 celebrity must know often happens, I am the champion, the 
 Mendoza, against all snarling critics and narrow-minded reptiles, 
 of whom a few on this planet do a'atvl. 
 
 With best compliments to your Avife, and her black-eyed sister, 
 I remain yours, &c."] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 63 
 
 I am indeed your unworthy debtor for three friendly 
 letters. I ought to have written to you long ere now ; 
 but it is a literal fact, I have scarcely a spare moment. 
 It is not that I will not write to you : Miss Burnet is 
 not more dear to her guardian angel, nor his grace the 
 Duke of Queensberry to the powers of darkness, than 
 my friend Cunningham to me. It is not that I cannot 
 write to you ; should you doubt it, take the following 
 fragment, which was intended for you some time ago, 
 aud be convinced that I can antithesize sentiment, and 
 circumvolute periods, as well as any coiner of phrase in 
 the regions of philology. 
 
 December, 1789. 
 
 My dear Cunningham — Where are you ? And what 
 are you doing ? Can you be that son of levity, who takes 
 up a friendship as he takes up a fashion ; or are you, 
 like some other of the worthiest fellows in the world, 
 the victim of indolence, laden with fetters of ever- 
 increasing weight? 
 
 What strange beings we are ! Since we have a por- 
 tion of conscious existence, equally capable of enjoyiiig 
 pleasure, happiness, and rapture, or of suffering pain, 
 wretchedness, and misery, it is surely worthy of an 
 inquiry, whethor there be not such a thing as a science 
 of life ; whether method, economy, and fertility of ex- 
 pedients, be not applicable to enjoyment ; and whether 
 there be not a want of dexterity in pleasure, which ren- 
 ders our little scantling of- happiness still less ; and a 
 profuseness, an intoxication in bliss, which leads to sa- 
 tiety, disgust, and self-abhorrence. There is not a doubt 
 but that health, talents, character, decent competency, 
 respectable friends, are real substantial blessings ; and 
 yet do we not daUy see those who enjoy many or all of 
 these good things, contrive, notwithstanding, to be as 
 unhappy as others to whose lot few of them have fallen ? 
 I beUeve one great source of this mistake or misconduct 
 is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called ambition, 
 which goads us up the hill of life ; not as we ascend other 
 eminences, for the laudable curiosity of viewing an ex- 
 tended landscape, but rather for the dishonest pride of 
 looking down on others of our fellow-creatures, seem- 
 ingly diminutive in humbler stations, &c. &c. 
 
 Sunday, \Uh February, 1790. 
 
 God help me ! I am now obliged to join 
 I^ight to day, and Sunday to the week. 
 If there be any truth in tlie orthodox faith of these 
 
 churches, I am past redemption, and, what is 
 
 worse, to all eternity. I am deeply read in 
 
 Boston's Four-fold State, Marshal on Sanctificatiou, 
 Guthrie's Trial of a Saving Interest, &e. ; but " there 
 is no balm in Gilead, there is no physician there" for 
 me ; so I shall e'en turn Arminian, and trust to " Sia- 
 cere though imperfect obedience." 
 
 Tuesday, \Gth, 
 Luckily for me, I was prevented from the discussion 
 of the knotty point at which I had just made a full stop. 
 All my fears and cares are of this world : if there is 
 another, an honest man has nothing to fear from it. I 
 hate a man that wishes to be a deist ; but, I fear, every 
 fair, unprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be a 
 sceptic. It is not that there are any very staggering 
 arguments against the immortality of man ; but, hke 
 electricity, phlogiston, &c., the subject is so involved in 
 darkness, that we want data to go upon. One thing 
 frightens me much : that we are to live for ever, seems 
 too good news to be true. That we are to enter into a 
 new scene of existence, where, exempt from want and 
 pain, we shall enjoy ourselves and our friends without 
 satiety or separation — how much should I be indebted 
 to any one who could fully assure me that this was cer- 
 tain 1 
 
 My time is once more expired. I will write to Mr 
 Cleghorn soon. God bless him and all his concerns ! 
 And may all the powers that preside over conviviality 
 and friendship be present with all their kindest influ- 
 ence, when the bearer of this, Mr Syme, and you meet ! 
 I wish I could also make one. 
 Finally, brethren, farewell ! Whatsoever things are 
 
 lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, whatsoever things 
 are charitable, whatsoever things are kind, think on 
 these things, and think on R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXIII. 
 TO MR HILL. 
 
 Ellisland, Id March, 1790. 
 
 At a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly Society, 
 it was resolved to augment their library by the follow- 
 ing books, which you are to send us as soon as possible : 
 — The Mirror, The Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of 
 the World (these, for my own sake, I wish to have by 
 the first carrier), Knox's History of the Reformation ; 
 Rae's History of the Rebellion in 1715 ; any good His- 
 tory of the Rebellion in 1745 ; A Display of the Seces- 
 sion Act and Testimony, by Mr Gib ; Hervey's Medita- 
 tions ; Beveridge's Thoughts ; and another copy of 
 Watson's Body of Divinity. 
 
 I wrote to Mr A. Masterton three or four months 
 ago, to pay some money he owed me into your hands, 
 and lately I wrote to you to the same purpose, but I 
 have heard from neither one nor other of you. 
 
 In addition to the books I commissioned in my last, 
 I want very much An Index to the Excise Laws, or 
 an Abridgement of all the Statutes now in force relative 
 to the Excise, by Jellinger Symons ; I want three 
 copies of this book ; if it is now to be had, cheap or dear, 
 get it for me. An honest country neighbour of mine 
 wants, too, a Family Bible, the larger the better, but 
 second-handed, for he does not choose to give above ten 
 shillings for the book. I want likewise for myself, as 
 you can pick them up, second-handed, or cheap, copies 
 of Otway's Dramatic Works, Ben Jonson's, Dryden's, 
 Congreve's, Wycherley's, Vanbrugh's, Gibber's, or any 
 Dramatic Works of the more modern Macklin, Garrick, 
 Foote, Colman, or Sheridan. A good copy, too, of 
 MoUere, in French, I much want. Any other good 
 dramatic authors in that language I want also ; but 
 comic authors chiefly, though I should wish to have 
 Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire too. I am in no hurry 
 for all, or any of these, but if you accidentally meet with 
 them very cheap, get them for me. * 
 
 And now, to quit the dry walk of business, how do you 
 do, my dear friend % — and how is !Mrs Hill ? I trust, if 
 now and then not so elegantly handsome, at least as 
 amiable, and sings as divinely as ever. My good wife 
 too has a charming " wood-note wild ;" now could we 
 four . 
 
 I am out of all patience with this vile world, for one 
 thing. Mankind are by nature benevolent creatures, 
 except in a few scoundrelly instances. I do not think 
 that avarice of the good things we chance to have is 
 born with us : but we are placed here amid so much 
 nakedness, and hunger, and poverty, and want, that we 
 are under a cursed necessity of studying selfishness, in 
 order that we may exist ! Still there are, in every 
 age, a few souls, that all the wants and woes of life 
 cannot debase to selfishness, or even to the necessary 
 alloy of caution and prudence. If ever I am in danger 
 of vanity, it is when I contemplate myself on this side 
 of my disposition and character. God knows, I am no 
 saint ; I have a whole host of follies and sins to answer 
 for ; but if I could, and I believe I do it as far as I can, 
 I would wpe away all tears from all eyes. Adieu ! 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXIV. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 . Ellisland, 10th April, 1790. 
 I HAVE just now, my ever-honoured friend, enjoyed 
 a very high luxury, in reading a paper of the Lounger. 
 You know my national prejudices. I had often I'ead 
 
 * [A letter to Lady Harriet Don, quoted by JNIr Cunningham 
 in his edition of Burns, shows that the poet was now contemplat- 
 ing dramatic composition, and, with that view, was anxious to 
 study the best dramatic authors, English and French, being the 
 only languages with which he was acciuainted.] 
 
64 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 and admired the Spectator, Adventurei', Rambler, and 
 World ; but still with a certain regret that they were 
 BO thoroughly and entirely English. Alas ! have I often 
 said to myself, what are all the boasted advantages 
 which my country reaps from the union, that can coun- 
 terbalance the annihilation of her independence, and 
 even her very name ! I often repeat that couplet of my 
 favourite poet, Goldsmith — 
 
 States of native liberty possest, 
 
 Tliough very poor, may yet be very blest. 
 
 Nothing can reconcile me to the common terms, 
 English ambassador, English court, &c. And I am 
 out of all patience to see that equivocal character, 
 Hastings, impeached by " the Commons of England." 
 Tell me, my friend, is this weak prejudice ? I believe 
 in my conscience such ideas as " my country ; her in- 
 dependence ; her honour ; the illustrious names that 
 mark the history of my native land ;" &c. — I believe 
 these, among your men of the world, men who, in fact, 
 guide for the most part and govern our world, are 
 looked on as so many modifications of wrong-headedness. 
 They know the use of bawling ont such terms, to rouse 
 or lead the rabble ; but for their own private use, with 
 almost all the able statesmen that ever existed, or now 
 exist, when they talk of right and wrong they only mean 
 proper and improper ; and their measure of conduct is 
 not what they ought, but what they dare. For the 
 truth of this I shall not ransack the history of nations, 
 but appeal to one of the ablest judges of men that ever 
 lived — the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield. In fact, a 
 man who could thoroughly control his vices whenever 
 they interfered with his interests, and who could com- 
 pletely put on the appearance of every virtue as often 
 as it suited his purposes, is, on the Stanhopian plan, 
 the perfect man; a man to lead nations. But are great 
 abilities, complete without a flaw, and polished without 
 a blemish, the standard of human excellence ? This is 
 certainly the staunch opinion of men of the world ; but 
 I call on honour, virtue, and worth, to give the Stygian 
 doctrine a loud negative ! However, this must be 
 allowed, that, if you abstract from man the idea of an 
 existence beyond the grave, then the true measure of 
 human conduct is, proper and improper; virtue and 
 vice, as dispositions of the heart, are, in that case, of 
 scarcely the same import and value to the world at 
 large, as harmony and discord in the modifications of 
 sound ; and a delicate sense of honour, like a nice ear 
 for music, though it may sometimes give the possessor 
 an ecstacy unknown to the coarser organs of the herd, 
 yet, considering the harsh gratings, and inharmonic 
 jars, in this ill-tuned state of being, it is odds but the 
 individual would be as happy, and certainly would be 
 as much respected by the true judges of society as it 
 would then stand, without either a good ear or a good 
 heart. / 
 
 You must know I have just met with the Mirror and 
 Lounger for the first time, and I am quite in raptures 
 with them ; I should be glad to have your opinion of 
 some of the papers. The one I have just I'ead, Lounger, 
 No. 61, has cost me more honest tears than any thing 
 I have read of a long time,* Mackenzie has been 
 called the Addison of the Scots, and, in my opinion, 
 Addison would not be hurt at the comparison. If he 
 has not Addison's exquisite humour, he as certainly 
 outdoes him in the tender and the pathetic. His Man 
 of Feeling (but I am not counsel learned in the laws of 
 criticism) I estimate as the first perfoi-mance in its kind 
 I ever saw. From what book, moral or even pious, 
 will the susceptible young mind receive impressions 
 more congenial to humanity and kindness, generosity 
 and benevolence — in short, more of all that ennobles 
 the soul to herself, or endears Jier to others — than from 
 the simple affecting tale of poor Harley ? 
 
 Still, with all my admiration of Mackenzie's writings, 
 I do not know if they are the fittest reading for a young 
 man who is about to set out, as the phrase is, to make 
 his way into life. Do not you think. Madam, that among 
 the few favoured of Heaven in the structure of their minds 
 * [This paper relates to attachments between servants and 
 masters, and concludes with the story of Albert Bane.] 
 
 (for such there certainly are), there may be a purity, 
 a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance of soul, which are 
 of no use, nay, in some degree, absolutely disqualifying, 
 for the truly important business of making a man's way 
 into life ! If I am not much mistaken, my gallant 
 young friend, A******,t is very much under these dis- 
 qualifications ; and for the young females of a family I 
 could mention, well may they excite parental solicitude, 
 for I, a common acquaintance, or as my vanity will have 
 it, a humble friend, have often trembled for a turn of 
 mind which may render them eminently happy, or 
 peculiarly miserable ! 
 
 I have been manufacturing some verses lately ; but 
 as I have got the most hurried season of Excise busi- 
 ness over, I hope to have more leisure to transcribe 
 any thing that may show how much I have the honour 
 to be. Madam, yours, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXV. 
 TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. 
 
 Ellisland, 1790. 
 
 Sir — I shall not fail to wait on Captain Riddel to-night 
 — I wish and pray that the goddess of justice herself 
 would appear to-morrow among our hon. gentlemen, 
 merely to give them a word in their ear that mercy to 
 the thief is injustice to the honest man. For my part, 
 I have galloped over my ten parishes these four days, 
 until this moment that I am just alighted, or rather, that 
 my poor jackass-skeleton of a horse has let me down ; 
 for the miserable devil has been on his knees half a 
 score of times within the last twenty miles, teUing me, 
 in his own way, " Behold, am not I thy faithful jade 
 of a horse, on which thou hast ridden these many 
 years !" 
 
 In short. Sir, I have broke my horse's wind, and 
 almost broke my own neck, besides some injuries in a 
 part that shall be nameless, owing to a hard-heai'ted 
 stone of a saddle. I find that every offender has so 
 many great men to espouse his cause, that I shall not 
 be surprised if I am notj committed to the strong-hold 
 of the law to-morrow for insolence to the dear friends 
 of the gentlemen of the country. I have the honour to 
 be, Sir, your obliged and obedient humble R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXVI. 
 TO DR MOORE. 
 
 Dumfries, Excise-Office, lilh July, 1790. 
 
 Sir — Coming into town this morning to attend my 
 duty in this office, it being collection-day, I met Avith a 
 gentleman who tells me he is on his way to London ; so 
 I take the opportunity of writing to you, as franking is 
 at present under a temporary death. I shall have some 
 snatches of leisure througli the day, amid our horrid 
 business and bustle, and I shall improve them as well 
 as I can ; but let my letter be as stupid as * * * * ^'', 
 as miscellaneous as a newspaper, as short as a hungry 
 grace-before-meat, or as long as a law-paper in the 
 Douglas cause ; as ill-spelt as country John's billet- 
 doux, or as unsightly a scrawl as Betty Byre-Mucker's 
 answer to it ; I hope, considering circumstances, you 
 will forgive it ; and as it will put you to no expense 
 of postage, I shall have the less reflection about it. 
 
 I am sadly ungrateful in not returning you my thanks 
 for your most valuable present, Zeluco. In fact, you 
 are in some degree blameable for my neglect. You 
 were pleased to express a wish for my opinion of the 
 work, which so flattered me, that nothing less would 
 serve my overweening fancy, than a formal criticism 
 on the book. In fact, I have gravely planned a com- 
 parative view of you. Fielding, Richardson, and Smol- 
 lett, in your different qualities and merits as novel 
 writers. This, I own, betrays my i-idiculous vanity, 
 
 t [Probably Anthony, a son of Mrs Dimlop, is here meant.] 
 + [Though the allusions in this letter are somewhat obscure, 
 we can scarcely doubt that there should be but one negative Jii 
 
 the above sentence] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 65 
 
 and I may probably never bring the business to bear ; 
 but I am fond of the spirit young Elihu shows in the 
 book of Job — " And I said, I will also declare my opi- 
 nion." I have quite disfigured my copy of the book 
 mth my annotations. I never take it up without at the 
 same time taking my pencil, and marking with aste- 
 risms, parentheses, &c., wherever I meet with an ori- 
 ginal thought, a nervous remai'k on life and manners, 
 a remarkable, well-turned pei^iod, or a character 
 sketched with uncommon precision. 
 
 Though I should hardly think of fairly writing out 
 my " Comparative View," I shall certainly trouble you 
 with my remarks, such as they are. 
 
 I have just received from my gentleman that horrid 
 summons in the book of Revelation — " That time shall 
 be no more ! " 
 
 The little collection of sonnets have some charming 
 poetry in them. If indeed I am indebted to the fair 
 author for the booli,* and not, as I rather suspect, to 
 a celebi-ated author of the other sex, I should certainly 
 have written to the lady, with my grateful acknowledg- 
 ments, and my own ideas of the comparative excellence 
 of her pieces. I would do this last, not from any vanity 
 of thinking that my remarks could be of much conse- 
 quence to Mrs Smith, but merely from my own feelings 
 as an author, doing as I would be done by. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXVII. 
 TO MR MURDOCH, 
 
 TJiAClIER OF FRENCH, LONDON. 
 
 Ellisland, July IQth, 1790. 
 
 My dear Sir — I received a letter from you a long 
 time ago, but unfortunately, as it was in the time of my 
 peregrinations and journeyings through Scotland, I 
 mislaid or lost it, and by consequence your direction 
 along with it. Luckily, my good star brought me ac- 
 quainted with Mr Kennedy, who, I understand, is an 
 acquaintance of yours : and by his means and mediation 
 I hope to replace that link which my unfoi'tunate negli- 
 gence had so unluckily broke in the chain of our cor- 
 respondence. I was the more vexed at the vile accident, 
 as my brother William, a journeyman saddler, has been 
 for some time in London, and wished above all things 
 for your direction, that he might have paid his respects 
 to his father's friend. 
 
 His last address he sent to me was, *' Wm. Burns, 
 at Mr Barber's, saddler. No. 181, Strand." I writ him 
 by Mr Kennedy, but neglected to ask him for your 
 address ; so, if you find a spare half minute, please let 
 my brother know by a card where and when he will 
 find you, and the poor fellow will joyfully wait on you, 
 as one of the few surviving fi'iends of the man whose 
 name, and Christian name too, he has the honour to 
 bear. 
 
 The next letter I write you shall be a long one. I 
 have much to tell you of " hair-breadth 'scapes in th' 
 imminent deadly breach," with all the eventful history 
 of a life, the early years of which owed so much to 
 your kind tutorage ; but this at an hour of leisure. My 
 kindest compliments to Mrs Murdoch and family. I 
 am ever, my dear Sir, your obliged friend, R. B.f 
 
 * [This book was the Sonnets of Charlotte Smith.] 
 t This letter was communicated to the Editor (Cromek) by a 
 gentleman, to whose liberal advice and information he is much 
 indebted, Mr John Murdoch, the tutor of the poet, accompanied 
 by the following interesting note : — 
 
 " London, Hart Street, Bloomsbury, 28th Dec. 1807. 
 DisAR Sir— The folloAving letter, which I lately foimd among 
 my papers, I copy for your perusal, partly because it is Burns's, 
 partly beca^use it makes honourable mention of my rational Chris- 
 tian friend, his father ; and likewise because it is rather flatter- 
 ing to myself. I glory in no one thing so much as an intimacy 
 with good men — the friendship of others reflects no honour. 
 When I recollect the pleasure (and I hope benefit) I received 
 from the conversation of William Burns, especially when on 
 the Lord's day we walked together for about two miles to the 
 house of prayer, there publicly to adore and praise the giver of 
 all good, I entertain an ardent hope tliat together we shall ' re- 
 
 No. CLXXVin. 
 'to MR M*MURDO. 
 
 Ellisland, 2d August, 1790. 
 Sir — Now that you are over with the sirens of Flat- 
 tery, the harpies of Corruption, and the furies of Ambi- 
 tion — these infernal deities, that on all sides, and in all 
 parties, preside over the villanous business of politics — 
 permit a mstic muse of your acquaintance to do her 
 best to soothe you with a song. 
 
 You knew Henderson* — I have not flattered his me- 
 mory. I have the honour to be. Sir", your obliged hum- 
 ble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXIX. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Wi August, 1790. 
 
 Dear Madam — After a long day's toil, plague, and 
 care, I sit down to write to you. Ask me not why I 
 have delayed it so long ? It was owing to hurry, indo- 
 lence, and fifty other things ; in short, to any thing 
 but forgetfulness of la plus amiable de son sexe. By the 
 bye, you are indebted your best courtesy to me for this 
 last compliment, as I pay it from my sincere conviction 
 of its truth — a quality rather rare in compliments of 
 these grinning, boAving, scraping times. 
 
 Well, I hope writing to you will ease a little my trou- 
 bled soul. Sorely has it been bruised to-day ! A cl- 
 devant friend of mine, and an intimate acquaintance of 
 yours, has given my feelings a wound that I perceive 
 will gangrene dangerously ere it cure. He has wounded 
 my pi'ide ! R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXX. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Ellisland, 8th August, 1790. 
 
 Forgive me, my once dear, and ever dear friend, my 
 seeming negligence. You cannot sit down and fancy 
 the busy life I lead. 
 
 I laid down my goose feather to beat my brains for 
 an apt simile, and had some thoughts of a country gran- 
 num at a family christening — a bride on the market- 
 day before her marriage, or a tavern-keeper at an 
 election dinner ; but the resemblance that hits my fancy 
 best is, that blackguard misci-eant, Satan, who roams 
 about like a roai'ing lion, seeking, searching whom he 
 may devour. However, tossed about as I am, if I choose 
 (and who would not choose ?) to bind down with the cram- 
 pets of attention the brazen foundation of integrity, I 
 may rear up the superstructure of independence, and 
 from its daring tui-rets bid defiance to the storms of 
 
 new the glorious theme in distant worlds,' with powers more 
 adequate to the mighty subject, the exubisrantbeneficenck 
 OK THE GREAT CREATOR. But to the leiiQv:—\_U.ere follows tlte 
 letter relative to young William Burns.'] 
 
 I promised myself a deal of happiness in the conversation of my 
 dear young friend; but my promises of this nature generally 
 prove fallacious. Two visits were the utmost that I received. 
 At one of them, however, he repeated a lesson which I had given 
 him about twenty years before, when he was a mere child, con- 
 cerning the pity and tenderness due to animals. To that lesson 
 (which it seems was brought to the level of his capacity) he de- 
 clared himself indebted for almost all the philanthropy he pos- 
 
 Let not parents and teachers imagine that it is needless to talk 
 seriously to children. They are sooner fit to be reasoned with 
 than is generally thought. Strong and indelible impressions are 
 to be made before the mind be agitated and ruffled by the nume- 
 rous train of distracting cares and unruly passions, whereby it is 
 frequently rendered almost unsusceptible of the principles and 
 precepts of rational religion and sound morality. 
 
 But I find myself digressing again. Poor AVilliam ! then in the 
 bloom and vigour of youth, caught a putrid fever, and, in a few 
 days, as real chief mourner, I followed his remains to the land 
 of forgetfulness. John Murdoch." 
 
 —Cromek. 
 
 * [The poem enclosed was the Elegy on Captain Matthew 
 Henderson.] 
 
66 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS, 
 
 fate. And is not this a " consummation devoutly to be 
 wished ?" 
 
 Thy spirit, Independence, let me share ; 
 Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye ! 
 
 Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, 
 Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky ! 
 Are not these noble verses ? They are the introduc- 
 tion of Smollett's Ode to Independence : if you have 
 not seen the poem, I will send it to you. How wretched 
 is the man that hangs on by the favours of the great ! 
 To shrink from every dignity of man, at the approach 
 of a lordly piece of self-consequence, who, amid all his 
 tinsel ghtter and stately hauteur, is but a creature 
 formed as thou art — and perhaps not so well formed 
 as thou art — came into the world a puling infant as 
 thou didst, and must go out of it as all men must, a 
 naked corse. R. B,* 
 
 No. CLXXXI. 
 TO DR ANDERSON. 
 
 Sir — I am much indebted to my worthy friend, Dr 
 Blacldock, for introducing me to a gentleman of Dr 
 Anderson's celebrity ; but when you do me the honour 
 to ask my assistance in your proposed publication, alas. 
 Sir ! you might as well think to cheapen a little honesty 
 at the sign of an advocate's wig, or humility under the 
 Geneva band. I am a miserable hurried devil, worn 
 to the marrow in the friction of holding the noses of 
 the poor publicans to the grindstone of the excise ! and, 
 lilie Milton's Satan,' for private reasons, am forced 
 
 To do ivhat yet though damn'd I would abhor. 
 —and, except a couplet or two of honest execration 
 
 No. CLXXXII. 
 
 TO CRAUFORD TAIT, Esq., EDINBURGH. 
 
 Ellisland, 15th October, 1790. "' 
 Dear Sir — Allow me to introduce to your acquaint- 
 ance the bearer-, Mr Wm. Duncan, a friend of mine, 
 whom I have long known and long loved. His father, 
 whose only son he is, has a decent little property in 
 Ayrshire, and has bred the young man to the law, in 
 which department he comes up an adventurer to your 
 good town. I shall give you my friend's character in 
 two words : as to his head, he has talents enough, and 
 more than enough, for common life ; as to his heart, 
 when nature had kneaded the kindly clay that composes 
 it, she said " I can no more." 
 
 You, my good Su", were born under kinder stars ; 
 but your fraternal sympathy, I well know, can enter 
 into the feelings of the young man who goes into life 
 with the laudable ambition to do something, and to be 
 something, among his fellow-creatures, but whom the 
 consciousness of friendless obscurity presses to the earth, 
 and wounds to the soul ! 
 
 Even the fairest of his virtues are against him. That 
 
 * *' The preceding letter to Mrs Dunlop explains the feelings 
 under which this was written. The strain of indignant invective 
 goes on some time longer in the style which our bard was too apt 
 to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so much." 
 
 — CURRIE. 
 
 t [This fragment, first published by Cromek, is placed by him 
 and subsequent editors under 1794, and by Mr Cunningham is 
 bupposed to be addressed to Dr Robert Anderson, the editor of 
 the British Poets. We have little doubt that the gentleman ad- 
 dressed was Dr James Anderson, a well-known agricultural and 
 miscellaneous writer, and the editor of a weekly miscellany en- 
 titled " The Bee." This publication was commenced in Edin- 
 burgh, December 1790, and concluded in January 1794, when it 
 fomied eighteen volumes. The above letter by Burns, from the 
 allusion it makes to his extreme occupation by business, as well 
 as from the bitterness of its tone, seems to have been written in 
 the latter part of 1790, immediately after the poet had com- 
 menced exciseman ; it was an answer, probably, to an applica- 
 tion for aid in the conduct of " The Bee," then about to be 
 started. For these reasons, the present editor has shifted its place 
 in the poet's correspondence.] 
 
 I independent spirit, and that ingenuous modesty, quali- 
 ties inseparable from a noble mind, are, with the million, 
 circumstances not a little disqualifying. What pleasure 
 is in the power of the fortunate and the happy, by their 
 notice and patronage, to brighten the countenance and 
 glad the heart of such depressed youth ! I am not so 
 angry with mankind for their deaf economy of the purse : 
 the goods of this world cannot be divided without being 
 lessened— but why be a niggard of that which bestows 
 bliss on a fellow-creature, yet takes nothing from our 
 own means of enjoyment? We wrap ourselves up in 
 the cloak of our own better fortune, and turn away our- 
 eyes, lest the wants and woes of our brother-mortals 
 should disturb the selfish apathy of our souls ! 
 
 I am the worst hand in the world at asking a favour. 
 That indirect address, that insinuating implication, 
 which, without any positive request, plainly expresses 
 your wish, is a talent not to be acquired at a plough- 
 tail. Tell me then, for you can, in what periphrasis of 
 language, in what circumvolution of phrase, I shall 
 envelope, yet not conceal, this plain story — " My dear 
 Mr Tait, my friend Mr Duncan, whom I have the plea- 
 sure of introducing to you, is a young lad of your own 
 profession, and a gentleman of much modesty, and great 
 worth. Perhaps it may be in your power to assist him 
 in the, to him, important consideration of getting a place, 
 but, at all events, your notice and acquaintance will be 
 a very great acquisition to him ; and I dare pledge 
 myself that he will never disgrace your favour." 
 
 You may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a letter 
 from me ; 'tis, I own, in the usual way of calculating 
 these matters, more than our acquaintance entitles me 
 to ; but my answer is short : Of all the men at your 
 time of life, whom I knew in Edinburgh, you are the 
 most accessible on the side on which I have assailed 
 you. You are very much altered, indeed, from what 
 you were when I knew you, if generosity point the path 
 you will not tread, or humanity call to you in vain. 
 
 As to myself, a being to whose interest I believe you 
 are still a well-wisher, I am here, breathing at all times, 
 thinking sometimes, and rhyming now and then. Every 
 situation has its share of the cares and pains of life, and 
 my situation, I am persuaded, has a full ordinary allow- 
 ance of its pleasures and enjoyments. 
 
 My best compliments to your father and Miss Tait. 
 If you have a-n opportunity, please remember me in the 
 solemn-league-and-covenant of friendship to Mrs Lewis 
 Hay.* I am a wretch for not writing her ; but I am 
 so hackneyed with self-accusation in tliat way, that my 
 conscience lies in my bosom with scarce the sensibility 
 of an oyster in its shell. Where is Lady M'Kenzie ? 
 wherever she is, God bless her ! I likewise beg leave 
 to trouble you with compliments to Mr Wm. Hamilton, 
 Mrs Hamilton and family, and Mrs Chalmers, when 
 you are in that country. Should you meet with Miss 
 Nimmo, please remember me kindly to her, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXXIII. 
 
 TO 
 
 Ellislmid, 1790. 
 Dear Sir — Whether in the way of my trade, I can 
 be of any service to the Rev. Doctor,t is, I fear, very 
 doubtful. Ajax's shield consisted, I think, of seven 
 bull hides, and a plate of brass, which altogether set , 
 Hector's utmost force at defiance. Alas! I am not a || 
 Hector, and the worthy Doctor's foes are as securely * ] 
 armed as Ajax was. Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, 
 stupidity, malevolence, self-conceit, envy — all strongly 
 bound in a massy frame of brazen impudence. Good 
 God, Sir ! to such a shield, humour is the peck of a 
 sparrow, and satire the pop-gun of a school-boy. Crea- 
 tion-disgracing scelerats such as they, God oidy can 
 mend, and the devil only can punish. In the compre- 
 hending way of Caligula, I wish they all had but one 
 neck. I feel impotent as a child to the ardour of my 
 
 * [Formerly Miss Margaret Chalmers.] 
 
 t [Probably to ftir Gavin Hamilton.] 
 
 ICDrM'Uill, of Ayr.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 67 
 
 wishes ! Oh for a with emg curse to blast the germins of 
 their wicked machinations. Oh for a poisonous tornado, 
 winged from the torrid zone of Tartarus, to sweep the 
 spreading crop of their villauous contrivances to the 
 lowest hcU ! R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXXIV. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP.* 
 
 EUisland, November, 1790. 
 
 " As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news 
 from a far country." 
 
 Fate has long owed me a letter of good news from 
 you, in return for the many tidings of sorrow which I 
 liave received. In this mstance I most cordially obey 
 the apostle — ^" Rejoice with them that do rejoice" — for 
 me to sing for joy, is no new thing ; but to preach for 
 joy, as I have done in the commencement of this epistle, 
 is a pitch of .extravagant rapture to which I never rose 
 before. 
 
 I read your letter — I literally jumped for joy. How 
 could such a mercurial creature as a poet lumpishly 
 keep his seat, on the receipt of the best news from his 
 best friend. I seized my gilt-headed Wangee rod, an 
 instrument indispensably necessary, in my left hand, iu 
 the moment of inspiration and rapture ; and stride, 
 stride — quick and quicker — out skipt I among the 
 broomy banks of Nith to muse over my joy by retail. 
 To keep within the bounds of prose was impossible. 
 Mrs Little's is a more elegant, but not a more sincere 
 compliment to the sweet little fellow, than I, extempore 
 almost, poured out to him in the following verses :— 
 
 " Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 
 
 And ward o' mony a prayer, 
 What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 
 
 Sae helpless, sweet, and fair! 
 
 November hirples o'er the lea 
 
 Chill on thy lovely form ; 
 And gane, alas I the shelt'ring tree 
 
 Should shield thee frae the storm. 
 
 * [This letter was called forth by the intelligence of the birth 
 of a grandchild of Mrs Dunlop. Susan, one of Mrs D.'s daughters, 
 had married a French gentleman of good birth and fortune, M. 
 Henri, or Hendrey. They lived at Loudoun Castle in Ayrshire, 
 where, June 22, 1790, M. Henri was cut off by a cold, caught in 
 consequence of exposure to wet. His son and heir, born in the 
 subsequent November, was the subject of the above letter, and 
 of the fine verses enclosed in it, which are usually included 
 amongst the Poems, under the title of *' Stanzas on the Birth 
 of a Posthumous Child, bom under peculiar circumstances of 
 family distress." In a subsequent letter of the present series. 
 Burns deplores the dangerous and distressing situation of Mrs 
 Henri in France, exposed to the tumults of the Revolution; 
 and he has soon after occasion to condole with his venerable 
 friend, on the death of her daughter in a foreign land. When 
 this sad event took place, the orphan child fell under the imme- 
 diate care of his paternal grandfather, who, however, was soon 
 obliged to take refuge in Switzerland, leaving the infant behind 
 him. Years passed— he and the Scotch friends of the child heard 
 nothing of it, and concluded that it was lost. At length, when 
 the elder Henri was enabled to return to his ancestral domains, 
 he had the unspeakable satisfaction of finding that his grandson 
 and heir was alive and well, having never been removed from 
 the place. The child had been protected and reared with the 
 greatest care by a worthy female, named Mademoiselle Susette, 
 formerly a domestic of the family. This excellent person had 
 even contrived, through all the levelling violences of the inter- 
 veaing period, to preserve in her young charge the feelings ap- 
 propriate to his rank. Though absolutely indebted to her industry 
 for his bi-ead, she had caused him always to be seated by himself 
 at table, and regularly waited on, so that the otherwise plebeian 
 circumstances in which he lived did not greatly afiect him. The 
 subject of Burns's stanzas is now proprietor of the family estates ; 
 and it is agreeable to add, that Mademoiselle Susette still ( 1838) 
 lives in his paternal mansion, in the enjoyment of that grateful 
 respect to which her fidelity and discretion so eminently entitle 
 her. Such is the somewhat extraordinary history of this 
 <' Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 
 And ward o' mony a prayer."] 
 
 May He, who gives the rain to pour, 
 
 And wings the blast to blaw, 
 Protect thee frae the driving show'r. 
 
 The bitter frost and snaw ! 
 May He, the friend of woe and want. 
 
 Who heals life's various stounds. 
 Protect and guard the mother -plant, 
 
 And heal her cruel wounds ! 
 But late she flourish'd, rooted fast. 
 
 Fair on the summer morn ; 
 Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 
 
 Unshelter'd,and forlorn. 
 Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
 
 Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 
 And from thee many a parent stem 
 
 Arise to deck our land!" 
 
 I am much flattered by your approbation of my " Tarn 
 o' Shanter," which you express in your former letter ; 
 though, by the bye, you load me in that said letter 
 with accusations heavy and many, to all which I plead 
 not guilty ! Your book is, I hear, on the road to reach 
 me. As to printing of poetry, when you prepare, it for 
 the press, you have only to spell it right, and place the 
 capital letters properly — as to the punctuation, the 
 printers do that themselves. 
 
 I have a copy of " Tam o' Shanter" ready to send you 
 by the first opportunity — it is too heavy to send by 
 post. 
 
 I heard of Mr Corbet* lately. He, in consequence 
 of your recommendation, is most zealous to serve me. 
 Please favour m^^jDn with an account of your good 
 folks ; if Mrs H.'t's i'ecovering, and the young gentle- 
 man doin^ well. ' » -' R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXXV. 
 
 TO LADY W. M. CONSTABLE. 
 
 Ellisland, Wth January , 1791. 
 My Lady — Nothing less than the unlucky accident 
 of having lately broken my right arm, could have pre- 
 vented me, the moment I received your ladyship's ele- 
 gant present t by Mrs Miller, from returning you my 
 warmest and most grateful acknowledgments. I assure 
 your ladyship, I shall set it apart — the symbols of reli- 
 gion shall only be more sacred. In the moment of 
 poetic composition, the box shall be my inspiring 
 genius. When I would breathe the comprehensive 
 wish of benevolence for the happiness of others, I shall 
 recollect your ladyship ; when I would interest my 
 fancy in the distresses incident to humanity, I shall 
 remember the unfortunate Mary. R. B 
 
 No. CLXXXVI. 
 TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S. 
 
 Ellisland, 17 th January, 1791. 
 
 I AM not gone to Elysium, most noble colonel,J but 
 am still here in this sublunary world, serving my God 
 by propagating his image, and honouring my king by 
 begetting him loyal subjects. 
 
 Many happy returns of the season await my friend. 
 May the thorns of care never beset his path ! May 
 peace be an inmate of his' bosom, and rapture a fre- 
 quent visitor of his soul ! May the blood-hounds of 
 misfortune never ti'ack his steps, nor the screech-owl 
 of sorrow alarm his dwelling ! May enjoyment tell thy 
 hours, and pleasure number thy days, thou friend of 
 the bard I " Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and 
 cursed be he that curseth thee ! ! !" 
 
 As a further proof that I am still in the land of ex- 
 
 * [One of the general supervisors of excise.} 
 
 t [A box, containing, in the lid, a supposed original portrait of 
 Queen Mary. Some years ago, one of the sons of the poet, in 
 leaping on board a vessel in India, had the misfortune to break 
 this box, and irreparably damage the portrait.] 
 
 ± [So styled as president of the convivial society, called the 
 Crochallan Fencibles. 
 
68 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 istence, I send you a poem, the latest I have composed. 
 I have a particular reason for wishing you only to show 
 it to select friends, should you think it worthy a friend's 
 perusal; but if, at your first leisure hour, you will 
 favour me with your opinion of, and strictures on the 
 performance, it will be an additional obligation on, dear 
 Sir, your deeply indebted humble servant, K. B. 
 
 No. CLXXXVII. 
 TO MR PETER HILL. 
 
 Ellisland, 17th January, 1791. 
 
 Take these two guineas, and place them over against 
 that damned account of yoiu's, which has gagged my 
 mouth these five or six months ! I can as little write 
 good things as apologies to the man I owe money to. 
 Oh the supreme curse of making three guineas do the 
 business of five ! Not all the labours of Hercules ; not 
 all the Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian bondage, 
 vv^ere such an insuperable business, such an infernal 
 task ! ! Poverty ! thou half-sister of death, thou cousin- 
 german of hell ! — where shall I find force of execration 
 equal to the amplitude of thy demerits ? Oppressed by 
 thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the prac- 
 tice of every virtue, laden with years and wi'etchedness, 
 implores a little, little aid to support his existence, 
 from a stony-hearted son of Mammon, whose sun of 
 l^rosperity never knew a cloud, and is by him denied 
 and insulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of senti- 
 ment, whose heart glows with independence, and melts 
 with sensibility, inly pines under the neglect, or writhes, 
 in bitteiuiess of soul, under the contumely of arrogant, 
 tmfeeHng wealth. Oppressed by thee, the son of genius, 
 whose ill-starred ambition plants him at the tables of 
 the fashionable and polite, must see, in suffering silence, 
 his remark neglected, and his person despised, while 
 shallow greatness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall 
 meet with countenance and applause. Nor is it only 
 the family of worth that have reason to complain of 
 thee — the children of folly and vice, though in common 
 with thee the offspring of evil, smart equally under thy 
 rod. Owing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposi- 
 tion and neglected education, is condemned as a fool 
 for his dissipation, despised and shunned as a needy 
 wretch, when his follies as usual bring him to want ; 
 and when his unprincipled necessities drive him to 
 dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a miscreant, and 
 perishes by the justice of his country. But far other- 
 wise is the lot of the man of family and fortune 
 
 His early follies and extravagance are spirit and fire ; 
 — his consequent M^ants are the embarrassments of 
 an honest fellow ; and when, to remedy the matter, 
 he has gained a legal commission to plunder distant 
 provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, he returns, 
 perhaps, laden with the spoils of rapine and murder ; 
 lives wicked and respected, and dies a scoundrel and 
 a lord. Nay, worst of all, alas for helpless Avoman ! — the 
 needy prostitute, who has shivered at the corner of the 
 sti'eet, waiting to earn the wages of casual prostitution, 
 is left neglected and insulted, ridden down by the cha- 
 riot wheels of the coroneted rip, hurrying on to the 
 guUty assignation — she who, without the same necessi- 
 ties to plead, riots nightly in the same guilty trade. 
 
 Well ! divines may say of it what they please ; but 
 execration is to the mind what phlebotomy is to the 
 body — the vital sluices of both are wonderfully relieved 
 by their respective evacuations. R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXXVIII. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 JEliisland, 2Sd January, 1791. 
 
 Many happy returns of the season to you, ray dear 
 friend ! As many of the good things of this life, as is 
 consistent with the usual mixture of good and evil in 
 the cup of being ! 
 
 I have just finished a poem (Tam o' Shanter), which 
 you will receive enclosed. It is my first essay in the 
 way of tales. 
 
 I have these several months been hammering at an 
 elegy on the amiable and accomplished Miss Burnet. 
 I have got, and can get, no farther than the following 
 fragment, on which please give me your strictures. In 
 all kinds of poetic composition, I set great store by your 
 opuiion ; but in sentimental verses, in the poetry of the 
 heart, no Roman Catholic ever set more value on the 
 infallibility of the Holy Father than I do on yours. 
 
 I mean the mtroductory couplets as text verses. 
 
 " ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO. 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 
 As Burnet lovely from her native skies ; 
 Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow, 
 As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low." — &c. 
 Let me hear from you soon. Adieu ! R. B. 
 
 No. CLXXXIX. 
 TO A. F. TYTLER, ESQ.* 
 
 EUisland, February 1791. 
 Sir — Nothing less than the unfortunate accident I 
 have met with could have prevented my grateful ac- 
 
 * [In answer to the following letter from Mr Tytler :— 
 " Dear Sir— Mr Hill yesterday put into my hands a sheet of 
 ' Grose's Antiquities,' containing a poem of yours, entitled ' Tam 
 o' Shanter, a tale.' The very high pleasure I have received from 
 the perusal of this admirable piece, I feel, demands the warmest 
 acknowledgments. Hill tells me he is to send off a packet for 
 you this day ; I cannot resist, therefore, putting on paper what I 
 must have told you in person, had I met with you after the recent 
 perusal of your tale, which is, that I feel I owe you a debt, which, 
 if undischarged, would reproach me with ingratitude. I have 
 seldom in my life tasted of higher enjoyment from any work of 
 genius, than I have received from this composition ; and I am 
 much mistaken, if this poem alone, had you never written an- 
 other syllable, would not have been sufficient to have transmitted 
 your name dov/n to posterity with high reputation. In the in- 
 troductory part, where you paint the character of your hero, and 
 exhibit him at the alehouse ingle, with his tippling cronies, you 
 have delineated nature. with a himiour and naivete that would do 
 honour to Matthew Prior ; but when you describe the infernal 
 orgies of the witches' sabbath, and the hellish scenery in which 
 they are exhibited, you display a power of imagination that 
 Shakspeare himself could not have exceeded. I know not that 
 I have ever met with a picture of more horrible fancy than the 
 following :— 
 
 ♦ Coffins stood round like open presses, 
 
 That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
 
 And, by some devilish cantrip sleight. 
 
 Each in his cauld hand held a light.' 
 But when I came to the succeeding lines, my blood ran cold 
 within me : — 
 
 ' A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
 
 Whom his ain son of life bereft ; 
 
 The (jrey Jiairs yet stack to the lieft.' 
 And here, after the two following lines, ' Wi' mair o' horrible 
 and awfu',' &c., the descriptive part might perhaps have been 
 better closed, than the four lines which succeed, which, though 
 good in themselves, yet, as they derive all their merit from the 
 satire they contain, are here rather misplaced among the cir- 
 cumstances of pure horror.* The initiation of the young witch 
 is most happily described— the effect of her charms exhibited in 
 the dance of Satan himself— the apostrophe, ' Ah, little thought 
 thy reverend grannie !' — the transport of Tam, who forgets his 
 situation, and enters completely into the spirit of the scene— are 
 all features of high merit in this excellent composition. The 
 only fault it possesses, is, that the Nvinding up, or conclusion of 
 the story, is not commensurate to the interest which is excited 
 by the descriptive and characteristic painting of the precediug 
 parts. The preparation is fine, but the result is not adequate. 
 But for this, perhaps you have a good apology— you stick to the 
 popular tale. 
 And now that I have got out my mind, and feel a little re- 
 
 * [The four lines were as follow :— 
 
 Three lawyers' tongues turned inside out, 
 Wi' lies seemed like a beggar's clout, 
 And priests' hearts rotten, black as muck. 
 Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk. 
 
 The poet expunged them, in obedience to the recommendation 
 
 of Jir Tytlur. j 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 69 
 
 knowledgments for your letter. His own favourite 
 poem, and that an essay in the walk of the muses en- 
 tirely new to him, where consequently his hopes and 
 fears were on the most anxious alarm for his success in 
 the attempt— to have that poem so much applauded by 
 one of the first judges, was the most delicious vibration 
 that ever thrilled along the heart-strings of a poor poet. 
 However, Providence, to keep up the proper proportion 
 of evil \\'ith the good, which it seems is necessary in this 
 sublunary state, thought proper to check my exultation 
 by a very serious misfortune. A day or two after I 
 received your letter, my horse came down with me and 
 broke my right arm. As this is the first service my 
 arm has done me since its disaster, I find myself unable 
 to do more than just, in general terms, thank you for 
 this additional instance of your patronage and friend- 
 ship. As to the faults you detected in the piece, they 
 are truly there ; one of them, the hit at the lawyer and 
 priest, 1 shall cut out ; as to the falUng off in the catas- 
 trophe, for the reason you justly adduce, it cannot easily 
 be remedied. Your 'approbation. Sir, has given me 
 such additional spirits to persevere in this species of 
 poetic composition, that I a^n already revolving two or 
 three stories in my fancy. If I can bring these floating 
 ideas to bear any kind of embodied form, it will give me 
 an additional opportunity of assuring you how much I 
 have the honour to be, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. CXC. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Ellisland, 1th Feb. 1701. 
 
 When I tell you. Madam, that by a fall, not from my 
 horse, but with my horse, I have been a cripple some 
 time, and that this is the first day my arm and hand 
 have been able to serve me in wTiting, you will allow 
 that it is too good an apology for my seemingly un- 
 grateful silence. I am now getting better, and am able 
 to rhjTne a little, which implies some tolerable ease, as 
 I cannot think that the most poetic genius is able to 
 compose on the rack. 
 
 I do not remember if ever I mentioned to you my 
 having an idea of composing an elegy on the late Miss 
 Burnet of Monboddo. I had the honour of being pretty 
 well acquainted with her, and have seldom felt so much 
 at the loss of an acquaintance, as when I heard that so 
 amiable and accomplished a piece of God's work was no 
 more. I have, as yet, gone no farther than the follow- 
 ing fragment, of which please let me have your opinion. 
 You know that elegy is a subject so much exhausted, 
 that any new idea on the business is not to be expected : 
 'tis well if we can place an old idea in a new hght. How 
 far I have succeeded as to this last, you will judge from 
 what follows : * * * 
 
 I have proceeded no farther. 
 
 Your kind letter, with your land rememhrmice of your 
 godson, came safe. This last. Madam, is scarcely what 
 my pride can bear. As to the little fellow, he is, par- 
 tiaUty apart, the finest boy I have for a long time seen. 
 He is now seventeen months old, has the small-pox and 
 measles over, has cut several teeth, and never had a 
 grain of doctors' drugs in Ms bowels. 
 
 I am truly happy to hear that the " little flow'ret " is 
 blooming so fresh and fair, and that the " mother plant " 
 is rather I'ecovering her drooping head. Soon and well 
 may her " cruel wounds" be healed! I have wTitten 
 thus far with a good deal of difficulty. When I get a 
 little abler, you shall hear farther from, Madam, yours, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 lieved of the weight of that deht I owed you, let me end this de- 
 sultory scroll by an advice :— You have proved your talent for a 
 species of composition in which but a very few of our own poets 
 have succeeded. Go on — write more tales in the same style — 
 you will eclipse Prior and La Fontaine; for, with equal wit, 
 equal power of numbers, and equal naivete of expression, you 
 have a bolder and more vigorous imagination."] 
 
 No. CXCI. 
 TO THE REV. ARCH. ALISON. 
 
 EUisland, near Dumfries^ \ith Feb. 1791. 
 
 Sir — You must by this time have set me down as one 
 of the most ungrateful of men. You did me the honour 
 to present me with a book, which does honour to science 
 and the intellectual powers of man, and I have not even 
 so much as acknowledged the receipt of it. The fact is, 
 you yourself are to blame for it. Flattered as I was 
 by your telling me that you wished to have my opinion 
 of the work, the old spiritual enemy of mankind, who 
 knows well that vanity is one of the sins that most 
 easily beset me, put it into my head to ponder over the 
 performance with the look-out of a critic, and to di'aw 
 up forsooth a deep learned digest of strictures on a com- 
 position, of which, in fact, until I read the book, I did 
 not even know the first principles. I own. Sir, that at 
 first glance several of your propositions startled me as 
 paradoxical. That the martial clangour of a trumpet 
 had something in it vastly more grand, heroic, and su- 
 blime, than the twingle twangle of a Jew's harp : that 
 the dehcate flexure of a rose-twig, when the half-blown 
 flower is heavy A\-ith the tears of the dawn, was infinitely 
 more beautiful and elegant than the upright stub of a 
 burdock ; and that from something innate and inde- 
 pendent of all associations of ideas — these I had set 
 do^vn as irrefragable, orthodox truths, until perusing 
 your book shook my faith. In short. Sir, except EucUd's 
 Elements of Geometry, which I made a shift to unravel 
 by my father's fire-side, in the winter evenings of the 
 first season I held the plough, I never read a book 
 which gave me sUch a quantum of inlormation, and 
 added so much to my stock of ideas, as your " Essays 
 on the Principles of Taste." One thmg, Su', you must 
 forgive my mentioning as an uncommon merit in the 
 work — I mean the language. To clothe abstract philo- 
 sophy in elegance of style sounds something lilie a con- 
 tradiction in terms, but you have convinced me that 
 they are quite compatible. 
 
 1 enclose you some poetic bagatelles of my late com- 
 position. The one in print is my first essay in the way 
 of telling a tale. I am, Sir, &c. R. B." 
 
 No. CXCII. 
 
 TO THE REV. G. BAIRD.f 
 
 EUisland, 1791. 
 Reverend Sir — Why did you, my dear Sir, write to 
 me in such a hesitating style on the business of poor 
 Bruce ? Don't I know, and have I not felt, the many 
 ills, the peculiar ills, that poetic flesh is heir to ? You 
 shall have your choice of all the unpublished poems I 
 
 * [This is the letter which Jlr Dugald Stewart, in his commu- 
 nication to Dr Currie respecting Burns (printed in the memoir 
 Nvritten by that gentleman), says he read with surprise, as evinc- 
 ing that the unlettered Ayrshire bard had formed " a distinct 
 conception of the general principles of the doctrine of association." 
 (See the accompanying edition of Dr Currie's Memoir of Burns, 
 p. 34, 35.) The doctrine here alluded to is one peculiar, we believe, 
 to the Scotch school of metaphysicians, and mainly consists in 
 an assertion that our ideas of beauty in objects of all kinds arise 
 from our associating -with them some other ideas of an agreeable 
 kind. For instance, our notion of beauty in the cheek of a pretty 
 maiden arises from our notions of her health, innocence, and so 
 forth ; our notion of the beauty of a Highland prospect, such as 
 the Trosachs, from our notions of the romantic kind of life for- 
 merly led in it ; as if there were no female beauty independent 
 of both health and innocence, or fine scenery where men had not 
 formerly worn tartans and claymores. The whole of the above 
 letter of Bums is, in reality (though perhaps unmeant by him), 
 a satire on this doctrine, which, notwithstanding the eloquence 
 of an Alison, a Stewart, and a Jeffrey, must now be considered 
 as amongst the dreams of philosophy.] 
 
 T [This respectable and benevolent person, since Principal of 
 the University of Edinburgh, liad written to Burns, requesting 
 his aid in revising Bruce's poems, and a contribution to swell the 
 volume. It does not appear that the edition which subsequently 
 appeared contained any poem by Burn? ] n 
 
70 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 have ; and had your letter had my direction so as to 
 have reached me sooner (it only came to my hand this 
 moment), I should have directly put you out of suspense 
 on the subject. I only ask, that some prefatory adver- 
 tisement in the book, as well as the subscription bills, 
 may bear, that the publication is solely for the benefit 
 of Bruee's mother. I would not put it in the power of 
 ignorance to surmise, or malice to insinuate, that 1 
 clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives. 
 Nor need you give me credit for any remarkable gene- 
 rosity in my part of the busmess. I have such a host 
 of peccadilloes, failings, follies, and backslidings (any 
 body but myself might perhaps give some of them a 
 worse appellation), that by way of some balance, how- 
 ever trifling, in the account, I am fain to do any good 
 that occurs in my very limited power to a fellow-crea- 
 ture, just for the selfish purpose of clearing a little the 
 vista of retrospection. R. B. 
 
 No. CXCIIL 
 TO DR MOORE. 
 
 Ellisland, 2^th February, 1791. 
 
 I DO not know. Sir, whether you are a subscriber to 
 Grose's Antiquities of Scotland. If you are, the enclosed 
 poem will not be altogether new to you. Captain Grose 
 did me the favour to send me a dozen copies of the 
 proof sheet, of which this is one. Should you have read 
 the piece before, still this will answer the principal end 
 I have in view — it will give me another opportunity of 
 thanking you for all yoiu? goodness to the rustic bard ; 
 and also of showing you, that the abilities you have 
 been pleased to commend and patronise are still em- 
 ployed in the way you wish. 
 
 The Elegy on Captain Henderson is a tribute to the 
 memory of a man I loved much. Poets have in this 
 the same advantage as Roman CathoUcs ; they can be 
 of service to their friends after they have passed that 
 bourne where all other kindness ceases to be of avail. 
 Whether, after all, either the one or the other be of 
 any real service to the dead, is, I fear, very problema- 
 tical, but I am sure they are highly gratifying to the 
 living : and as a very orthodox text, I forget where in 
 Scripture, says, " whatsoever is not of faith is sin ;" so 
 say I, whatsoever is not detrimental to society, and is 
 of positive enjoyment, is of God, the giver of all good 
 things, and ought to be received and enjoyed by his 
 creatures with thankful deUght. As almost all my re- 
 ligious tenets originate from my heart, I am wonder- 
 fully pleased with the idea, that I can still keep up a 
 tender intercourse with the dearly beloved friend, or 
 still more dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the 
 world of spirits. 
 
 The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I was 
 i)usy with Percy's Reliques of English Poetry. By the 
 way, how much is every honest heart, which has a 
 tincture of Caledonian prejudice, obhged to you for 
 your glorious story of Buchanan and Targe ! 'Twas an 
 unequivocal proof of your loyal gallantry of soul, giving 
 Targe the victory. I should have been mortified to the 
 ground if you had not. 
 
 I have just readt)ver once more of many times, your 
 Zeluco. I marked with my pencil, as I went along, 
 every passage that pleased me particularly above the 
 rest ; and one or two, which, with humble deference, 
 I am disposed to thinlc unequal to the merits of the 
 book. I have sometimes thought to transcribe these 
 marked passages, or at least so much of them as to 
 point where they are, and send them to you. Ori- 
 ginal strokes that strongly depict the human heart, is 
 your and Fielding's province, beyond any other novehst 
 I have ever perused. Richardson indeed might, per- 
 haps, be excepted ; but unhappily, his dramatis personce 
 are beings of another world ; and however they may 
 captivate the inexperienced, romantic fancy of a boy 
 or a girl, they will ever, in proportion as we have made 
 human nature our study, dissatisfy our riper years. 
 
 As to my private concerns, I. am going on, a mighty 
 
 tax-gatherer before the Lord, and have lately had the 
 interest to get myself ranked on the list of excise as a 
 supervisor. I am not yet employed as such, but in a 
 few years I shall fall into the file of supervisorship by 
 seniority. I have had an immense loss in the death of 
 the Earl of Glencairn, the patron from whom all my 
 fame and fortune took its rise. Independent of my 
 grateful attachment to him, which was indeed bo strong 
 that it pervaded my very soul, and was entwined with 
 the thread of my existence : so soon as the prince's 
 friends had got in (and every dog you know has his 
 day), my getting forward in the excise would have been 
 an easier business than otherwise it will be. Though 
 this was a consummation devoutly to be wished, yet, 
 thank Heaven, I can live and rhyme as I am ; and as 
 to my boys, poor little fellows ! if I cannot place them 
 on as high an elevation in hfe as I could wish, I shall, 
 if I am favoured so much by the Disposer of events as 
 to see that period, fix them on as broad and indepen- 
 dent a basis as possible. Among the many wise adages 
 which have been treasured up by our Scottish ances- 
 tors, this is one of the best — Better be the head o' the 
 commonalty, than the tail o' the gentry. 
 
 But I am got on a subject which, however interest- 
 ing to me, is of no manner of consequence to you ; so I 
 shall give you a short poem on the other page, and close 
 this with assuring you how sincerely I have the honour 
 to be, yours, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. CXCIV. 
 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Ellisla?id, 12th March, 1751. 
 
 If the foregoing piece be worth your strictures, let 
 me have them. For my own part, a thing that I have 
 just composed always appears through a double por- 
 tion of that partial medium in which an author will ever 
 view his own works. I believe, in general, novelty has 
 something in it that inebriates the fancy, and not un- 
 frequently dissipates and fumes away like other intoxi- 
 cation, and leaves the poor patient, as usual, with an 
 aching heart. A striking instance of this might be 
 adduced, in the revolution of many a hymeneal honey- 
 moon. But lest I sink into stupid prose, and so sacri- 
 legiously intrude on the office of my parish priest, I 
 shall fill up the page in my own way, and give you 
 another song of my late composition, which will appear 
 perhaps in Johnson's work, as well as the former. 
 
 You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, " There'll 
 never be peace till Jamie comes hame." When poli- 
 tical combustion ceases to be the object of princes and ;r 
 patriots, it then, you know, becomes the lawful prey of I 
 historians and poets. f 
 
 *' By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
 I heard a nmn sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
 And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame," &c. 
 
 If you like the aii', and if the stanzas hit your fancy, 
 you cannot imagine, my dear friend, how much you 
 would oblige me, if, by the charms of your delightful 
 voice, you would give my honest effusion to " the me- , 
 mory of joys that are past," to the few friends whom j 
 you indulge in that pleasure. But I have scribbled on j 
 till I hear the clock has intimated the near approach of 
 
 " That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane." 
 
 So, good night to you ! Sound be your sleep, and 
 delectable your dreams ! Apropos, how do you like 
 this thought in a ballad I have just now on the tapis ? 
 
 " I look to the west when I gae to rest. 
 
 That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 
 
 Far, far in the west is he I loe best, 
 The lad that is dear to my babie and me !'* 
 
 Good night once more, and God bless you ! R. B. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 71 
 
 No. CXCV. 
 TO MR ALEXANDER DALZEL,* 
 
 FACTOR, FINDLAYSTON. 
 
 Ellisland, 19th March, 1791. _ 
 My dear Sir — I have taken the liberty to frank this 
 letter to you, as it encloses an idle poem of mine, which 
 I send you ; and, God knows, you may perhaps pay dear 
 enough for it if you read it through. Not that this is 
 ray own opinion ; hut the author, by the time he has 
 composed and corrected his work, has quite pored away 
 all his powers of critical discrimination. 
 
 I can easily guess, from my own heart, what you have 
 felt on a late most melancholy event. God knows what 
 I have suffered at the loss of my best friend, my first 
 and dearest patron and benefactor ; the man to whom 
 I owe all that I am and have ! I am gone into mourn- 
 ing for him, and with more sincerity of grief than I fear 
 some will, who, by nature's ties, ought to feel on the 
 occasion. 
 
 I will be exceedingly obliged to you, indeed, to let 
 me know the news of the noble family, how the poor 
 mother and the two sisters support their loss. I had 
 a packet of poetic bagatelles ready to send to Lady 
 Betty, when I saw the fatal tidings in the newspaper. 
 I see, by the same chaimel, that the honoured remains 
 of my noble patron are designed to be brought to the 
 family burial-place. Dare I trouble you to let me know 
 privately before the day of interment, that I may cross 
 the country, and steal among the crowd, to pay a tear 
 to the last sight of my ever revered benefactor ? It 
 will oblige me beyond expression. R. B. 
 
 No. CXCVI. 
 TO MRS GRAHAM OF FINTRY. 
 
 Ellisland, 1791. 
 
 Madam — Whether it is that the story of our Mary 
 Queen of Scots has a pecuHar effect on the feelings of 
 a poet, or whether I have in the enclosed ballad suc- 
 ceeded beyond my usual poetic success, I know not, 
 but it has pleased me beyond any effort of my muse for 
 a good while past ; on that account I enclose it parti- 
 cularly to you. It is true, the purity of my motives 
 may be suspected. I am already deeply indebted to 
 Mr Graham's goodness ; and what, in the tisual ways of 
 men, is of infinitely greater importance, Mr G. can do 
 me service of the utmost importance in time to come. 
 I was born a poor dog ; and, however I may occasion- 
 ally pick a better bone than I used to do, I know I must 
 live and die poor : but I ^vill indulge the flattex'ing faith 
 that my poetry will considerably outlive my poverty ; 
 and without any fustian affectation of spirit, I can pro- 
 mise and affirm, that it must be no ordinary craving of 
 the latter shall ever make me do any thing injurious to 
 the honest fame of the former. Whatever may be my 
 failings — for failings are a part of human nature — may 
 they ever be those of a generous heart and an inde- 
 pendent mind ! It is no fault of mine that I was born 
 to dependence, nor is it Mr Graham's chiefest praise 
 that he can command influence : but it is his merit to 
 bestow, not only with the Idndness of a brother, but 
 with the politeness of a gentleman, and I trust it shall 
 be mine to receive with thankfulness, and remember 
 with undiminished gratitude. R. B. 
 
 * This gentleman, tlie factor, or steward, of Burns's noble 
 friend, Lord Glencaim, with a view to encourage a second edition 
 of the poems, laid the volume before his lordship, with such an 
 account of the rustic bard's situation and prospects as from his 
 slender acquaintance vnih. him he could furnish. The result, as 
 communicated to Bums by Mr Dalzel, is highly creditable to the 
 character of Lord Glencairn. After reading the book, his lord- 
 ship declared that its merits greatly exceeded his expectation, 
 and he took it with him as a literary curiosity to Edinburgh. He 
 repeated his wishes to be of service to Burns, and desired ]Mr 
 Dalzel to inform him, that in patronising the book, ushering it 
 with efifect into the world, or treating with the bookseUers, he 
 would most willingly give every aid in his power ; adding his re- 
 quest, that Bums would take the earliest opportunity of letting 
 him know in what way or manner he could best further his in- 
 terests.— Cromeic, 
 
 No. excviL 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Ellisland, Uth April, 1791. 
 
 I AM once more able, my honoured friend, to return 
 you, with my own hand, thanks for the many instances of 
 your friendship, and particularly for your kind anxiety 
 in this last disaster that my evil genius had in store for 
 me. However, life is chequered — ^joy and sorrow — for 
 on Saturday morning last, IMrs Burns made me a pre- 
 sent of a fine boy ; rather stouter, but not so handsome 
 as your godson was at his time of life. Indeed, I look 
 on your little namesake to be my chef d'ceuvre in that 
 species of manufacture, as I look on Tam o' Shanter to 
 be ray standard performance in the poetical line. 'Tis 
 true, both the one and the other discover a spice of 
 roguish waggery, that might perhaps be as well spared ; 
 but then they also show, in my opinion, a force of genius, 
 and a finishing poHsh, that I despair of ever excelling. 
 Mrs Burns is getting stout again, and laid as lustily 
 about her to-day at breakfast, as a reaper from the 
 corn-ridge. That is the peculiar privilege and bless- 
 ing of our hale, sprightly damsels, that are bred among 
 the hay and heather* We cannot hope for that highly 
 polished mind, that charming dehcacy of soul, which is 
 found among the female world in the more elevated 
 stations of life, and which is certainly by far the most 
 bewitching charm in the famous cestus of Venus. It 
 is indeed such an inestimable treasure, that where it 
 can be had in its native heavenly purity, unstained by 
 some one or other of the many shades of affectation, 
 and unalloyed by some one or other of the many species 
 of caprice, I declare to Heaven I should think it cheaply 
 purchased at the expense of every other earthly good ! 
 But as this angelic creature is, I am afraid, extremely 
 rare in any station and rank of life, and totally denied 
 to such an humble one as mine, we meaner mortals 
 must put up with the next rank of female excellence ;— - 
 as fine a figure and face we can produce as any rank of 
 life whatever ; rustic, native grace ; unaffected modesty 
 and unsulHed purity ; nature's mother- wit, and the rudi- 
 ments of taste ; a simplicity of soul, imsuspicious of, 
 because unacquainted with, the crooked ways of a selfish, 
 interested, disingenuous world ; and the dearest charm 
 of all the rest, a yielding sweetness of disposition, and 
 a generous warmth of heart, grateful for love on our 
 part, and ardently glowing with a more than equal 
 return ; these, with a healthy frame, a sound vigorous 
 constitution, which your higher ranks can scarcely ever 
 hope to enjoy, are the charms of lovely woman in my 
 humble wallc of life. 
 
 This is the greatest effort my broken arm has yet 
 made. Do let me hear, by first post, how cher petit 
 Monsieurf comes on with his small-pox. May Almighty 
 goodness preserve and restore him ! R, B. 
 
 No. CXCVIII. 
 TO . 
 
 Ellisland, 1791. 
 
 Dear Sir— I am exceedingly to blame in not writing 
 you long ago ; but the truth is, that I am the most 
 indolent of all human beings, and when I matriculate 
 in the Herald's Office, I intend that my supporters shall 
 be two sloths, my crest a slow-worm, and the motto, 
 " Deil tak the foremost." So much by way of apology 
 for not thanking you sooner for your land execution of 
 my commission. 
 
 I would have sent you the poem ; but somehow or 
 other it found its way into the public papers, where 
 you must have seen it. I am ever, dear Sir, yours 
 sincerely, R. B. 
 
 * [To illustrate what the poet says here, it may be mentioned 
 that the accouchement had taken place (as we learn from his 
 family bible) only two days before, namely, April 9th. This 
 child was named. William Nicol, after the eccentric teacher of 
 the Edinburgh High School.] 
 
 t [Mrs Henri's child, and the grandchild of Mrs Danlop. See 
 note to Letter CLXXXIV.] 
 
72 
 
 BURNS-S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. CXCIX. 
 TO . 
 
 Ellisland, 1791. 
 Thou eunuch of language ; thou Englishman, who 
 never was south the Tweed ; thou servile echo of 
 fashionable barbarisms ; thou quack, vending the nos- 
 trums of empirical elocution; thou marriage-maker 
 between vowels and consonants, on the Gretna Green of 
 caprice ; thou cobbler, botching the flimsy socks of 
 bombast oratory; thou blacksmith, hammering the 
 civets of absurdity ; thou butcher, embruing thy hands 
 in the bowels of orthography; thou arch-heretic in pro- 
 nunciation ; thou pitch-pipe of affected emphasis ; thou 
 carpenter, mortising the awkward joints of jarring sen- 
 tences ; thou squealdng dissonance of cadence ; thou 
 pimp of gender ; thou Lion Herald to silly etymology ; 
 thou antipode of grammar ; thou executioner of con- 
 struction ; thou brood of the speech-distracting builders 
 of the Tower of Babel ; thou lingual confusion worse 
 confounded ; thou scape-gallows from the land of syn- 
 tax ; thou scavenger of mood and tense ; thou murde- 
 rous accoucheur of infant learning ; thou ignis fatuus, 
 misleading the steps of benighted ignorance; thou 
 pickle-herring in the puppet-show of nonsense; thou 
 faithful recorder of barbarous idiom ; thou persecutor 
 of syllabication; thou baleful meteor, foretelling and 
 facilitating the rapid approach of Nox and Erebus. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CC. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 11^/^ Jiine, 1791. 
 
 Let me interest you, my dear Cunningham, in behalf 
 of the gentleman who waits on you with this. He is a 
 Mr Clarke, of Moffat, principal schoolmaster there, and 
 is at present suffering severely under the persecution 
 of one or two powerful individuals of his employers. 
 He is accused of harshness to boys that were placed 
 Hnder his care. God help the teacher, if a man of sen- 
 sibility and genius, and such is my friend Clarke, when 
 a booby father presents him with his booby son, and 
 insists on lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's 
 head whose skull is impervious and inaccessible by any 
 other Avay than a positive fracture with a cudgel — a 
 fellow, whom, in fact, it savours of impiety to attempt 
 making a scholar of, as he has been marked a block- 
 head in the book of fate, at the Almighty fiat of his 
 Creator. 
 
 The patrons of Moffat -school are the ministers, ma- 
 gistrates, and town-council of Edinburgh, and as the 
 business comes now before them, let me beg my dearest 
 friend to do every thing in his power to serve the in- 
 terests of a man of genius and worth, and a man whom 
 I particularly respect and esteem. You know some 
 good fellows among the magistracy and council, but 
 particularly you have much to say with a reverend 
 gentleman to whom you have the honour of being very 
 nearly related, and whom this country and age have 
 had the honour to produce. I need not name the histo- 
 rian of Charles V.* I tell him, through the medium of 
 his nephew's influence, that Mr Clarke is a gentleman 
 who will not disgrace even his patronage. I know the 
 merits of the cause thoroughly, and say it, that my 
 friend is falling a sacrifice to prejudiced ignorance. 
 
 God help the children of dependence ! Hated and 
 persecuted by their enemies, and too often, alas ! almost 
 unexceptionably, received hy their friends with disre- 
 spect and reproach, under the thin disguise of cold 
 civility and humiliating advice. Oh ! to be a sturdy 
 savage, stalking in the pride of his independence, amid 
 the solitary wilds of his deserts, rather than in civilised 
 life helplessly to tremble for a subsistence, precarious 
 as. the caprice of a feilow-creature ! Ever3'^ man has 
 his virtues,* and no man is without his failings ; and 
 curse on that privilege*^ plain -dealing' of friendship^ 
 which, in the hour of my calamity, cannoj reach forth 
 the helping hand, without, at the same time, pointing out 
 
 * [Mr Cunningham was nephew to Dr Robertson.] 
 
 those failings, and apportioning them their share in 
 procuring my present distress. My friends, for such 
 the world calls ye, and such ye think yourselves to be, 
 pass by my vu'tues if you please, but do, also, spare my 
 follies — the first will witness in my breast for them- 
 selves, and the last will give pain enough to the inge- 
 nuous mind without you. And since deviating more or 
 less from the paths of propriety and rectitude must be 
 incident to human nature, do thou. Fortune, put it in 
 my power, always from myself, and of myself, to bear 
 the consequence of those errors ! I do not want to be 
 independent that I may sin, but I want to be independent 
 in my sinning. 
 
 To return in this rambling letter to the subject I set 
 out with, let me recommend my friend, Mr Clarke, to 
 your acquaintance and good offices ; his worth entitles 
 him to the one, and his gratitude will merit the other. 
 I long much to hear from you. Adieu ! R. B. 
 
 No. CCL 
 TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 
 
 Ellisland, 1791. 
 
 My Lord — Language sinks under the ardour of my 
 feelings when I would thank your lordship for the 
 honour you have done me in inviting me to make one 
 at the coronation of the bust of Thomson. In my first 
 enthusiasm in reading the card you did me the honour 
 to write me, I overlooked every obstacle, and deter- 
 mined to go ; but I fear it will not be in my power. A 
 week or two's absence, in the very middle of my har- 
 vest, is what I much doubt I dare not venture on. I 
 once already made a pilgrimage up the whole course 
 of the Tweed, and fondly would I take the same de- 
 lightful journey down the windings of that delightful 
 stream. 
 
 Your lordship hints at an ode for the occasion ; but 
 who would write after Collins ? I read over his verses 
 to the memory of Thomson, and despaired. I got in- 
 deed to the length of three or four stanzas, in the way 
 of address to the shade of the bard, on crowning his 
 bust. I shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined 
 copy of them, which, 1 am afraid, will be but too con- 
 vincing a proof how unequal I am to the task. How- 
 ever, it affords me an opportunity of approaching your 
 lordship, and declaring how sincerely and gratefully I 
 have the honour to be, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. ecu. 
 TO MR THOMAS SLOAN. 
 
 Ellisland, Sept. 1 5^, 1791. 
 My dear Sloan — Suspense is worse than disappoint- 
 ment ; for that reason I Imrry to tell you that I just 
 now learn that Mr Ballantine does not choose to inter- 
 fere more in the business. I am truly sorry for it, but 
 cannot help it. 
 
 You blame me for not writing you sooner, but you 
 will please to recollect that you omitted one little ne- 
 cessary piece of information — your address. 
 
 However, you know equally well my hurried life, 
 indolent temper, and strength of attachment. It must 
 be a longer period than the longest life " in the world's 
 hale and undegenerate days," that will make me forget 
 so dear a friend as Mr Sloan. I am prodigal enough 
 at times, but I will not part with. such a treasure as 
 that. 
 
 I can easily enter into the embarras of your present 
 situation. You know my favourite quotation from 
 Young : — 
 
 On reason build Retsolvk ! 
 
 That column of true majesty in man. 
 And that other favourite one from Thomson's Al- 
 fred :— 
 
 What proves the hero truly great. 
 Is, never, never to despair. 
 Or, shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance ? 
 
 Whether doing, suffering, or forbearing. 
 
 You may do miracles by— persevering. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 73 
 
 I have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we 
 have are t'oing on in the old way. I sold my crop on 
 tliis day se'ennight, and sold it very well. A gumea 
 an acre, on an avei-age, above value. But such a scene 
 of drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this country. 
 After the roup was over, about thirty people engaged 
 in a battle, every man for his own hand, and fought it 
 out for three hours. Nor was the scene much better 
 in the house. No Mghting, indeed, but folks lying drunlv 
 on the floor, and decantmg, until both my dogs got so 
 drunk by attending them," that they could not stand. 
 You will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene, as I 
 was no farther over than you used to see me. 
 
 Mi-s B. and family have'been in Ap'shire these many 
 weeks. 
 
 Farewell ! and God bless you, mv dear friend ! 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCIII. 
 TO COLONEL FULLARTON OF FULLARTON.^ 
 Ellisland, October 3d, 1791. 
 
 Sir — I have just tliis minute got the franlv, and next 
 mmute must send it to post, else I purposed to have 
 sent you two or three other bagatelles that might have 
 amused a vacant hour, about as weU as '•' Six excellent 
 new Songs," or the " Aberdeen prognostications for the 
 year to "come."f I shall probably trouble you soon 
 with another packet, about " the gloomy month of No- 
 vember, when the people of England hang and drown 
 themselves — any thing generally is better than one's 
 own thoughts. 
 
 Fond as I may be of my own productions, it is not 
 for their sake that I am so anxious to send you them. 
 I am ambitious, covetously ambitious, of being known 
 to a gentleman, whom I am proud to call my country- 
 man ;:J: a gentleman, who was a foreign ambassador as 
 soon as he was a man ; and a leader of armies as soon 
 as he was a soldier ; and that with an eclat unkno\\Ti 
 to the usual minions of a court — men who, with all the 
 adventitious advantages of princely connections, and 
 princely fortimes, must yet, like the caterpillar, labour 
 a whole lifetime before they reach the wished-for height, 
 there to roost a stupid chrysahs, and doze out the 
 remaining glimmering existence of old age. 
 
 If the gentleman that accompanied you when you 
 did me the honour of calling on me, is with you, I beg 
 to be respectfully remembered to him. I have the 
 honour to be your highly obliged and most devoted 
 humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. CCIV. 
 TO LADY E. CUNNINGHAM.§ 
 My Lady — I would, as usual, have availed myself of 
 the privilege your goodness has allowed me, of sending 
 you any thing I compose in my poetical way ; but as 
 I had resolved, so soon as the shock of my irreparable 
 loss would allow me, to pay a tribute to my late bene- 
 factor, I detei-mined to make that the first piece I should 
 do myself the honour of sending you. Had the wing of 
 my fancy been equal to the ardour of my heart, the 
 enclosed had been much more worthy your perusal : as 
 it is, I beg leave to lay it at your ladyship's feet.|| As 
 all the woi'ld knows my obligations to the late Earl of 
 Glencaim, 1 would wish to show, as openly, that my 
 
 * [This gentleman, it •will be recollected, is honourably men- 
 tioned in " The Vision." The letter first appeared in the Paisley 
 Magazine, 1828.] 
 
 t [A conspicuous branch of popular literature in Scotland till 
 a recent period consisted of coarse brochures of four leaves, sold 
 at a halfpenny, and generally containing something appropriate 
 to the title of " Six Excellent New Songs, viz." &c. The other 
 branch of popular literature mentioned in the text consisted of 
 almanacks, published at Aberdeen, at the price of a penny.] 
 
 ^ [Meaning, probably, a native of the same county.] 
 
 § [Sister of the recently deceased, and of the then existing, 
 Earls of Glencairn. Her ladyship died unmarried, August 1804.] 
 
 !1 [The poem enclosed was the Lament for James Earl of Glen- 
 caim.] 
 
 heart glows, and shall ever glow, with the most grate- 
 ful sense and remembrance of his lordship's goodness. 
 The sables I did myself the honour to wear to hLs 
 lordship's memory, were not the " mockery of woe." 
 Nor shall my gratitude perish with me ! If among my 
 cliildi-en I shall have a son that has a heart, he shall 
 hand it down to his child as a family honour, and a 
 family debt, that my dearest existence I owe to the 
 noble house of Glencairn ! 
 
 I was about to say, my lady, that if you think the 
 poem may venture to see the hght, I would, in sorab 
 May or other, give it to the world. R. B. 
 
 No. CCV. 
 TO MR AINSLIE. 
 
 Ellisland, 1791. 
 
 ^Iy dear Ainslie — Can you minister to a mind dis- 
 eased ? — can you, amid the horrors of penitence, regret, 
 remorse, headache, nausea, and all the rest of the 
 
 d hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch who 
 
 has been guilty of the sin of drunkenness — can you speak 
 peace to a troubled soul ? 
 
 JMiserable perdu that I am, I have tried every thing 
 that used to amuse me, but in vain : here must I sit, a 
 monument of the vengeance laid up in store for the 
 wicked, slowly counting every chick of the clock as it 
 slov/ly, slowly niunbers over these lazy scoundrels of 
 hours, who, * * * *, are ranked up before me, 
 every one following his neighbour, and every one 
 with a burden of anguish on his back, to pour on my 
 devoted head — and there is none to pity me. ily wife 
 scolds me, my business torments me, and my sins 
 come staring me in the face, every one telling a more 
 bitter tale than his feUow. When I tell you even * * * 
 has lost its power to please, you vaW guess something of 
 my hell within, and aU around me. I began EHbanks 
 and Elibraes, but the stanzas fell imenjoyed and un- 
 finished from my listless tongue : at last I luckily 
 thought of reading over an old letter of yoiu^, that lay 
 by me in my book-case, and I felt something, for the 
 fii'St time since I opened my eyes, of pleasurable exist- 
 ence. Well — I begin to breathe a little, since I 
 
 began to vnc'iie to you. How are you, and what are 
 you doing ? How goes law ? Apropos, for connexion's 
 sake, do not address to me supervisor, for that is an 
 honour I cannot pretend to ; I am on the list, as we 
 call it, for a supervisor, and will be called out, by and 
 bye, to act as one ; but at present I am a simple 
 guager, tho' t'other day I got an appointment to an 
 excise division of £25 per annum better than the rest. 
 My present income, down money, is £70 per annum. 
 
 I have one or two good fellows here, whom you would 
 be glad to know. R. B. 
 
 No. CCVI. 
 
 TO MISS DAVIES.* 
 
 It is impossible, ]\Iadam, that the generous warmth 
 and angelic purity of your youthful mind can have any 
 idea of that moral disease under which I unhappily 
 must rank as the chief of sinners ; I mean a torpitude 
 of the mora,l powers, that may be called a lethargy of 
 conscience. In vain Remorse rears her horrent crest, 
 and rouses all her snakes : beneath the deadly fixed 
 eye and leaden hand of Indolence, their wildest ire is 
 charmed into the toi'por of the bat, slumbering out the 
 rigours of winter in the chink of a ruined wall. No- 
 thing less. Madam, could have made me so long neglect 
 your obliging commands. Indeed, I had one apology — 
 the bagatelle was not worth presenting. Besides, so 
 strongly am I interested in Miss Davies's fate and wel- 
 
 * [Mr Cunningham, in his edition of Bums, gives a very inte- 
 resting note respecting the " charming lovely Davies;" from 
 -which we learn that she was the yomigest daughter of Dr Davies 
 of Tenby in Pembrokeshire, and a relative of the Riddels of 
 Friars' Carse. She died yovmg, under the distress of mind con- 
 sequent on the neglect of a lover.] 
 
74 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 fare in the serious buslneiss of life, amid its chances and 
 changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad 
 is downright mockery of these ardent feelings ; 'tis like 
 an impertinent jest to a dying friend. 
 
 Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our 
 >vishes and our powers ? Why is the most generous 
 wish to make others blest, impotent and ineffectual, 
 as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert ? In 
 my walks of life I have met with a few people to whom 
 how gladly would I have said, "Go! be happy! I know 
 that your hearts have been wounded by the scorn of 
 the proud, whom accident has placed above you — or, 
 worse still, in whose hands are perhaps placed many of 
 the comforts of your life. But there ! ascend that rock. 
 Independence, and look justly down on their littleness 
 of soul. Make the worthless tremble under your in- 
 dignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt ; 
 and largely impart that happiness to others, which, I 
 am certain, will give yourselves so much pleasure to 
 bestow^." 
 
 Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful 
 reverie, and find it all a dream ? Why, amid my ge- 
 nerous enthusiasm, must I find myself poor and power- 
 less, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of Pity, 
 or of adding one comfort to the friend I love ! Out upon 
 the world ! say I, that its affairs are administered so ill ! 
 They talk of reform; good Heaven! what a reform would 
 I make among the sons, and even the daughters, of men ! 
 Down, immediately should go fools from the high places 
 where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and 
 through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their 
 native insignificance, as the body marches accompanied 
 by its shadow. As for a much more formidable class, 
 the knaves, I am at a loss what to do with them : had 
 I a world, there should not be a knave in it. 
 
 But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill : 
 and I would pour delight on the heart l^at could kindly 
 forgive, and generously love. 
 
 , Still, the inequalities of Hfe are, among men, compa- 
 ratively tolerable — but there is a delicacy, a tender- 
 ness, accompanying every view in which we can place 
 lovely woman, that are grated and shocked at the rude, 
 capricious distinctions of Fortune. Woman is the 
 blood-royal of life : let there be slight degrees of pre- 
 cedency among them — but let them be all sacred. 
 Whether this last sentiment be right or wrong, I am 
 not accountable ; it is an original component feature of 
 my mind. R. B. 
 
 No. CCVII. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 ElUsland, 17th December, 1791. 
 
 Many thanks to you, Madam, for your good news 
 respecting the little floweret and the mother plant. I 
 hope my poetic prayers have been heard, and will be 
 answered up to the warmest sincerity of theu' fullest 
 extent ; and then Mrs Hem-i will find her little darling 
 the representative of his late parent, in every thing but 
 his abridged existence. 
 
 I have just finished the following song, which, to a 
 lady, the descendant of Wallace, and many heroes of 
 his truly illustrious line — and herself the mother of 
 several soldiers — needs neither preface nor apology. 
 [Here foUows the " Song of Death."] 
 
 The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing 
 verses, was — looldng over with a musical friend McDo- 
 nald's collection of Highland airs, I was struck with one, 
 an Isle of Skye tune, entitled " Oran an Aoig," or " the 
 Song of Death," to the measure of which I have adapted 
 my stanzas. I have, of late, composed two or three 
 other Httle pieces, wliich, ere yon full-orbed moon, 
 whose broad impudent face now stares at old mother 
 earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest cres- 
 cent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an 
 hour to transcribe for you. 4 Dieu je vous commende. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCVIII. 
 TO MR WILLIAM SMELLIE, PRINTER. 
 
 Dumfries, 22d January, 1792. 
 
 I SIT down, my dear Sir, to introduce a young lady 
 to you, and a lady in the first ranks of fashion, too. 
 What a task ! to you — who care no more for the herd 
 of animals called young ladies, than you do for the herd 
 of animals called young gentlemen. To you — who de- 
 spise and detest the groupings and combinations of 
 fashion, as an idiot painter that seems industrious to 
 place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in the fore- 
 ground of his picture, while men of sense and honesty 
 are too often thrown in the dimmest shades. Mrs Riddel,^ 
 who will take this letter to town with her, and send it 
 to you, is a character that, even in your own way, as a 
 naturalist and a philosopher, would be an acquisition 
 to your acquamtance. The lady, too, is a votary to the 
 muses ; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in 
 my own trade, I assure you that her verses, always 
 correct, and often elegant, are much beyond the com- 
 mon run of the lady-poetesses of the day. She is a great 
 admirer of your book ;t and hearing me say that I 
 was acquainted with you, she begged to be known to 
 you, as she is just going to pay her first visit to our Cale- 
 donian capital. I told her that her best way was, to 
 desire her near relation, and your intimate friend, 
 Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while she was 
 there ; and lest you might think of a lively West Indian 
 girl of eighteen, as girls of eighteen too often deserve 
 to be thought of, I should take care to remove that pre- 
 judice. To be impartial, however, in appreciating the 
 lady's merits, she has one unlucky failing — a failing 
 which you will easily discover, as she seems rather 
 pleased with indulging in it — and a faihng that you will 
 easily pardon, as it is a sin which very much besets 
 yourself — where she dislikes, or despises, she is apt to 
 make no more a secret of it than where she esteems 
 and respects. 
 
 I will not present you with the unmeaning compli- 
 ments of the season, but I will send you my warmest 
 wishes and most ardent prayers, that Fortune may 
 never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a knave. 
 or set your character on the judgment of a fool ; but 
 that, upright and erect, you may walk to an honest 
 grave, where men of letters shall say, "Here lies a man 
 who did honour to science," and men of worth shall say, 
 " Here lies a man who did honour to human nature." 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCIX. 
 TO MR WM. NICOL. 
 
 20th February, 1792. 
 
 Oil THOU, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of 
 prudence, full moon of discretion, and chief of many 
 coui^sellors !t How infinitely is thy puddle-headed, 
 rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave in- 
 debted to thy super-eminent goodness, that from the 
 luminous path of thy own right-lined rectitude, thou 
 lookest benignly down on an erring wretch, of whom 
 the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of calcula- 
 tion, from the simple copulation of units, up to the 
 hidden mysteries of fluxions ! May one feeble ray of 
 that light of wisdom which darts from thy sensorium, 
 straight as the arrow of heaven, and bright as the 
 meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so that I 
 may be less unworthy of the face and favour of that 
 father of proverbs, and master of maxims, that anti- 
 pode of folly, and magnet among the sages, the wise and 
 witty Willie Nicol ! Amen ! Amen ! Yea, so be it ! 
 
 For me ! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing ! 
 From the cave of my ignorance, amid the fogs of my 
 dulness, and pestUential fumes of my political heresies, 
 
 * [Maria Woodleigh, by marriage Mrs Riddel, resided at 
 Woodleigh Park, near Dumfries. She is to be carefully distin- 
 guished from Mrs RiddeLof Friars' Carse, another friend of the 
 poet.] 
 
 t [The Philosophy of Natural History.] 
 
 t [Mr Nicol had addressed a letter of advice to the poet,] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 75 
 
 I look np to thee, as doth a toad through the iron- 
 barred kxcerne of a pestiferous duugeon, to the cloud- 
 less glory of a summer sun ! Sorely sighing in bitterness 
 of soul, I say, when shall my name be the quotation of 
 the wise, and my countenance be the delight of the 
 godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many hills?* 
 As for him, his works are perfect— never did the pen 
 of calumny blur the fan.* page of his reputation, nor the 
 bolt of hatred fly at his dwelling. 
 
 Thou muTor of purity, when shall the elfine lamp of 
 my glimmerous understanding, purged from sensual 
 appetites and gross desires, shine like the constellation 
 of thy intellectual powers ! As for thee, thy thoughts 
 are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did the un- 
 hallowed breath of the powers of darkness, and the 
 pleasures of darkness, pollute the sacred flame of thy 
 sky-descended and heaven-bound desires; never did 
 the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene of 
 thy cerulean imagination. Oh that Hke thine were the 
 tenor of my life, like thine the tenor of my conversa- 
 tion !— then should no friend fear for my strength, no 
 enemy rejoice in my weakness! Then should I lie 
 down and rise up, and none to make me afraid. May 
 thy pity and thy prayer be exercised for, oh thou lamp 
 of Avisdom and mirror of morality ! thy devoted slave, 
 
 R. 'B. 
 
 No. CCX. 
 TO FRANCIS GROSE, Esq., F.S.A.+ 
 
 Dumfries, 179'2. 
 
 Sir— I believe among all our Scots literati you have 
 not met with Professor Dugald Stewart, who fills the 
 moral philosophy chair in the University of Edinburgh. 
 To say that he is a man of the first parts, and, what is 
 more, a man of the first worth, to a gentleman of your 
 general acquaintance, and who so much enjoys the 
 luxui'y of unencumbered freedom and undisturbed pri- 
 vacy, is not perhaps reconamendation enough : but when 
 I inform you that Mr Stewart's principal characteristic 
 is your favourite feature — that sterling independence 
 of mind, wliich, though every man's right, so few men 
 have the courage to claim, and fewer still the magna- 
 nimity to support : when I tell you, that unseduced by 
 splendour, and undisgusted by wretchedness, he appre- 
 ciates the merits of the various actors in the great 
 drama of life, merely as they perform their parts — in 
 short, he is a man after your own heart, and I comply 
 with his earnest request in letting you know that he 
 wishes above all things to meet with you. His house, 
 Catrine, is within less than a mile of Sorn Castle, which 
 you proposed visiting ; or if you could transmit him the 
 enclosed, he would, with the greatest pleasure, meet 
 you any where in the neighboui'hood. I write to 
 AjTshire to inform Mr Stewart that I have acquitted 
 myself of my promise. Should your time and spirits 
 permit your meeting with Mr Stewart, 'tis well ; if not, 
 I hope you will forgive this liberty, and I have at least 
 an opportunity of assuring you with what truth and 
 respect I am, Sir, your great admirer, and very humble 
 servant, R. B. 
 
 * [Mr Nicol had piu-chased a small piece of ground, called 
 Laggan, on the Nith. There took place the bacchanalian scene 
 which called forth ' ' Willie brewed a peck o' maut."] 
 
 t [Mr Grose, in the introduction to his " Antiquities of Scot- 
 land," acknowledges his obligations to Burns in the following 
 paragraph, some of the terms of which will scarcely fail to amuse 
 the modem reader :— 
 
 " To my ingenious friend,' Mr Robert Bums, I have been seri- 
 ously obligated : he was not only at the pains of making out what 
 was most worthy of notice in Ayrshire, the country honoured by 
 his birth, but he also wrote, expressly for this work, the prettij 
 tafe -annexed to Alloway Church." 
 
 Thia " pretty tale" being " Tam o' Shanter !"] 
 
 No. CCXI. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Dumfries, 1792. 
 Among the many witch stories I have heard, relat- 
 ing to Alloway kirk, I distinctly remember only two or 
 three. 
 
 Upon a .stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind, 
 and bitter blasts of hail — in short, on such a night as 
 the devil would choose to take the air in — a farmer, or 
 farmer's servant, was plodding and plashing homeward 
 with his plough-irons on his shoulder, having been get- 
 ting some repairs on them at a neighbouring smithy. 
 His way lay by the kirk of Alloway ; and being rather 
 on the anxious look-out in approaching a place so well 
 known to be a favoui'ite haunt of the devil, and the 
 devil's friends and emissaries, he was struck aghast by 
 discovering through the horrors of the storm and stormy 
 night, a hght, which on his nearer approach plainly 
 showed itself to proceed from the haunted edifice. 
 Whether he had been fortified from above on his devout 
 supplication, as is customary witli people when they 
 suspect the immediate presence of Satan, or v/hethei', 
 according to another custom, he had got courageously 
 drunk at the smithy, I wUl not pretend to determine ; 
 but so it was, that he ventured to go up to, nay into the 
 very kirk. As luck would have it, liis temerity came 
 off'unpunished. 
 
 The members of the infernal junto were all out on 
 some midnight business or other, and he saw nothing 
 but a kind of kettle or caldron, depending from the 
 roof, over the fire, simmering some heads of unchris- 
 tened cliildren, limbs of executed malefactors, &c., for 
 the business of the night. It was, in for a pemiy, in for 
 a pound, with the honest ploughman : so without cere- 
 mony he unhooked the caldron from ofi" the fire, and, 
 pouring out the damnable ingredients, inverted it on 
 his head, and carried it fairly home, where it remained 
 long in the family, a living evidence of the truth of the 
 story. 
 
 Another story, which I can prove to be equally 
 authentic, Avas as follows :— 
 
 On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer from 
 Carrick, and consequently whose way lay by the very 
 gate of Alloway kirk-yard, in order to cross the river 
 Doon at the old bridge, which is about two or three 
 hundred yards farther on than the said gate, had been 
 detained by his business, till by the time he reached 
 Alloway it was the wizard hour, between night and 
 morning. 
 
 Though he was terrified with a blaze streaming from 
 the kirk, yet as it is a well-known fact that to turn back 
 on these occasions is running by far the greatest risk 
 of mischief, he prudently advanced on his road. When 
 he had reached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was sur- 
 prised and entertained, through the ribs and arches of 
 an old Gothic window, which still faces the highway, to 
 see a dance of A\itches merrily footing it round their 
 old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping them all 
 alive with the power of his bagpipe. The farmer, stop- 
 ping his horse to observe them a httle, could plainly 
 descry the faces of many old women of his acquaintance 
 and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was dressed, 
 tradition does not say, but that the ladies were all in 
 their smocks : and one of them happening unluckily to 
 have a smock which was considerably too short to an- 
 swer all the purpose of that -piece of dress, our farmer 
 was so tickled, that he involuntarily burst out, with a 
 loud laugh, " Weel luppen, Maggy wi' the short sark !" 
 and recollecting himself, mstantly spurred his horse to 
 the top of his speed. I need not mention the univer- 
 sally known fact, that no diabolical power can pursue 
 you beyond the middle of a running stream. Lucky it 
 was for the poor farmer that the river Doon was so 
 near, for notwithstanding the speed of his horse, which 
 was a good one, agamst he reached the middle of the 
 arch of the bridge, and consequently the middle of the 
 stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags, were so close at 
 his heels, that one of them actually sprang to seize him : 
 1 but it was too kite j notlung' was on her side of the stream 
 
76 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 but the horse's tail, which immediately gave way at her 
 infernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of lightning ; but 
 the farmer was beyond her reach. However, the un- 
 sightly, tail-less condition of the vigorous steed, was, to 
 • the last hour of the noble creature's life, an awful warn- 
 ing to the Carrick farmers not to stay too late in Ayr 
 markets. 
 
 The last relation I shall give, though equally true, is 
 not so well identified as the two former, with regard to 
 the scene ; but as the best authorities give it for Allo- 
 way, I shall relate it. 
 
 On a summer's evening, about the time nature puts 
 on her sables to mourn the expiry of the cheerful day, 
 a shepherd boy, belonging to a farmer in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of Alio way kirk, had just folded his 
 charge, and was returning home. As he passed the 
 kirk, in the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of 
 men and women, who were busy pulling stems of the 
 plant Ragwort. He observed that as each person pulled 
 a Ragwort, he or she got astride of it, and called 
 out, " Up horsie !" on which the Ragwort flew off, like 
 Pegasus, through the air with its rider. The foolish 
 boy likewise pulled his Ragwort, and cried with the rest, 
 *' Up horsie !" and, strange to tell, away he flew with the 
 company. The first stage at which the cavalcade stopt, 
 was a merchant's wine cellar in Bourdeaux, where, 
 without saying by your leave, they quaffed away at the 
 best the cellar could afford, until the morning, foe to 
 the imps and works of darkness, threatened to throw 
 light on the matter, and frightened them from theii' 
 carousals. 
 
 The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranger to 
 the scene and the liquor, heedlessly got himself drunk ; 
 and when the rest took horse, he fell asleep, and was 
 found so next day by some of the people belonging to 
 the merchant. Somebody that understood Scotch, 
 asking him what he was, he said such-a-one's herd in 
 Alloway, and, by some means or other", getting home 
 again, he lived long to tell the world the wondrous tale. 
 
 R. B.* 
 
 No. CCXII. 
 
 TO MR J. CLARKE, EDINBURGH. 
 
 July 16, 1792. 
 Mr Burns begs leave to present his most respectful 
 compliments to Mr Clarke. Mr B, some time ago did 
 himself the honour of wi'iting Mr C. respecting coming 
 out to the country, to give a httle musical instruction 
 in a highly respectable family, where Mr C. may have 
 his own terms, and may be as happy as indolence, the 
 devil, and the gout, will permit him. Mr B. knows well 
 how Mr C. is engaged with another family ; but cannot 
 Mr C. find two or three weeks to spare to each of them % 
 Mr B. is deeply impressed with, and awfully conscious 
 of, the high importance of Mr C.'s time, whether in the 
 winged moments of symphonious exhibition, at the keys 
 of harmony, while listening seraphs cease their own 
 less delightful strains ; or in the drowsy arms of slum- 
 b'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved elbow- 
 chair, where the frowsy, but potent power of indolence, 
 circumfuses her vapours round, and sheds her dews on 
 the head of her darling son. But half a line conveying 
 half a meaning from Mr C. would make Mr B. the 
 happiest of mortals. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXIIL • 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Annan Water-foot, 22rf August, 1792. 
 
 Do not blame me for it, Madam — my own conscience, 
 hackneyed and weather-beaten as it is, in watching and 
 reproving my vagaries, follies, indolence, &c., has con- 
 tinued to punish me sufficiently. 
 
 Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured 
 
 * [This letter was communicated by Mr Gilchrist of Stamford 
 to Sir Egerton Bridges, by whom it was published in the " Cen- 
 siua Literaria," 1796.] 
 
 
 friend, that I could be so lost to gratitude for many, 
 favours, to esteem for much worth, and to the hones 
 kind, pleasurable tie of, now old acquaintance, and 
 hope and am sure of progressive, increasing friendship 
 — as for a single day, not to think of you — to ask the 
 Fates what they are doing and about to do with my 
 much-loved friend and her wide scattered connexions, 
 and to beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as 
 they possibly can ? 
 
 Apropos ! (though how it is apropos, I have not lei- 
 sure to explain) do you know that I am almost in love 
 with an acquaintance of yours ? Almost ! said I — I am 
 in love, souce, over head and ears, deep as the most 
 unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean ! — but the 
 word love, owing to the intermingledoms of the good 
 and the bad, tlie pure and the impure, in this world, 
 being rather an equivocal term for expressing one's 
 sentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the 
 sacred purity of my attachment. Know, then, that the 
 heart-struck awe ; the distant humble approach ; the 
 delight we should have in gazing upon and listening to 
 a messenger of Heaven, appearing in all the unspotted 
 purity of bis celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, 
 far inferior sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that 
 make their hearts swim in joy, and^their imaginations 
 soar in transport — such, so delighting and so pure, were 
 the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with 
 
 Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M . Mr 
 
 B. with his two daughters, accompanied by Mr H. of 
 G., passing through Dumfries a few days ago, on their 
 way to England, did me the honour of callmg on me ; 
 on which 1 took my horse (though, God knows, I could 
 ill spare the time), and accompanied them fourteen or 
 fifteen miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 
 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them, and, rid- 
 ing home, I composed the following ballad, of which 
 you will probably think you have a dear bargain, as it 
 will cost you another groat of postage. You must know 
 that there is an old ballad beginning with — 
 
 My bonnie Lizzie Baillie, 
 
 I'll rowe thee in my plaidie, &c. 
 So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first 
 copy, " unanointed, unanneal'd," as Hamlet says — 
 
 Oh saAv ye bonnie Lesley, &c. 
 So much for ballads. I regret that you are gone to 
 the east country, as I am to be in Ayrshire in about a 
 fortnight. This world of ours, notwithstanding it has 
 many good things in it, yet it has ever had this curse, 
 that two or three people, who would be the happier the 
 oftener they met together, are, almost without excep- 
 tion, always so placed as never to meet but once or 
 twice a-year, which, considering the few years of a 
 man's life, is a very great " evil under the sun," which 
 I do not recollect that Solomon has mentioned in his 
 catalogue of the miseries of man. I hope and believe 
 that there is a state of existence beyond the grave, 
 where the worthy of this life will renev/ their former 
 intimacies, with this endearing addition, that " we meet 
 to part no more !" 
 
 Tell us, ye dead, 
 Will none of you in pity disclose the secret 
 Wliat 'tis you are, and we must shortly be ? 
 
 A thousand times have I made this apostrophe to the 
 departed sons of men, but not one of them has ever 
 thought fit to answer the question. " Oh that some 
 courteous ghost would blab it out!" But it cannot be; 
 you and I, my friend, must make the experiment by 
 ourselves, and for ourselves. However, I am so con- 
 vinced that an unshaken faith in the doctrines of reli- 
 gion is not only necessary, by making us better men, 
 but also by making us happier men, that I should take 
 every care that your little godson, and every little 
 creature that shall call me father, shall be taught them. 
 So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at this 
 wild place of the world, in the intervals of my labour 
 of discharging a vessel of rum from Antigua. R. B. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 77 
 
 No. CCXIV. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Dumfries^ Idth September, 1792. 
 
 No ! I will not attempt an apology. Amid all my 
 hurry of business, grinding the faces of the publican 
 and the sinner on the merciless wheels of the Excise ; 
 making ballads, and then drinking, and singing them ; 
 and, over and above all, the correcting the press-work 
 of two different publications ; still, still I might have 
 stolen five minutes to dedicate to one of the first of my 
 friends and fellow-creatures. I might have done, as I 
 do at present, snatched an hour near " witching time of 
 night," and scrawled a page or two. I might have con- 
 gratulated my friend on his marriage ; or I might have 
 thanked the Caledonian archers for the honour they 
 Lave done me (though, to do myself justice, I intended 
 to have done both in rhyme, else I had done both long 
 ere now.) Well, then, here is to your good health ! — for 
 you must know, I have set a nipperkin of toddy by me, 
 just by way of spell, to keep away the meilde horned 
 deil, or any of liis subaltern imps, who may be on their 
 nightly rounds. 
 
 But what shall I write to you ? " The voice said, 
 cry," and I said, " what shall I cry ?" Oh, thou spirit ! 
 whatever thou art, or wherever thou makest thyself 
 visible ! Be thou a bogle by the eerie side of an auld 
 thorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd-cal- 
 lan maun bicker in his gloamin route frae the fauld ! 
 Be thou a brownie, set, at dead of night, to thy task by 
 the blazing ingle, or in the solitary barn, where the re- 
 percussions of thy iron flail half affright thyself, as thou 
 performest the work of twenty of the sons of men, ere 
 the cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog of sub- 
 stantial brose. Be thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or 
 ferry, in the starless night, mixing thy laughing yell 
 with the howling of the storm and the roaring of the 
 flood, as thou viewest the perils and miseries of man 
 on the foundering horse, or in the tumbling boat ! Or, 
 lastly, be thou a ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to 
 tlie hoary ruins of decayed grandeur ; or performing 
 thy mystic rites in the shadow of the time-worn church, 
 while the moon looks, without a cloud, on the silent, 
 ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee ; or taldug 
 thy stand by the bedside of the villain, or the murderer, 
 portraying on his dreaming fancy, pictures, dreadful as 
 the horrors of unveiled hell, and terrible as the Avrath 
 of incensed Deity ! Come, thou spirit, but not in these 
 horrid forms ; come mth the milder, gentle, easy in- 
 spirations, which thou breathest round the wig of a 
 prating advocate, or the tete of a tea-sipping gossip, 
 while their tongues vxvn at the light-horse gallop of 
 cUshmaclaver for ever and ever — come, and assist a 
 poor devil who is quite jaded in the attempt to share 
 half an idea among half a hundred words ; to fill up four 
 quarto pages, while he has not got one single sentence 
 of recollection, infoi'mation, or remark, worth patting 
 pen to paper for. 
 
 •K- * -ir -X- •«■ 
 
 Apropos, how do you like — I mean really like — the 
 mari'ied life \ Ah, my friend ! matrimony is quite a 
 different thing from \^hat your love-sick youths and 
 sighing girls take it to be ! But marriage, w^e are told, 
 is appointed by God, and I shall never quarrel with 
 any of his institutions. I am a husband of older stand- 
 ing than you, and shall give you my ideas of the con- 
 jugal state (en passant; you know I am no Latinist, is 
 not conjugal derived from jugum, a yoke !) Well, then, 
 the scale of good wifeship I divide into ten parts. Good- 
 nature, four; Good Sense, two; Wit, one; Personal 
 Charms, viz. a sweet face, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, 
 graceful carriage (I would add a fine waist too, but 
 that is soon spoilt you know), all these, one ; as for the 
 other qualities belonging to, or attending on, a wife, 
 such as Fortune, Connections, Education (I mean edu- 
 cation extraordinary). Family blood, &c., divide the 
 two remaining degrees among them as you please ; 
 only, remember that all these minor properties must 
 be expressed by fractions, for thei'e is not any one of 
 
 them, in the aforesaid scale^ entitled to the dignity of 
 an integer. 
 
 As for the rest of my fancies and reveries — how I 
 lately met with Miss Lesley Baillie, the most beautiful, 
 elegant woman in the world — how I accompanied her 
 and her father's family fifteen miles on their journey, 
 out of pure devotion, to admire the loveliness of the 
 works of God, in such an unequalled display of them — 
 how, in galloping home at night, I made a ballad on 
 her, of which these two stanzas make a part — 
 
 " Thou, bonnie Lesley, art a queen, 
 
 Thy subjects we before thee ; 
 Thou, bonnie Lesley, art divine. 
 
 The hearts o' men adore thee. 
 
 The very deil he could na scathe 
 
 Whatever wad belang thee ! 
 He'd look into thy bonnie face 
 
 And say, ' I canua wrang thee' " — ■ 
 
 Behold all these things are written in the chronicles of 
 my imagination, and shall be read by thee, my dear 
 friend, and by thy beloved spouse, my other dear friend, 
 at a more convenient season. 
 
 Now, to thee, and to thy before-designed bosom-coTa- 
 panion, be giveri the precious things brought forth by 
 the sun, and the precious things brought forth by the 
 moon, and the benignest influences of the stars, and the 
 living streams which flow from the fountains of life, 
 and by the tree of life, for ever and ever ! Amen ! 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCXV. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Dumfries, 2ith September, 1792. 
 
 I HAVE this moment, my dear Madam, youi's of the 
 23d. All your other kind reproaches, your news, &c., 
 are out of my head, when I read and think on Mrs 
 Henri's situation. Good God ! a heart-wounded helpless 
 young woman — in a strange, foreign land, and that land 
 convulsed with every horror that can harrow the human 
 feelings — sick — looking, longing for a comforter, but 
 finding none — a mother's feelings, too— but it is too 
 much : he who wounded (he only can) may He heal !* 
 
 I msh the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to 
 his family. ****** l cannot say that I give him 
 joy of his life as a farmer. 'Tis, as a farmer paying a 
 dear, unconscionable rent, a cursed life! As to a laird 
 farming his own property ; sowing his own corn in 
 hope ; and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in 
 gladness ; knowing that none can say unto him, " what 
 dost thou ?" — fattening his herds ; shearing his flocks ; 
 rejoicing at Christmas ; and begetting sons and daugh- 
 ters, until he be the venerated, grey- haired leader of a 
 little tribe — 'tis a heavenly life ! but devil take the life 
 of reaping the fruits that another must eat. 
 
 Well, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to seeing 
 me when I make my Ayrshire visit. I cannot leave 
 Mrs B. until her nine months' race is run, which 
 may, perhaps, be in three or four weeks. She, too, 
 seems determined to make me the patriarchal leader 
 of a band. However, if Heaven will be so obliging as 
 to let me have them in the proportion of three boys to 
 one girl, I shall be so much the more pleased. I hope, 
 if I am spared with them, to show a set of boys that 
 will do honour to my cares and name ; but I am not 
 equal to the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am too 
 poor — a girl should always have a fortune. Apropos, 
 your little godson is thriving charmingly, but is a very 
 devil. He, though two years youngei", has completely 
 mastered his bi-other. Robert is indeed the mildest, 
 gentlest, creature I ever saw. He has a most surprising 
 memory, and is quite the pride of his schoolmaster. 
 
 You know how readily we get into prattle upon a 
 subject dear to our heart — you can excuse it. God 
 bless you and yours ! K,. B. 
 
 * [See note to Letter CLXXXIV.] 
 
78 
 
 BURNS'S PEOSE WORKS. 
 
 No. CCXVI. 
 
 TO THE SAME.* 
 
 I HAD been from home, and did not receive your 
 letter until my return the other day. What shall I say 
 to comfort you, my much-valued, muchrafflicted friend ! 
 I can but grieve with you ; consolation I have none to 
 ojGFer, except that which religion holds out to the chil- 
 dren of affliction — {children of affliction! — ^liow just the 
 expression!) — and lilie every other family, they have 
 matters among them which they hear, see, and feel in 
 a serious,, all-important manner, of which the world 
 has not, nor cares to have, any idea. The woi'ld looks 
 indifferently on, makes the passing remark, and pro- 
 ceeds to the next novel occurrence. 
 
 Alas, Madam! who would wish for many j^ears? 
 What is it but to drag existence until our joys gradually 
 expire, and leave us in a night of misery — like the 
 gloom which blots out the stars, one by one, from the 
 face of night, and leaves us, without a ray of comfort, 
 in the howling waste ! 
 
 I am interi'upted, and must leave off. You shall 
 soon hear from me again. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXVII. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Dumfries, 6th December, 1792. 
 
 I SHALL be in Ayrshire, I tliink, next week ; and, if 
 at aU possible, I shall certainly, my much-esteemed 
 friend, have the pleasure of visiting at Dunlop-house. 
 
 Alas, Madam ! how seldom do we meet in this world, 
 that we have reason to congratulate ourselves on 
 accessions of happiness ! I have not passed half the 
 ordinary term of an old man's life, and yet I scarcely 
 look over the obituary of a newspaper, that I do not see 
 some names that I have known, and which I, and other 
 acquaintances, little thought to meet with there so soon. 
 Every other instance of the mortality of our kind, 
 makes us cast an anxious look into the dreadful abyss 
 of uncertainty, and shudder with apprehension for our 
 own fate. But of how different an importance are'the 
 lives of different individuals ! Nay, of what importance 
 is one period of the same life more than another ? A 
 few years ago I could have lain down in the dust, 
 " careless of the voice of the moi'ning ;" and now not a 
 few, and these most helpless individuals, would, on 
 losing me and my exertions, lose both their " staff and 
 shield." By the way, these helpless ones have lately 
 got an addition : Mrs B. having given me a fine girl 
 since I wrote you. There is a charming passage in 
 Thomson's " Edward and Eleanora :" 
 
 The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? 
 Or what need he regard his single woes ?— &c. 
 
 As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall give you 
 another from the same piece, peculiarly — alas ! too pe- 
 culiarly — apposite, my dear Madam, to your present 
 frame of mind : 
 
 "Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him 
 With his fair-weather virtue, that exults 
 Glad o'er the summer main ? The tempest comes, 
 The rough winds rage aloud ; when from the helm 
 This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies 
 Lamenting. Heavens ! if privileged from trial. 
 How cheap a thing were virtue ! 
 I do not remember to have heard you mention Thom- 
 son's dramas. I pick up favourite quotations, and store 
 them in my mind as ready armour, offensive or defen- 
 sive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence. Of 
 these is one, a very favourite one, from his " Alfred :" 
 
 Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds 
 And ofi&ces of life ; to life itself. 
 With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose. 
 Probably I have quoted some of these to you formerly, 
 as indeed, when I write from the heart, I am apt to be 
 guilty of such repetitions. The compass of the heart, 
 
 * [Mrs Henri, daughter of Mrs Dunlop, died at Muges, near 
 Aiguillon, September 15, 1792. The above letter is one of condo- 
 lence on this melancholy event. See note to Letter CLXXXIY.] 
 
 in the musical style of expression, is much more bounded 
 than that of the imagination, so the notes of the former 
 are extremely apt to run into one another ; but in return 
 for the paucity of its compass, its few notes are much 
 more sweet. I must still give you another quotation, 
 which I am almost sure I'^have given you before, but 
 I cannot resist the temptation. The subject is religion 
 — speaking of its importance to mankind, the author 
 says, 
 
 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright. 
 
 I see you are in for double postage, so I shall e'en 
 scribble out t'other sheet. We in this country here, 
 have many alarms of the reforming, or rather the re- 
 pubUcan spirit, of your part of the kingdom. Indeed, 
 we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me, 
 I am a placeman, you know ; a very humble one, indeed. 
 Heaven Imows, but still so much as to gag me. What 
 my private sentiments are, you will find out without an 
 interpreter. 
 
 I have taken up the subject, and the other day, for 
 a"" pretty actress's benefit night, I wrote an address, 
 which I will give on the other page, called " The Rights 
 of Woman." 
 
 I shall have the honour of receiving your criticisms 
 in person at Dvmlop. R. B, 
 
 No. CCXVIII. 
 TO R. GRAHAM, Esq. FINTRY. 
 
 December, 1792. 
 
 Sir — I have been surprised, confounded, and dis- 
 tracted, by Mr Mitchell, the collector, telling me that 
 he has received an order from your Board* to inquire 
 into my political conduct, and blaming me as a person 
 disaffected to government. 
 
 Sir, you are a husband, and a father. You know 
 what you would feel, to see the much-loved wife of your 
 bosom, and your helpless, prattling little ones, turned 
 adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced from a 
 situation in which they had been respectable and re- 
 spected, and left almost without the necessary support 
 of a miserable existence. Alas, Sir ! must I think that 
 
 such soon will be my lot ! and from the d , dark 
 
 insinuations of hellish groundless envy too ! I believe. 
 Sir, I may aver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that 
 I would not tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though 
 even worse horrors, if worse can be, than those I have 
 mentioned, hung over my head ; and I say, that the 
 allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie I To 
 the British Constitution, on revolution principles, next 
 after my God, I am most devoutly attached. You, Sir, 
 have been much and generously my friend; Heaven 
 knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, and how 
 gratefully I have thanked you. Fortune, Sir, has made 
 you powerful, and me impotent — has given you patron- 
 age, and me dependence. I would not, for my single 
 self, call on your humanity ; were such my insular, 
 unconnected situation, I would despise the tear that 
 now swells in my eye — I could brave misfortune, I 
 could face ruin, for at the worst, " Death's thousand 
 doors stand open ;" but, good God ! the tender concerns 
 that I have mentioned, the claims and ties that I see 
 at this moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve 
 courage and wither resolution ! To your patronage, as 
 a man of some genius, you have allowed me a claim ; 
 and your esteem, as an honest man, I know is my due. 
 To these. Sir, permit me to appeal ; by these may I 
 adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens 
 to overwhelm me, and which, with ray latest breath I 
 will say it, I have not deserved. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXIX. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Dumfries, 'dist December, 1/92. 
 Dear Madam-^A hurry of business, thrown in lieaps 
 
 * [The commissioners of the Scottish Boai-d of Excise were at 
 this time George Brown, Thomas Wharton, James Stodart, 
 Ilobert Graham (of Fintrv), and John Grieve, Es<n-s.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESP0NDENCE. 
 
 79 
 
 by my absence, has until now prevented my returning 
 my grateful acknowledgments to the good family of 
 Dunlop, and you in particular, for that hospitable 
 kiadness which rendered the four days I spent under 
 that genial roof, four of the pleasantest I ever enjoyed. 
 Alas, my dearest friend ! how few and fleeting are those 
 things we call pleasures ! — on my road to Ayrshire, I 
 spent a night with a friend whom I much valued, a 
 man whose days promised to be many ; and on Satur- 
 day last we laid him in the dust ! 
 
 Jan. 2d, 1793. 
 
 I HAVE just received yours of the 30th, and feel much 
 for your situation. However, I heartily rejoice in your 
 prospect of recovery from that vile jaundice. As to 
 myself, I am better, though not quite free of my com- 
 plaint. You must not think, as you seem to insinuate, 
 that in my way of Kfe I want exercise. Of that I have 
 enough ; but occasional hard drinking is the devil to 
 me. Against this I have again and again bent my re- 
 solution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have 
 totally abandoned : it is the private parties in the family 
 way, among the hard-drinking gentlemen of this coun- 
 try, that do me the mischief— but even this, I have 
 more than half given over.* 
 
 Mr Corbet can be of little service to me at present ; 
 at least I should be shy of applying. I cannot possibly 
 be settled as a supervisor for several years. I must 
 wait the rotation of the list, and there are twenty names 
 before mine. I might indeed get a job of officiating, 
 where a settled supervisor was ill, or aged ; but that 
 hauls me from my family, as I could not remove them 
 on such an uncertainty. Besides, some envious, mali- 
 cious devil, has raised a little demur on my poHtical 
 principles, and I wish to let that matter settle before I 
 offer myself too much in the eye of my supervisors. I 
 have set, henceforth, a seal on my Hps, as to these 
 unlucky politics ; but to you, I must breathe my senti- 
 ments. In this, as in every thing else, I shall show the 
 undisguised emotions of ray soul. War I deprecate : 
 misery and ruin to thousands are in the blast that 
 announces the destructive demon. * * R. B. 
 
 No. CCXX. 
 
 TO THE SAME.f 
 
 ^th January, 1793. 
 You see my hurried life, Madam ; I can only com- 
 
 * [The following extract from a letter addressed by Mr Bloom- 
 field to the Earl of Buchan, contains so interesting an exhibition 
 of the modesty ioherent in real worth, and so philosophical, and 
 at the same time so poetical, an estimate of the diflferent charac- 
 ters and destinies of Bums and its author, that I should esteem 
 myself culpable were I to -withhold it from the public view. 
 
 " The illustrious soul that has left amongst us the name of 
 Bums, has often been lowered down to a comparison with me ; 
 but the comparison exists more in circumstances than in essen- 
 tials. That man stood up with the stamp of superior intellect on 
 his brow ; a visible greatness : and great and pa-triotic subjects 
 would only have called into action the powers of his mind, which 
 lay inactive while he played calmly and exquisitely the pastoral 
 pipe. 
 
 The letters to which I have alluded in my preface to the ' Rural 
 Tales,' were friendly warnings, pointed •with immediate reference 
 to the fate of that extraordinary man. ' Remember Burns,' has 
 been the watchword of my friends. I do remember Burns ; but 
 I am not Bums '—neither have I his fire to fan or to quench, nor 
 passions to control ! Where, then, is my merit, if I make a peace- 
 ful voyage on a smooth sea, and with no mutiny on board ? To a 
 lady (I have it from herself) who remonstrated \vith him on his 
 danger from drink, and the pursuits of some of his associates, he 
 replied, ' Madam, they would not thank me for my company, 
 if I did not drink with them. I must give them a slice of my con- 
 stitution.' How much to be regretted that he did not give them 
 thinner slices of his constitution, that it might have lasted 
 longer !"— Cromek.] 
 
 t [In Dr Currie's edition, this letter is dated January 1792, and 
 appears in the place appropriate to that date. The present edi- 
 tor, entertaining no doubt that the real date is 1793, has trans- 
 ferred it from the former to the present place. What gives reason 
 to believe the latter the true date, is the allusion to the * ' ^li- 
 tical blast" that had threatened the poet's welfare.] 
 
 mand starts of time : however, I am glad of one thing ; 
 since I finished the other sheet, the political blast that 
 threatened my welfare is overblown. I have corres- 
 ponded with Commissioner Graham, for the board had 
 made me the subject of their animadversions ; and now 
 I have the pleasure of informing you, that all is set to 
 rights in that quarter. Now as to these informers, may 
 
 the devil be let loose to But, hold ! I was praying 
 
 most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon 
 fall a-swearing in this. 
 
 Alas! how httle do the wantonly or idly officious 
 think what mischief they do by their malicious insinua- 
 tions, indirect impertinence, or thoughtless blabbings. 
 What a difference there is in intrinsic worth, candour, 
 benevolence, generosity, kindness — in all the charities 
 and all the virtues — between one class of human beings 
 and another. For instance, the amiable circle I so 
 lately mixed with in the hospitable hall of Dunlop, their 
 generous hearts, their uncontaminated dignified minds, 
 their informed and poUshed understandiugs — what 
 a contrast, when compared — if such comparing were 
 not downright sacrilege — with the soul of the miscreant 
 who can dehberately plot the destruction of an honest 
 man that never offended him, andfwith a grin of satis- 
 faction see the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and 
 prattling innocents, turned over to beggary and ruin ! 
 
 Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I had two 
 worthy fellows duiing with me the other day, when I, 
 with great formaUty, produced my whigmaleerie cup, 
 and told them that it had been a family-piece among 
 the descendants of William Wallace. TMs roused such 
 an enthusiasm, that they insisted on bumpering the 
 punch round in it ; and by and bye, never did your great 
 ancestor lay a suthron more completely to rest, than 
 for a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, this 
 is the season of wishing. May God bless you, my dear 
 friend, and bless me, the humblest and sincerest of your 
 friends, by granting you yet many returns of the sea- 
 son! May all good thiags attend you and yours, 
 wherever they are scattered over the earth ! R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXI. 
 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 M March, 1793. 
 
 Since I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have 
 not had time to write you farthei'. When I say that I 
 had not time, that, as usual, means, that the three de- 
 mons, indolence, business, and ennui, have so completely 
 shared my hours among them, as not to leave me a five 
 minutes' fragment to take up a pen in. 
 
 Thank Heaven, I feel my spirits buoying'upwards 
 with the renovating year. Now, I shall in good ear- 
 nest take up Thomson's songs. I dare say he thinks I 
 have used him unkindly ; and, I must o^vn, with too 
 much appearance of truth. Apropos, do you know the 
 much-admired old Highland air called " The Sutor's 
 Dochter ?" It is a first-rate favourite of mine, and I have 
 written what I reckon one of my best songs to it. I will 
 send it to you as it was sung, with great applause, in 
 some fashionable circles, by Major Robertson of Lude, 
 who was here with his corps. 
 
 There is one commission that I must trouble you 
 mth. I lately lost a valuable seal, a present from a 
 departed friend, which vexes me much. I have gotten 
 one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would 
 make a very decent one, and I want to cut my armo- 
 rial bearing on it : will you be so obliging as inquire 
 what will be the expense of such a business ? I do not 
 know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call 
 it, at all, but I have invented arms for myseK; so, 
 you know, I shall be chief of the name ; and, by cour- 
 tesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled to supporters. 
 These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I 
 am a bit of a herald, and shall give you, secundum 
 artem, my arms. On a field, azure, a holly bush, seeded, 
 pi'oper, in base ; a shepherd's pipe and crook, saltier- 
 wise, also proper, in chief. On a wreath of the colours, 
 a wood-lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, 
 
80 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 for crest. Two mottoes ; round the top of the crest, 
 Wood notes wild; at the bottom of the shield, in the 
 usual place, Better a wee bush than nae bield* By 
 the shepherd's pipe and crook, I do not mean the non- 
 sense of painters of Arcadia, but a stock and horn, and 
 a club, such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, 
 in Allan's quarto edition of the " Gentle Shepherd." 
 By the bye, do you know Allan ?t He must be a man 
 of very great genius. Why is he not more known ? Has 
 he no patrons % — or do " Poverty's cold wind and crush- 
 ing rain beat keen and heavy" on him ? I once, and 
 but once, got a glance of that noble edition of the no- 
 blest pastoral in the world ; and dear as it was, I mean 
 dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it, but I was 
 told that it was printed and engraved for subscribers 
 only. He is the only artist who has hxi genuine pastoral 
 costume. What, my dear Cunningham, is there in riches, 
 that they narrow and harden the heart so '^ I think, 
 that were I as rich as the sun, I should be as generous 
 as the day ; but as I have no reason to imagine my soul 
 a nobler one than any other man's, I must conclude that 
 wealth imparts a bird-lime quality to the possessor, at 
 which the man, in his native poverty, would have 
 revolted. What has led me to this is the idea of such 
 merit as Mr Allan possesses, and such riches as a nabob 
 or government contractor possesses, and why they do 
 not form a mutual league. Let wealth shelter and che- 
 rish unprotected merit, and the gratitude and celebrity 
 of that merit will richly repay it. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXII. 
 TO MISS BENSON, 
 
 NOW MRS BASIL MONTAGU. 
 
 Dumfries, 2lst March, 1793. 
 
 Madam — Among many things for which I envy those 
 hale, long-lived old fellows before the flood, is this, in 
 particular — that when they met with any body after 
 their own heart, they had a charming long prospect of 
 many, many happy meetings with them in after-life. 
 
 Now, in this short, stormy, winter-day of our fleeting 
 existence, when you, now and then, in the chapter of 
 accidents, meet an individual whose acquaintance is a 
 real acquisition, there are all the probabilities against 
 you, that you shall never meet with that valued charac- 
 ter more. On the other hand, brief as this miserable 
 being is, it is none of the least of the miseries belonging 
 to it, that if there is any miscreant whom you hate, or 
 creature whom you despise, the ill-run of the chances 
 shall be so against you, that in the overtakings, turnings, 
 and jostlings of life, pop, at some unlucky corner, eter- 
 nally comes the wretch upon you, and will not allow 
 your indignation or contempt a moment's repose. As 
 I am a sturdy believer in the powers of darkness, I take 
 these to be the doings of that old author of mischief, 
 the devil. It is well known that he has some kind of 
 short-hand way of taking down our thoughts ; and I 
 make no doubt that he is perfectly acquainted with my 
 sentiments respecting Miss Benson : ho^^>■ much I ad- 
 mired her abilities and valued her worth, and how very 
 fortunate I thought myself in her acquaintance. For 
 this last reason, my dear Madam, I must entertain no 
 hopes of the very great pleasure of meeting with you 
 again. 
 
 Miss Hamilton tells me that she is sending a packet 
 to you, and I beg leave to send you the enclosed sonnet : 
 though, to tell you the real truth, the sonnet is a mere 
 pretence, that I may have the opportunity of declaring 
 with how much respectful esteem I have the honour to 
 be, &c. R. B. 
 
 * [A seal with these fanciful bearings was actually cut for the 
 poet, and used by him for the remainder of his life. Its impres- 
 sion is represented under a profile of the poet, in Mr Cunning- 
 ham's edition of Burns, vol. viii. p. 163.] 
 
 t [The poet here alludes to David Allan, painter, usually called 
 the Scottish Hogarth. He was born at Alloa in 1744, and edu- 
 cated through the kindness of some generous ladies. His serious 
 paintings are not much admired ; but he had a happy knack at 
 hitting off Scottish rustic figures. At his death in 179(J, he left a 
 series of drawings illustrative of Burns'^ works.] 
 
 No. CCXXIII. 
 TO PATRICK MILLER, Esq., 
 
 OP DALSWINTON. 
 
 Dumfries, April, 1793. 
 
 Sir — My poems having just come out in another edi- 
 tion, will you do me the honour to accept of a copy ? A 
 mark of my gratitude to you, as a gentleman to whose 
 goodness I have been much indebted ; of my respect 
 for you, as a patriot who, in a venal, sliding age, stands 
 forth the champion of the liberties of my country ; and 
 of my veneration for you, as a man whose benevolence 
 of heart does honour to human nature. 
 
 There was a time. Sir, when I was your dependent : 
 this language then would have been like the vile incense 
 of flattery — I could not have used it. Now that that 
 connexion* is at an end, do me the honour to accept 
 of this honest tribute of respect from, Sir, your much 
 indebted humble servant, R. B, 
 
 No. CCXXIV. 
 TO JOHN FRANCIS ERSKINE,t Esq., 
 
 OF MAR. 
 
 Dumfries, \^th April, 1793. 
 
 Sir — Degenerate as human nature is said to be — and 
 in many instances, worthless and unprincipled it is — 
 still there are bright examples to the contrary ; exam- 
 ples that, even in the eyes of superior beings, must shed, 
 a lustre on the name of man. 
 
 Such an example have I now before me, when you, 
 Sir, came forward to patronise and befriend a distant 
 obscure stranger, merely because poverty had made 
 him helpless, and his British hardihood of mind had 
 provoked the arbitrary wantonness of power. My much 
 esteemed friend, Mr Riddel of Glenriddel, has just read 
 me a paragraph of a letter he had from you. Accept, 
 Sir, of the silent throb of gratitude ; for words would 
 but mock the emotions of my soul. 
 
 You have been misinformed as to my final dismission 
 from the Excise ; I am still in the service. Indeed, 
 but for the exertions of a gentleman who must be known 
 to you, Mr Graham of Fintry — a gentleman who has 
 ever been my warm and generous friend — I had, with- 
 out so much as a hearing, or the slightest previous in- 
 timation, been turned adrift, with my helpless family, 
 to all the horrors of want. Had I had any other re- 
 source, probably I might have saved them the trouble 
 of a dismission ; but the little money I gained by my 
 publication, is, almost every guinea, embarked, to save 
 from ruin an only brother, who, though one of the 
 worthiest, is by no means one of the most fortunate of 
 men. 
 
 In my defence to their accusations, I said, that what- 
 ever might be my sentiments of republics, ancient or 
 modern, as to Britain I abjured the idea, that a con- 
 stitution, which, in its original principles, experience 
 had proved to be every way fitted for our happiness in 
 society, it would be insanity to saci'ifice to an untried 
 visionary theory — that, in consideration of my being 
 situated in a department, however humble, immediately 
 
 * [Alluding to the time when he held the farm of EUisland, as 
 tenant to Mr Miller.] 
 
 t [This gentleman most obligingly favoured the Editor with a 
 perfect copy of the original letter, and allowed him to lay it be- 
 fore the public. It is partly printed in Dr Currie's Edition. 
 
 It will be necessary to state, that in consequence of the poet's 
 freedom of remark on public measures, maliciously misrepre- 
 sented to the Board of Excise, he wa8 represented as actually 
 dismissed from his office. This report induced Mr Erskine to 
 propose a subscription in his favour, which was refused by the 
 poet with that elevation of sentiment that peculiarly characte- 
 rised his mind, and which is so happily displayed in this letter. 
 See letter to R. Graham of Fintry, December 1792, written by 
 Burns, with even more than his accustomed pathos and eloquence, 
 in further explanation.— Cromek. Mr Erbkine of Mar, at all 
 times of his life a noted Whig, became Earl of Mar in 1824, in 
 ccinsequence of the reversal of his grandfather's attainder. He 
 died August 20, Vi2o, aged eighty -four.] 
 
GENERAL COKRESPGNDENCE. 
 
 81 
 
 in the hands of people m power, I had forborne taldng 
 any active part, either personally or as an author, in 
 the present busuiess of REioiiM. But that, -where 1 
 must declare my sentiments, I would say there existed 
 a system of corruption between the executive power 
 and the representative part of the legislature, which 
 boded no good to our glorious cg.vsiitutiox, and which 
 evei'y patriotic Briton must wish to see amended. Some 
 such sentiments as these, I stated in a letter to my gene- 
 I'ous patron, j\Ir Graham, which he laid before the Board 
 at large, where, it seems, my last remark gave great 
 offence ; and one of our supervisors general, a Mr Cor- 
 bet, was instructed to inqun-e on the spot, and to docu- 
 ment me, "that my business was to act, not to think; 
 and that, whatever might be men or measures, it was 
 for me to be silent and obedient.''^ 
 
 Mr Corbet was likewise my steady friend ; so between 
 Mr Graham and him, I have been partly forgiven : only 
 I understand that all hopes of my getting oiiicially 
 forward are blasted. 
 
 Now, Sir, to the business in which I would more im- 
 mediately interest you. The partiahty of my couxtky- 
 MEx has brought me forward as a man of genius, and 
 has given me a character to support. In the poet I 
 have avo^^'ed manly and independent sentiments, which 
 I trust will be found in the max. Reasons of no less 
 weight than the support of a wife and family, have 
 pointed out as the eligible, and, situated as I was, the 
 only eligible, Une of life for me, my present occupation. 
 Still my honest fame is my dearest concern; and a 
 thousand times have I trembled at the idea of those 
 degrading epithets that mahce or misrepresentation 
 ?nay affix to my name. I have often, in blasting anti- 
 cipation, listened to some future hackney scribbler, with 
 the heavy mahce of savage stupidity, exulting in his 
 hk-eling paragraphs — " Burns, notwithstanding the fan- 
 faronade of independence to be found in his works, and 
 after having been held forth to public view, and to pubhc 
 estimation, as a man of some genius, yet, quite destitute 
 of resources within himself to support his borrowed 
 dignity, he dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slimk 
 out the rest of his insignificant existence in the meanest 
 of pursuits, and among the vilest of manldnd." 
 
 In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to lodge my 
 disavowal and defiance of these slanderous falsehoods. 
 Burns was a poor man from birth, and an exciseman 
 by necessity ; but — I will say it ! — the sterling of his 
 honest worth no poverty could debase, and his inde- 
 pendent British mind oppression might bend, but could 
 not subdue. Have not I, to me, a more precious stake 
 in my country's welfare, than the richest dukedom in 
 it ? I have a large family of children, and the prospect 
 of many more. I have three sons, \\\\o, I see already, 
 have brought into the world souls ill quahfied to inhabit 
 the bodies of slaves. Can I look tamely on, and see 
 any machination to wrest from them the birthi'ight of 
 my boys — the little independent Britons, in Avhose veins 
 runs my own blood ? No ! I will not, should my heart's 
 blood stream around my a,ttempt to defend it ! 
 
 Does any man tell me, that my full efforts can be of 
 no service, and that it does not belong to my humble 
 station to meddle with the concern of a nation ? 
 
 I can tell him, that it is on such individuals as I, 
 that a nation has to rest, both for the hand of support, 
 and the eye of intelKgence. The uninformed mob may 
 swell a nation's bullc; and the titled, tinsel, courtly 
 throng may be its feathered ornament ; but the num- 
 ber of those v.ho are elevated enough in life to reason 
 and to reflect, yet low enough to keep clear of the venal 
 contagion of a com-t — these are a nation's strength ! 
 
 I know not how to apologise for the impertinent length 
 of this epistle ; but one small request I must ask of 
 you farther — When you have honoured this letter with 
 a perusal, please to commit it to the flames. Burns, in 
 whose behalf you have so generously interested yourself, 
 I have here, in his native coloui-s, drawn as he is ; but 
 should any of the people in whose hands is the very 
 bread he eats, get the least knowledge of the picture, it 
 icould ruin the poor bard /or ever! 
 
 My pcems having just come out in another edition, 1 
 F 
 
 beg leave to present you with a copy, as a small mark 
 of that high esteem and ardent gratitude with whixih I 
 have the honour to be, Sir, your deeply indebted and 
 ever devoted humble servant, R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXV. 
 
 TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. 
 
 April 26, 1793. 
 
 I AM out of humour, my dear Ainslie, and that 
 
 is the reason why I take up the pen to t/ou : 'tis the 
 nearest way {probatwn est) to recover my spmts again.. 
 
 I received your last, and was much entertained witlx 
 it ; but I will not at this time, nor at any other time^ 
 answer it. Answer a letter ! — I never could answer a- 
 letter in my life. I have written many a letter in 
 return for letters I have received; but then — they 
 were original matter — spurt-away ! zig, here ; zag, 
 there ; as if the devil, that my granrue (an old woman, 
 indeed) often told me, rode on will-o'-wisp, oi', in her 
 more classic phrase, Spunkie, were looking over vay 
 elbow. Happy thought that idea has engendered in my 
 head ! Spunkie, thou shalt henceforth he my symbol, 
 signature, and tutelary genius ! Like thee, hap-step- 
 aud-loup, here-awa-there-awa, liigglety-pigglety, pell- 
 mell, Mther-and-yont, ram-stam, happy-go-lucky, up 
 tails-a'-by-the-hght-o'-the-moon — has been, is, and shall 
 be, my progress through the mosses and moors of, tins 
 vile, bleak, barren wilderness of a life of ours. 
 
 Come, then, my guardian spirit ! like thee, may 1 
 skip away, amusing myself by and at my own light ; 
 and if any opaque-souled lubber of mankind complain 
 that my eixine, lambent, glimmerous wanderings have 
 misled his stupid steps over precipices or into bogs, 
 let the tliick-headed Blimderbuss recollect that he is 
 not Spunkie : — that 
 
 Spunkie's wanderings could not copied be ; 
 Amid these perils none durst walk but he. 
 * * * 
 
 I have no doubt but scholarcraft may be caught, as a 
 Scotsman catches the itch, by friction, Hoav else can 
 you account for it, that born blockheads, by mere dint 
 of handling books, grow so wise that even they them- 
 selves are equally convinced of and sui'prised at their 
 own parts ? I once carried this philosophy to that 
 degree, that in a knot of country folks who had a library 
 amongst them, and who, to the honour of their good 
 sense, made me factotum in the business ; one of our 
 members, a little, wise-looking, squat, upright, jabber- 
 ing body of a tailor, I advised him, instead of turning 
 over the leaves, to bind the book on his back. Johnnie 
 took the hint, and as our meetings were every fourth 
 Saturday, and Pi-icklouse having a good Scots mile to 
 walk in coming, and, of course, another in returning. 
 Bodkin was sure to lay his hand on some heaA'y quarto 
 or ponderous folio, with, and under which, wrapt up in 
 his grey plaid, he grew wise, as he grew weary, aU the 
 way home. He carried this so far, that an old musty 
 Hebrew concordance, Avhich we had in a present from 
 a neighbouring priest, by mere dint of applying it, as 
 doctors do a bhstering piaster, between his shoulders. 
 Stitch, in a dozen pilgrimages, acquu-ed as much rational 
 theology as the said priest had done by forty years' 
 perusal of the pages. 
 
 Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think of this 
 theory. Yours, Spunkie. 
 
 No. CCXXYI. 
 
 TO MISS KENNEDY. 
 
 Madaji — Permit me to present you with the enclosed 
 song, as a small though grateful tribute for the honour 
 of your acquaintance. I have, in these verses, attempted 
 some faint sketches of your portrait in the unembellished 
 simple manner of descriptive truth. Flattery I leave 
 to your LOVERS, whose exaggerating fancies may make 
 them imagine you btill nearer perfection than you really 
 are. 
 
82 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the 
 powers of beauty ; as, if they are really poets of nature's 
 making, their feelings must be finer, and 'their taste 
 snore delicate, than most of the world. In the cheerful 
 bloom of SPRING, or the pensive mildness of autumn, the 
 grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty of winter, 
 the poet feels a charm unknown to the rest of his species. 
 Even the sight of a fine flower, or the company of a fine 
 woman (by far the finest part of God's works below), 
 have sensations for the poetic heart that the herd of 
 men are strangers to. On this last account, Madam, 
 I am, as in many other things, indebted to Mr Hamil- 
 ton's kindness in introducing me to you. Your lovers 
 may view you with a wish, I look on you with pleasure ; 
 their hearts, in your presence, may glow with desire, 
 mine rises with admiration. 
 
 That the arrows of misfortune, however they should, 
 as incident to humanity, .glance a slight wound, may 
 never reach your heart — that the snares of villany may 
 never beset you in the road of life — that innocence may 
 hand you by the path of honour to the dwelling of peace 
 — is the sincere wish of him who has the honour to be, 
 &c, K. B. 
 
 No. CCXXVII. 
 TO MISS CRAIK.* 
 
 Dumfries, August, 1793. 
 
 Madam — Sorae'rather unlooked-for accidents have 
 prevented my doing myself the honour of a second visit 
 to Arbigland, as I was so hospitably invited, and so 
 positively meant to have done. However, I still hope 
 to have that pleasure before the busy months of harvest 
 begin. 
 
 I enclose you two of my late pieces, as some kind of 
 return for the pleasure I have received in perusing a 
 certain MS. volume of poems in the possession of Cap- 
 tain Riddel. To repay one with an old song, is a pro- 
 verb, whose force, you, Madam, I know, will not allow. 
 What is said of illustrious descent is, I believe, equally 
 true of a talent for poetry — ^none ever despised it who 
 had pretensions to it. The fates and characters of the 
 rhyming tribe often employ my thoughts when I am 
 disposed to be melancholy. There is not, among all 
 the martyrologies that ever were penned, so rueful a 
 narrative as the lives of the poets. In the comparative 
 viewiof wretches, the criterion is not what they are 
 doomed to suffer, but how they are formed to bear. 
 Take a being of our kind, give him a stronger imagina- 
 tion and a more delicate sensibility, which between them 
 will ever engender a more ungovernable set of passions 
 than are the usual lot of man ; implant in him an irre- 
 sistible impulse to some idle vagary, such as arranging 
 wild flowers in fantastical nosegays, tracing the grass- 
 hopper to his haunt by his chirping song, watching the 
 frisks of the little minnows in the sunny pool, or hunt- 
 ing after the intrigues of butterflies — in short, send him 
 adrift after some pursuit which shall eternally mislead 
 him from the paths of lucre, and yet curse him with 
 a keener relish than any man living for the pleasures 
 that lucre can purchase ; lastly, fill up the measure of 
 his woes by bestowing on him a spurning sense of his 
 own dignity — and you have created a wight nearly as 
 miserable as a poet. To you, Madam, I need not re- 
 count the fairy pleasures the muse bestows, to counter- 
 balance this catalogue of evils. Bewitching poetry is 
 like bewitching woman ; she has in all ages been accused 
 of misleading mankind from the councils of wisdom and 
 the paths of prudence, involving them in difficulties, 
 baiting them with poverty, branding them with infamy, 
 and plunging them in the whirUng vortex of ruin ; yet, 
 Avhere is the man but must own that all our happiness on 
 earth is not worthy the name — that even the holy her- 
 mit's solitary prospect of paradisiacal bliss is but the 
 glitter of a northern sun rising over a frozen region, 
 compared with the many pleasures, the nameless rap- 
 tures, that we owe to the lovely queen of the heart of 
 man! R. B, 
 
 * [Daughter of Mr Craik of Arbigland, in the Stewartry of 
 Kirkcudbright.] 
 
 No. CCXXVIII. 
 
 TO LADY GLENCAIRN.* 
 
 My LADY—The honour you have done youi* poor 
 poet, in writing him so very obliging a letter, and the 
 pleasure the enclosed beautiful verses have given him, 
 came very seasonably to his aid amid the cheerless ; 
 gloom and sinking despondency of diseased nerves and \ 
 December weather. As to forgetting the family of' 
 Glencairn, Heaven is my witness with what sincerity I 
 could use those old verses, which please me more in 
 their rude simplicity than the most elegant lines I ever \ 
 saw. 
 
 If thee, Jerusalem, I forget, 
 Skill part from my right hand. 
 
 My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave. 
 
 If I do thee forget, 
 Jerusalem, and thee above 
 
 My chief joy do not set. 
 
 When I am tempted to do any thing improper, I 
 dare not, because I look on myself as accountable to 
 your ladyship and family. Now and then, when I have 
 the honour to be called to the tables of the great, if I 
 happen to meet with any mortification from the stately 
 stupidity of self-sufficient squires, or the luxurious in- 
 solence of upstart nabobs, I get above the creatures by 
 calling to remembrance that I am patronised by the 
 noble house of Glencairn ; and at gala-times, such as 
 New-year's day, a christening, or the kirn-night, when 
 my punch-bowl is brought from its dusty corner, and 
 filled up in honour of the occasion, I begin with — The 
 Countess of Glencairn ! My good woman, with the 
 enthusiasm of a grateful heart, next cries. My Lord! 
 and so the toast goes on until I end with Lady Har- 
 riets little angel! f whose epithalamium I have pledged 
 myself to write. 
 
 When I received your ladyship's letter, I was just 
 in the act of transcribing for you some verses I have 
 lately composed ; and meant to have sent them my first 
 leisure hour, and acquainted you with my late change 
 of life. I mentioned to my lord my fears concerning my 
 fann. Those fears were indeed too true ; it is a bar- 
 gain would .have ruined me, but for the lucky circum- 
 stance of my having an excise commission. 
 
 People may talk as they please of the ignominy of 
 the excise ; £50 a-year will support my wife and chil- 
 dren, and keep me independent of the world : and I 
 would much rather have it said that my profession 
 borrowed credit from me, than that I borrowed credit 
 from my profession. Another advantage I have in 
 this business, is the knowledge it gives me of the various 
 shades of human character, consequently assisting me 
 vastly in my poetic pursuits. I had the most ardent 
 enthusiasm for the muses when nobody knew me but 
 myself, and that ardour is by no means cooled, now 
 that my Lord Glencairn's goodness has introduced me 
 to all the world. Not that I am in haste for the press. 
 I have no idea of publishing, else I certainly had con- 
 sulted my noble generous patron ; but after acting the 
 part of an honest man, and supporting my family, my 
 whole wishes and views are directed to poetic pursuits. 
 I am aware that though I were to give performances 
 to the world superior to my former works, still if they 
 were of the same kind with those, the comparative 
 reception they would meet with would mortify me. I 
 have turned my thoughts on the drama. I do not mean 
 the stately buskin of the tragic muse. 
 
 Does not your ladyship think that an Edinburgh 
 theatre would be more amused with affectation, folly, and 
 whim of true Scottish growth, than manners, which by 
 far the greatest part of the audience can only know at 
 second hand ? I have the honour to be, your ladyship's 
 ever devoted and grateful humble servant, R. B. 
 
 * [Widow of William, thirteenth Earl of Glencairn, and 
 mother of the patron of Burns.] 
 
 t [Lady Harriet Don was the daughter of Lady Glencairn. Her 
 child was the late accomplished Sir Alexander Don, of Newton- 
 Don, Bart.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 83 
 
 No. CCXXIX. 
 TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq. 
 
 Dumfries, December, 1793. 
 
 Sir— -It is said that we take the greatest liberties 
 with our greatest friends, and I pay myself a very high 
 compUment in the manner in which I am going to 
 apply the remark. I have owed you money longer than 
 over I owed it to any man. Here is Ker's account, and 
 here are six guineas,; and now, I don't owe a shil l ing to 
 
 man — or woman either. But for these d du-ty, 
 
 dog-ear'd Httle pages,* I had done myself the honour 
 to have waited on you long ago. Independent of the 
 obligations your hospitaUty has laid me under, the con- 
 sciousness of your superiority in the rank of man and 
 gentleman, of itself was fully as much as I could ever 
 make head against ; but to owe you money too, was 
 more than I could face. 
 
 I think I once mentioned something of a collection of 
 Scots songs I have for some years been making — I send 
 you a perusal of what I have got together. I could not 
 conveniently spare them above five or six days, and 
 five or six glances of them yvWH. probably more than 
 BuflBce you. A very few of them are my own. When 
 you are tired of them, please leave them with Mr Clint, 
 of the King's Arms. There is not another copy of the 
 collection in the world ; and I should be sorry that any 
 unfortunate negUgence should deprive me of what has 
 cost me a good deal of pains. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXX. 
 TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq., DRUMLANRIG. 
 
 Dumfries, 1793. 
 Will Mr M'Murdo do me the favour to accept of 
 these volumes ;-}- a trifling but sincere mark of the very 
 high respect I bear for his worth as a man, his man- 
 ners as a gentleman, and his kindness as a friend. 
 However inferior now, or afterwards, I may rank as a 
 poet, one honest virtue to which few poets can pretend, 
 I trust I shall ever claim as mine — to no man, what- 
 ever his station in life, or his power to serve me, have 
 I ever paid a compliment at the expense of truth. 
 
 The Author. 
 
 No. CCXXXI. 
 TO CAPTAIN — 
 
 Dumfries, 5th December, 1793. 
 Sir — Heated as I was with wine yesternight, I was 
 perhaps rather seemingly impertinent in my anxious 
 wish to be honoured with your acquaintance. You 'ndll 
 forgive it — it was the impulse of heart-felt respect. 
 *' He is the father of the Scottish county reform, and 
 is a man who does honour to the business, at the same 
 time that the business does honour to him," said my 
 worthy friend Glenriddel to somebody by me who was 
 talking of your coming to this country with your corps. 
 " Then," I said, " I have a woman's longing to take 
 him by the hand, and say toliim, ' Sir, I honour you as 
 a man to whom the interests of humanity are dear, and 
 as a patriot to whom the rights of your country are 
 sacred.' " 
 
 In times like these, Sir, when our commoners are 
 barely able, by the glimmering of their own twilight 
 understandings, to scrawl a frank, and when lords are 
 what gentlemen would be ashamed to be, to whom shall 
 a sinking country call for help 1 To the independent 
 country gentleman. To him who has too deep a stake 
 in his country not to be in earnest for her welfare ; 
 and who, in the honest pride of man, can vievr, with 
 equal contempt, the insolence of office, and the allure- 
 ments of corruption. 
 
 I mentioned to you a Scots ode or song I had lately 
 
 *tScotti8h bank notes.] 
 
 t [A copy of the edition of the poet's works published in 1793.] 
 
 ± [Not unlikely, Captain Robertson of Lude.] 
 
 composed,* and which, I think, has some merit. Allow 
 me to enclose it. When I fall in with you at the theatre, 
 I shall be glad to have your opinion of it. Accept of 
 it, Sir,'as a very humble, but most sincere, tribute of 
 respect for a man who, dear as he prizes poetic fame, 
 yet holds dearer an independent mind. I have the 
 honour to be, R. B, 
 
 No. CCXXXII. 
 
 TO MRS RIDDEL, 
 
 IVIio was about to bespeak a Play one evening at the 
 Dumfries Theatre. 
 
 I am thinking to send my " Address" to some pe- 
 riodical pubhcation, but it has not got your sanction, 
 so pray look over it. 
 
 As to the Tuesday's play, let me beg of you, my dear 
 Madam, to give us " The Wonder, a Woman keeps a 
 Secret !" to which please add, " The Spoilt Child" — you 
 will highly oblige me by so doing. 
 
 Ah, what an enviable creature you are ! There now, 
 this cursed gloomy blue-devil day, you are going to a 
 party of choice spirits — 
 
 To play the shapes 
 Of frolic fancy, and incessant form 
 Those rapid pictures, assembled train 
 Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, 
 "Where lively loit excites to gay sui-prise ; 
 Or folly-painting humour, grave himself. 
 Calls laughter forth, deep shaking every nerve. 
 
 But as you rejoice with them that do rejoice, do also 
 remember to weep with them that weep, and pity your 
 melancholy friend, R. B.+ 
 
 No. CCXXXIII. 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 IN FAVOUR OF A PLAYER's BENEFIT. 
 
 Dumfries, 1794. 
 
 ALiDAM — You were so very good as to promise me 
 to honour my friend with your presence on his benefit 
 night. That night is fixed for Friday first : the play a 
 most interesting one — ^"The Way to Keep Him." I 
 have the pleasure to know Mr Gr. well. His merit as 
 an actor is generally acknowledged. He has genius and 
 worth which would do honour to patronage : he is a 
 poor and modesty man ; claims which, from their very 
 silence, have the more forcible power on the generous 
 heart. Alas, for pity ! that from the indolence of those 
 who have the good things of this life in their gift, too 
 often does brazen-fronted importunity snatch that boon, 
 the rightful due of retiring, humble want ! Of all the 
 qualities we assign to the author and director of Nature, 
 by far the most enviable is, to be able " to wipe away 
 ail tears from all eyes." Oh what insignificant, sordid 
 wTetches are they, however chance may have loaded 
 them with wealth, who go to their graves, to their mag- 
 nificent mausoleums, with hardly the consciousness of 
 having made one poor honest heart happy. 
 
 But I crave your pardon. Madam ; I came to beg, 
 not to preach. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXXIV. 
 
 TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 
 
 Dumfries, I2th January, 1794. 
 JIy Lord — Will your lordship allow me to present 
 you with the enclosed little composition of mine,J as a 
 small tribute of gratitude for the acquaintance with 
 
 * [Bruce's Address to his Troops.] 
 
 \ The lady to whom the bard has so happily and justly ap- 
 plied the above quotation, paid the debt of nature a few months 
 ago. The graces of her person were only equalled by the singular 
 endownaents of her mind, and her poetical talents rendered her 
 an interesting friend to Burns, in a part of the world where he 
 was in a great measure excluded from the sweet intercourse of 
 literary society.— Gilbert Burns, 1820. 
 
 ; [Bruce's Address.] 
 
84 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 which you have been pleased to honour me. Indepen- 
 dent of my enthusiasm as a Scotsman, I have rarely 
 met with any thing in history which interests my feel- 
 ings as a man, equal with the story of Bannockburn. 
 On the one hand, a cruel, but able usurper, leading on 
 the finest army in Europe to extinguish the last spark 
 of freedom among a greatly-daring and greatly-injured 
 people ; on the other hand, the desperate rehcs of a 
 gallant nation, devoting themselves to rescue their 
 bleeding country, or perish with her. 
 
 Liberty ! thou art a prize truly, and indeed invalu- 
 able, for never canst thou be too dearly bought ! 
 
 If my little ode has the honour of your lordship's 
 approbation, it will gratify my highest ambition. I 
 have the honour to be, &c. R. B. 
 
 I 
 
 No. CCXXXV. 
 TO CAPTAIN MILLER, 
 
 DALSWINTON. 
 
 Dear Sib — The following ode* is on a subject which 
 I know you by no means regard with indifference. Oh, 
 Liberty, 
 
 Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, 
 Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. 
 It does me much good to meet with a man whose 
 honest bosom glows with the generous enthusiasm, the 
 heroic daring of liberty, that I could not forbear send- 
 ing you a composition of my own on the subject, which 
 I really think is in my best manner. I have the honour 
 to be, dear Sir, &c. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXXVI. 
 TO MRS RIDDEL.t 
 
 Dear Madam — I meant to have called on you yes- 
 ternight 5 but as I edged up to your box-door, the first 
 object which greeted my view was one of those lobster- 
 coated puppies, sitting like another dragon, guarding 
 the Hesperian fruit. On the conditions and capitula- 
 tions you so obligingly offer, I shall certainly make my 
 weather-beaten rustic phiz a part of your box-furniture 
 on Tuesday, when we may arrange the business of the 
 visit. 
 
 Among the profusion of idle compliments, which 
 insidious craft, or unmeaning folly, incessantly offer at 
 your shrine — a shrine, how far exalted above such 
 adoration — permit me, were it but for rarity's sake, to 
 pay you the honest tribute of a warm heart and an 
 independent mind ; and to assure you, that I am, thou 
 most amiable, and most accomplished of thy sex, with 
 the most respectful esteem, and fervent regard, thine, 
 &c. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXXVII. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 I WILL wait on you, my ever* valued friend, but whe- 
 ther in the morning I am not sure. Sunday closes a 
 period of our curst revenue business, and may pro- 
 bably keep me employed with my pen until noon. Fine 
 employment for a poet's pen ! There is a species of 
 the human genus that I call the gin-horse class: what 
 enviable dogs they are ! Round, and round, and round 
 they go. Mundell's ox, that drives his cotton mill, is 
 their exact prototype — without an idea or wish be- 
 yond their circle — fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and 
 contented; while here I sit, altogether Noveraberish, 
 
 a d melange of fretfulness and melancholy ; not 
 
 enough of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of the 
 other to repose me in torpor ; my soul flouncing and 
 fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, caught 
 
 * [Bruce's Address.] t [The following letters to Mrs Riddel, 
 and those marked 250 and 251, evidently relate to the poet's 
 quarrel with that lady ; but Dr Currie has inextricably confused 
 them. Probably Nb. 250 should go first, and tjia rest after an in- 
 terval, as woU as in a diifercnt arrangement.] 
 
 amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust into a 
 cage. Well, I am persuaded that it was of me the 
 Hebrew sage prophesied, when he foretold — " And, 
 behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it 
 shall not prosper !" If my resentment is awaked, it is 
 sure to be where it dare not squeak ; and if — * * * 
 Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent visi- 
 tors of R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXXVIII. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 I HAVE this moment got the song from Syme, and I 
 am sorry to see that he has spoilt it a good deal. It 
 shall be a lesson to me how I lend him any thing again. 
 
 I have sent you " Werter," truly happy to have any 
 the smallest opportunity of obliging you. 
 
 'Tis true. Madam, I saw you once since I was at 
 Woodlee ; and that once froze the very life-blood of my 
 heart. Your reception of me was such, that a wretch 
 meeting the eye of his judge, about to pronounce 
 sentence of death on him, could only have envied ray 
 feelings and situation. But I hate the theme, and 
 never more shall write or speak on it. 
 
 One thmg I shall proudly say, that I can pay Mrs R. 
 a higher tribute of esteem, and appreciate her amiable 
 worth more truly, than any man whom I have seen 
 approach her. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXXXIX. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 I HAVE often told you, my dear friend, that you had 
 a spice of caprice in your composition, and you have as 
 often disavowed it ; even perhaps while your opinions 
 were, at the moment, irrefragably proving it. Could 
 any thing estrange me from a friend such as you 1 No ! 
 To-morrow I shall have the honour of waiting on you. 
 
 Farewell, thou first of friends, and most accomplished 
 of women, even with all thy little caprices ! R. B. 
 
 •I 
 
 No. CCXL. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Madam — I return your common-place book. I have 
 perused it with much pleasure, and would have con- 
 tinued my criticisms, but as it seems the critic has for- 
 feited your esteem, his strictures must lose their value. 
 
 If it is true that "ofi'ences come only from the heart," 
 before you I am guiltless. To admii'e, esteem, and prize 
 you, as the most accomplished of women, and the first 
 of friends — if these are crimes, I am the most offend- 
 ing thing alive. 
 
 In a face where I used to meet the kind complacency 
 of friendly confidence, now to find cold neglect, and con- 
 temptuous scorn — is a wi'ench that my heart can ill 
 bear. It is, however, some kind of miserable good luck, 
 that while de haut-en-bas rigour may depress an unof^ 
 fending wretch to the gi'ound, it has a tendency to rouse 
 a stubborn something in his bosom, which, though it 
 cannot heal the wounds of his soul, is at least an opiate 
 to blunt their poignancy. 
 
 With the profoundest respect for your abilities ; the 
 most sincere esteem, and ardent regard, for your gentle 
 heart and amiable manners ; and the most fervent wish 
 and prayer for your welfare, peace, and bliss — I have 
 the honour to be, Madam, your most devoted humblo 
 
 servant. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCXLI. 
 TO JOHN SYME, Esq.* 
 You know that among other high dignities, you have 
 
 * [This gentleman held the office of distributor of stamps at 
 Dumfries. Burns, who at first lived in the floor above his ofiice, 
 formed an intimacy with him, which lasted till the death of tho 
 poet. Mr Syme was an agreeable table companion, and pos- 
 sessed considerable wit, the effusions of which were sometimes 
 mistaken for Burns's. He died at his house of Ryedale, near 
 Dumfries, November 24, l«ai, in his bcvent^'-seventh year.] 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 the honour to be my supreme eoui*t of critical judica- 
 ture, from which there is no appeal. I enclose you a 
 song which I composed since 1 saw you, and I am 
 going to give you the history of it.* Do you know that 
 among much that I admire in the characters and man- 
 ners of those great folks whom I have now the honour 
 to call my acquaintances, the Osv/ald family, there is 
 nothing charms me more than Mr Oswald's unconceal- 
 able attachment to that incomparable woman. Did you 
 ever, my dear Syme, meet with a man who owed more 
 to the Divine Giver of all good things than Mr 0. ? A 
 fine fortune ; a pleasing exterior ; self-evident amiable 
 dispositions, and an ingenuous upright mind, and that 
 informed too, much beyond tlie usual run of young fel- 
 lows of his rank and fortune : and to all this, such a 
 woman ! — but of her I shall say nothing at all, in de- 
 spair of saying any thing adequate : in my song, I have 
 endeavoui'ed to do justice to what would be his feelings, 
 on seeing, in tlie scene I have drawn, the habitation of 
 his Lucy. As I am a good deal pleased with my per- 
 formance, I in my first fervour thought of sending it to 
 Mrs Oswald, but on second thoughts, perhaps what I 
 offer as the honest incense of genuine respect, might, 
 from the well-known character of poverty and poetry, 
 be construed into some modification or other of that 
 servility which my soul abhors. R. B. 
 
 No. CCXLII. 
 TO MISS . 
 
 Dumfries, 1794. 
 Madam — Nothing short of a kind of absolute neces- 
 sity could have made me trouble yon with this letter. 
 Except my ardent and just esteem for your sense, taste, 
 and worth, every sentiment arising in my breast, as I 
 put pen to paper to you, is painful. The scenes I have 
 passed with the friend of my soul, and his amiable con- 
 nexions ! the wrench at my heart to think that he is 
 gone, for ever gone from me, never more to meet in the 
 wanderings of a weary world ! and the cutting reflec- 
 tion of all, that I had most unfortunately, though most 
 undeservedly, lost the confidence of that soul of worth, 
 ere it took its flight ! 
 
 These, Madam, are sensations of no ordinary anguish. 
 However, you also may be offended with some imputed 
 improprieties of mine ; sensibility you know I possess, 
 and sincerity none will deny me. 
 
 To oppose those prejudices which have been raised 
 against me, is not the business of this letter. Indeed, it 
 is a warfare I know not how to wage. The powers of 
 positive vice I can in some degree calculate, and against 
 direct malevolence I can be on my guard : but who can 
 estimate the fatuity of giddy caprice, or ward off" the 
 unthinking mischief of precipitate folly ? 
 
 I have a favour to request of you. Madam ; and of 
 
 your sister Mi's , through your means. You know 
 
 that, at the wish of my late friend, I made a collection 
 'of all my trifles in verse which I had ever written. They 
 are many of them local, some of them puerile and silly, 
 and all of them unfit for the public eye. As I have 
 some little fame at stake — a fame that I trust may live 
 when the hate of those who " watch for my halting," 
 and the contumelious sneer of those whom accident has 
 made my supei'iors, will, with themselves, be gone to 
 the regions of oblivion — I am uneasy now for the fate 
 
 of those manuscripts. Will Mi's have the goodness 
 
 to destroy them, or return them to me 1 As a pledge of 
 friendship they were bestowed ; and that circumstance, 
 indeed, was all their merit. Most unhappily for me, 
 that merit they no longer possess ; and I hope that Mrs 
 
 's goodness, which I well know, and ever will 
 
 revere, will not refuse this favour to a man whom she 
 oncfe held in some degree of estimation. 
 
 With the sincerest esteem, I have the honour to be, 
 Madam, &c. R. B. 
 
 * [The song was that beginning, " Oh wat ye wha's in yon 
 town ;" composed on Mrs Oswald of Auchincrnive. See Poetical 
 Works.] 
 
 No. CCXLITT. 
 TO MR CUNNINGH/VM. 
 
 25ih Februmy, 1794. 
 Canst thou minister to a mind diseased? Canst thou 
 speak peace and rest to a soul tost on a sea of troubles, 
 without one friendly star to guide her course, and 
 dreading that the next surge may overwhelm her? 
 Canst thou give to a frame, tremblingly alive as the 
 tortures of suspense, the stability and hardihood of the 
 rock that braves the blast ? If thou canst not do the 
 least of these, why wouldst thou disturb me in my 
 miseries, with thy inquiries after me ? 
 
 For these two months I have not been able to lift a 
 pen. My constitution and frame were, ab originey 
 blasted with a deep, incurable taint of hypochondria, 
 which poisons my existence. Of late a number of do- 
 mestic vexations, and some pecuniary share in the ruin 
 of these cursed times — losses which, though trifling, 
 were yet what I could ill bear — have so irritated me, 
 that my feelings at times could only be envied by a 
 reprobate spii-it listening to the sentence that dooms it 
 to perdition. 
 
 Are you deep in the language of consolation ? I have 
 exhausted in reflection every topic of comfort. A heart 
 at ease would have been charmed with my sentiments 
 and reasonings; but as to myself, I was like Judas 
 Iscariot preaching the gospel : he might melt and mould 
 the hearts of those around him, but his own kept its 
 native incorrigibility. 
 
 Still, there are two great pillars that bear us up, amid 
 the wreck of misfortune and misery. The one is com- 
 posed of the different modifications of a certain noble, 
 stubborn something in man, known by the names of 
 courage, fortitude, magnanimity. The other is made 
 up of those feelings and sentiments, which, however the 
 sceptic may deny them, or the enthusiast disfigure 
 them, are yet, I am convinced, original and component 
 parts of the human soul ; those senses of the mind — if 
 I may be allowed the expression — which connect us; 
 with, and link us to, those awful obscure realities — an 
 all-powerful, and equally beneficent God ; and a world 
 to come, beyond death and the grave. The first gives 
 the nerve of combat, while a ray of hope beams on the 
 field : the last pours the balm of comfort into the wounds 
 which time can never cure. 
 
 I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that you 
 and I ever tallced on the subject of religion at all. I 
 know some who laugh at it, as the trick of the crafty 
 FEW to lead the undiscerning many ; or, at most, as an 
 uncertain obscurity, which mankind can never know 
 any thing of, and with which they are fools if they give 
 themselves much to do. Nor would I quarrel with a 
 man for his irreligion, any more than I would for his 
 want of a musical ear. 1 would regret that he was shut 
 out from what, to me and to others, were such superla- 
 tive sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of view, 
 and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue the mind 
 of every child of mine with religion. If my son should 
 happen to be a man of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I 
 shall thus add largely to his enjoyments. Let me flatter 
 myself, that this sweet little fellow, who is just now 
 running about my desk, will be a man of a melting, ar- 
 dent, glowing heart ; and an imagination delighted with 
 the painter, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure him 
 wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy 
 gales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of the spring ; 
 himself the while in the blooming youth of life. He 
 looks abroad on all nature, and through nature up to 
 nature's God. His soul, by swift, delighting degrees, 
 is rapt above this sublunai-y sphere, until he can be 
 silent no longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthu- 
 siasm of Thomson — 
 
 These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
 Is full of thee ;— 
 
 and so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that charming 
 hymn. These are no ideal pleasures, they are real 
 delights ; and I ask, what of the delights among the sons 
 of men are superior, not to say equal, to them ? And 
 
86 
 
 BUENS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 they have this precious, vast addition, that conscious 
 virtue stamps tliem for her own, and lays hold on them 
 to bring herself into the presence of a witnessing, 
 judging, and approving God. K. B. 
 
 No. CCXLIV. 
 TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 
 
 Ma^, 1794. 
 
 3Iy Lord — When you cast your eye on the name at 
 the bottom of this letter, and on the title-page of the 
 book I do myself the honour to send your lordship, 
 a more pleasurable feeling than my vanity tells me, that 
 it must be a name not entirely unknown to you. The 
 generous patronage of your late illustrious brother 
 found me in the lowest obscurity : he introduced my 
 rustic muse to the partiality of my country ; and to him 
 I owe all. My sense of his goodness, and the anguish 
 of my soul at losing my truly noble protector and friend, 
 I have endeavoured to express in a poem to his me- 
 mory, which I have now published. This edition is 
 just from the press ; and in my gratitude to the dead, 
 and my respect for the Uving (fame belies you, my lord, 
 if you possess not the same dignity of man, which was 
 your noble brother's charactex'istic feature), I had des- 
 tined a copy for the Earl of Glencairn. I learnt just 
 now that you are in town : allow me to present it you. 
 
 I know, my lord, such is the vile, venal contagion 
 which pervades the world of letters, that professions of 
 respect from an author, particularly from a poet to a 
 lord, are more than suspicious. I claim my by-past 
 conduct, and my feelings at this moment, as exceptions 
 to the too just conclusion. Exalted as are the honours 
 of your lordship's name, and unnoted as is the obscurity 
 of mine j with the uprightness of an honest man, I come 
 before your lordship, with an offering, however humble, 
 'tis all I have to give, of my grateful respect ; and to 
 beg of you, my lord, 'tis all I have to ask of you, that 
 you will do me the honour to accept of it. I have the 
 honour to be, R. B. 
 
 No. CCXLV. 
 TO DAVID MACCULLOCH, Esq.* 
 
 Dumfries, 21st June, 1794. 
 My DEAR Sir-— My long projected journey through 
 your country is at last fixed ; and on Wednesday next, 
 if you have nothing of more importance to do, take a 
 saunter down to Gatehouse about two or three o'clock ; 
 I shall be happy to take a draught of M^Kune's > best 
 with you. Collector Syme will be at Glens about that 
 time, and will meet us about dish-of-tea hour. Syme 
 goes also to Kerroughtree, and let me remind you of 
 your kind promise to accompany me there ; I will need 
 all the friends I can muster, for I am indeed ill at ease 
 whenever I approach your honourables and right ho- 
 nourables. Yours sincerely, R. B. 
 
 No. CCXLVI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Castle Douglas, 25th Jime, 1794. 
 
 Here:, in a solitary inn, in a solitary village, am I set 
 by myself, to amuse my brooding fancy as I may. Soli- 
 tary confinement, you know, is Howard's favourite idea 
 of reclaiming sinners ; so let me consider by what fata- 
 lity it happens that I have so long been exceeding sin- 
 ful as to neglect the correspondence of the most valued 
 friend I have on earth. To tell you that I have been 
 in poor health will not be excuse enough, though it is 
 true. I am afraid that I am about to suffer for the 
 follies of my youth. My medical friends threaten me 
 with a flying gout ; but I trust they are mistaken. 
 
 I am just going to trouble your critical patience with 
 the first sketch of a stanza I have been framing as I 
 passed along the road. The subject is liberty: you 
 
 * [Now deceased. A sister of this gentleman became the wife 
 of Mr Thomas Scott, brother of Sir Walter Scott.] 
 
 know, my honoured friend, how dear the theme is to me. 
 I design it as an irregular ode for General Washington's 
 bii'th-day. After having mentioned the degeneracy of 
 other Idngdoms, I come to Scotland thus : 
 
 " Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
 Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 
 
 To thee I turn with swimming eyes ', 
 Where is that soul of freedom fled? 
 Immingled with the mighty dead. 
 
 Beneath the hallowed turf where Wallace lies J 
 Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death, 
 Ye babbling winds in silence sweep, 
 Disturb ye not the hero's sleep." 
 With the additions of 
 " That arm which nerved with thundering fate, 
 Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
 One quenched in darkness like the sinlting star. 
 And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless 
 age." 
 
 You will probably have another scrawl from me in u 
 stage or two. R. B. 
 
 4 
 
 No. CCXLVIL 
 TO MR JAMES JOHNSON. 
 
 Dumfries, 1794. 
 
 My dear Friend — You should have heard from me 
 long ago ; but over and above some vexatious share in 
 the pecuniary losses of these accursed times, I have 
 all this winter been plagued with low spirits and blue 
 devils, so that / have almost hung my harp on the wil' 
 low trees. B 
 
 I am just now busy correcting a new edition of my f I 
 poems, and this, with my ordinary business, finds me ^ 
 in full employment. 
 
 I send you by my friend, Mr Wallace, forty-one songs 
 for your fifth volume ; if we cannot finish it any other 
 way, what would you think of Scots words to some 
 beautiful Irish airs ? In the meantime, at your leisure^ 
 give a copy of the "Museum" to my worthy friend, Mr 
 Peter Hill, bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with 
 blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of Glenrid- 
 del's, that I may insert every anecdote I can learn, 
 together mth my own criticisms and remarks on the 
 songs. A copy of this kind I shall leave with you, the 
 editor, to publish at some after period, by way of mak- 
 ing the "Museum" a book famous to the end of time, 
 and you renowned for ever. 
 
 I have got a Highland dirk, for which I have great 
 veneration, as it once was the dirk of Lord Balmerino. 
 It fell into bad hands, who stripped it of the silver 
 mounting, as well as the knife and fork. I have some 
 thoughts of sending it to your care, to get it mounted i 
 anew. 
 
 Thank you for the copies of my Volunteer Ballad. 
 Our friend Clarke has done indeed well ! — 'tis chaste 
 and beautiful. I have not met with any thing that has 
 pleased me so much. You know I am no connoisseur ; 
 but that I am an amateur will be allowed me. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCXLVIII. 
 TO MR SAMUEL CLARKE, Jun., 
 
 DUMFRIES. 
 
 Sunday moriiing. 
 Dear Sir — I was, I know, drunk last night, but 1 am 
 
 sober this morning. From the expressions Capt. 
 
 made use of to me, had I had nobody's welfare to care 
 for but my own, we should certainly have come, ac- 
 cording to the manners of the world, to the necessity 
 of murdering one another about the business. The 
 words were such as, generally, I beUeve, end in a brace 
 of pistols ; but I am still pleased to think that I did not 
 ruin the peace and welfare of a wife and family of chil- 
 dren in a drunken squabble. Farther, you know th.at 
 the report of certain political opinions being mine, has 
 already once before brought me to the brink of de- 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 m 
 
 struction. I dread lest last night's business may be 
 misrepresented in the same way. You, I beg, will take 
 care to prevent it. I tax your wish for Mr Burns's 
 welfare with the task of waiting, as soon as possible, 
 on every gentleman who was present, and state this to 
 him, and, as you please, show him this letter. What, 
 after all, was the obnoxious toast ? " May our success 
 in the present war be equal to the justice of our cause" — 
 a toast that the most outrageous phrensy of loyalty can- 
 not object to. I request and beg that this morning you 
 will wait on the parties present at the foolish dispute. 
 I shall only add, that I am truly sorry that a man who 
 
 stood so high in my estimation as Mr , should use 
 
 ine in the manner in which I conceive he has done. 
 
 K. B. 
 
 No. CCXLIX. 
 TO PETER MILLER, Jun,, Esq.^ 
 
 OF DALSWI^JTOX. 
 
 Dumfries, Nov. 1794. 
 
 Dear Sir — Your offer is indeed truly generous, and 
 most sincerely do I thanli you for it ; but in my pre- 
 sent situation, I find that I dare not accept it. You 
 well^know my poHtical sentiments ; and were I an in- 
 sular individual, unconnected with a wife and a family 
 of children, with the most fervid enthusiasm I would 
 have volunteered my services : I then could and would 
 have despised all consequences that might have ensued. 
 
 My prospect in the Excise is something ; at least, it 
 is, encumbered as I am with the welfare, the very exist- 
 ence, of near half-a-score of helpless individuals — what 
 I dare not sport with. 
 
 In the mean time, they are most welcome to my Ode ; 
 only, let them insert it as a thing they have met with 
 by accident, and unknown to me. Nay, if Mr Perry, 
 whose honour, after your character of him, I cannot 
 doubt, if he will give me an address and channel by 
 which any thing will come safe from those spies with 
 which he may be certain that his correspondence is 
 beset, I will now and then send him any bagatelle that 
 1 may write. In the present hurry of Europe, nothing 
 but news and poUtics will be regarded ; but against the 
 days of peace, which Heaven send soon, my little assist- 
 ance may perhaps fill up an idle column of a newspaper. 
 I have long had it in my head to try my hand in the 
 way of Httle prose essays, which I propose^ending into 
 the world through the medium of some newspaper ; and 
 should these be worth his while, to these ]\Ir Pei'i'y shall 
 be welcome : and all my reward shall be, his treating 
 me with his paper, which, by the bye, to any body who 
 has the least relish for wit, is a high treat indeed. With 
 the most grateful esteem, I am ever, dear Sir, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCL. 
 
 TO MRS RIDDEL. 
 
 Supposes himself to be wriiiJig from the dead to the living, 
 
 Madasi — I dare say that this is the first epistle you 
 ever received from this nether world. I write you from 
 the regions of hell, amid the horrors of the 
 
 The time and manner of my leaving your earth I do 
 not exactly know, as I took my departure in the heat 
 of a fever of intoxication, contracted at your too hospi- 
 table mansion ; but, on my arrival here, I was fairly 
 tiied, and sentenced to endure the purgatorial tortures 
 of this infernal confine for the space of ninety-nine years, 
 
 * In a conversation with his friend IMr Perry (the proprietor 
 of " The Morning Chronicle"), Ikir Miller represented to that 
 gentleman the insufficiency of Burns's salary to answer the im- 
 perious demands of a numerous family. In their sympathy for 
 his misfortunes, and in their regret that his talents were nearly 
 lost to the world of letters, these gentlemen agreed on the plan 
 of settling him in London. To accomplish this most desirable 
 object, Mr Perry, very spiritedly, made the poet a handsome 
 offer of an annual stipend for the exercise of his talents in his 
 newspaper. Burns's reasons foj; refusing this offer are stated in 
 the present letter — Cromek. 
 
 eleven months, and twenty-nine days, and all on account 
 of the impropriety of my conduct yesternight under your 
 roof. Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, \vith 
 my aching head reclined on a pillow of ever-piercing 
 thorn, while an infernal tormentor, -wrinkled, and old, 
 and cruel, his name I think is Recollection, with a whip 
 of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to approach me, and 
 keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I could 
 in any measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the 
 fair cu'cle whom my conduct last night so much injured, 
 I think it would be an alleviation to my torments. For 
 this reason, I trouble you with this letter. To the men 
 of the company I will make no apology. Yoiu- husband, 
 who insisted on my drinking more than I chose, has 
 no right to blame me ; and the other gentlemen were 
 partakei's of my guilt. But to you, Madam, I have 
 much to apologise. Your good opinion I valued as one 
 of the greatest acquisitions I had made on earth, and 
 I was truly a beast to forfeit it. There was a Miss 
 
 I , too, a woman of fine sense, gentle andimassuming 
 
 manners — do make, on my part, a miserable — 
 
 ^^Tetch's best apology to her. A Mrs G , a charm- 
 ing woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced in my 
 favour ; this makes me hope that I have not outraged 
 her beyond all forgiveness. To all the other ladies 
 please present my humblest contrition for my conduct, 
 and my petition for their gracious pardon. Oh all ye 
 powers of decency and decorum ! whisper to them that 
 my errors, though great, were involuntary — that an 
 intoxicated man is the vilest of beasts — that it was not 
 in my nature to be brutal to any one — that to be rude 
 to a woman, when in my senses, was impossible with 
 me — ^but 
 
 ■s * * * * 
 
 Regret ! Remorse ! Shame ! ye three hell-hounds that 
 ever dog my steps and bay at my heels, spare me ! spare 
 me! 
 
 Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition of, Ma^ 
 dam, your humble slave, R. B. 
 
 No. CCLI* 
 TO THE SAME* 
 
 Dumfries, 179o. 
 Mr Burns's compliments to Mrs Riddel — is much 
 obhged to her for her pohte attention in sending him 
 the book. Owing to ]\Ir B. at present acting as super- 
 visor of excise, a department that occupies his every 
 hour of the day, he has not that time to spare which is 
 necessary for any belle-lettre pursuit ; but as he will 
 in a week or two again return to liis wonted leisure, 
 he will then pay that attention to Mrs R.'s beautiful 
 song, *' To thee, loved Nith," which it so well deserves.* 
 When " Anacharsis' Travels" come to hand, which Mrs 
 Riddel mentioned as her gift to the pubhc library, Mr 
 B. will feel honoui-ed by the indulgence of a perusal of 
 them before presentation : it is a book he has never 
 yet seen, and the regulations of the hbrary allow too 
 little leisure for deUberate reading. 
 
 Friday evening. 
 P. S. Jlr Burns wiU be much obliged to Mrs Riddel 
 if she will favour him with a perusal of any of her poeti- 
 cal pieces which he may not have seen. 
 * [Two verses of this song have been given to the public :— • 
 And now your bariks and bonnie braes 
 But waken sad remembrance smart ; 
 The very shades I held most dear 
 
 Now strike fresh anguish to my heart : 
 Deserted bower ! where are they now — 
 Ah ! where the garlands that I wove 
 With faithful care, each mom to deck 
 
 The altars of ungrateful love ? 
 The flowers of spring, how gay they bloomed 
 
 When last ■svith him I wandered here ! 
 The flowers of spring are passed away 
 For wintry horrors dark and drear. 
 Yon osier'd stream, by whose lone banka 
 
 Sly songs have lulled him oft to rest. 
 Is now in icy fetters locked — 
 Cold as jny false love's frozen breast.] 
 
85 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. CCLII. 
 TO MR HERON, OF HERON * 
 
 [Dumfries, 1795.] 
 
 Sm — I enclose you some copies of a couple of politi- 
 cal ballads, one of which, I believe, you have never 
 seen.f Would to Heaven I could make you master of 
 as many votes in the Stewartry — but — 
 
 Who does the utmost that he can, 
 Does well, acts nobly— angels could no more. 
 
 In order to bring my humble efforts to bear with 
 more effect on the foe, I have privately printed a good 
 many copies of both ballads, and have sent them among 
 friends all about the country. 
 
 To pillory on Parnassus the rank reprobation of cha- 
 racter, the utter dereliction of all principle, in a profli- 
 gate junto, which has not only outraged virtue, but 
 violated common decency ; which, spurning even hypo- 
 crisy as paltry iniquity below their daring — to unmask 
 their flagitiousness to the broadest day — to deliver such 
 over to their merited fate — is surely not merely innocent, 
 but laudable ; is not only propriety, but virtue. You 
 have already as your auxiliary, the sober detestation of 
 mankind on the heads of your opponents ; and I swear 
 by the lyre of Thalia to muster on your side all the 
 votaries of honest laughter, and fair, candid ridicule ! 
 
 I am extremely obliged to you for your kind mention 
 of my interests in a letter which Mr Syme showed me. 
 At present my situation in life must be in a great mea- 
 sure stationary, at least for two or three years. The 
 statement is this — I am on the supervisors' list, and as 
 we come on there by precedency, in two or three years 
 I shaU be at the head of that list, and be appointed of 
 course. Then, a friend might be of service to me in 
 getting me into a place of the kingdom which I would 
 like. A supervisor's income varies from about a hun- 
 dred and twenty to two hundred a-year ; but the busi- 
 ness is an incessant drudgery, and would be nearly a 
 complete bar to every species of literary pursuit. The 
 moment I am appointed supervisor, in the common 
 routine, I may be nominated on the collector's list ; and 
 this is always a business purely of political patronage. 
 A coUectorship varies much, from better than two 
 hundred a-year to near a thousand. They also come 
 forward by precedency on the list ; and have, besides a 
 handsome income, a life of complete leisure. A life of 
 literary leisure, with a decent competency, is the summit 
 of my wishes. It would be the prudish affectation of 
 silly pride in me to say that I do not need, or would 
 not be indebted to, a political friend ; at the same time. 
 Sir, I by no means lay my affairs before you thus, to 
 hook my dependent situation on your benevolence. If, 
 in my progress of life, an opening should occur where 
 the good offices of a gentleman of your public character 
 and political consequence might bring me forward, I 
 shall petition your goodness with the same frankness 
 as I now do mvself the honour to subscribe myself, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCLIII. 
 
 TO MISS FONTENELLE. 
 
 Dumfries, 1795, 
 Madam — In such a bad world as ours, those who add 
 to the scanty sum of our pleasures are positively our 
 benefactors. To you. Madam, on our humble Dumfries 
 boards, I have been more indebted for entertainment 
 than ever I was in prouder theatres. Your charms as 
 a woman would ensure applause to the most indifferent 
 actress, and your theatrical talents would ensure ad- 
 miration to the plainest figure. This, Madam, is not 
 the unmeaning or insidious compliment of the frivolous 
 or interested ; I pay it from the same honest impulse 
 that the sublime of nature excites my admiration, or 
 her beauties give me delight. 
 
 * [Sometimes styled ♦' of Kerroughtree," but properly as 
 above.] 
 
 t [For these ballads, which regarded Mr Heron's contest for 
 the representation of the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, see Poeti- 
 cal Works.] 
 
 I 
 
 Will the foregoing lines* be of any sel'vlce to you 
 your approaching benefit night ? If they will, I shall be 
 prouder of my muse than ever. They are nearly ex- 
 tempore : I know they have no great merit ; but though 
 they should add but little to the entertainment of the 
 evening, they give me the happiness of an opportunity 
 to declare how much I have the honour to be, &c. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCLIV. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 \Bth December, 1795. 
 
 My dear Friend — As I am in a complete Decem- 
 berish humour, gloomy, sullen, stupid, as even the Deity 
 of Dulness herself could wish, I shall not drawl out a 
 heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies for my 
 late silence. Only one I shall mention, because I know 
 you will sympathise in it : these four months, a sweet 
 little girl, my youngest child, has been so ill, that every 
 day, a week or less threatened to terminate her exist- 
 ence. There had much need be many pleasures annexed 
 to the states of husband and father, for, God knows, 
 they have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to 
 you the anxious, sleepless, hours these ties frequently 
 give me. I see a train of helpless little folks ; me and 
 my exertions all their stay ; and on what a brittle thread 
 does the life of man hang ! If I am nipt off at the com- 
 mand of fate, even in all the vigour of manhood, as I 
 am — such things happen every day — Gracious God! 
 what would become of my little flock ! 'Tis here that 
 I envy your people of fortune. A father on his death- 
 bed, taking an everlasting leave of his children, has 
 indeed woe enough ; but the man of competent fortune 
 leaves his sons and daughters independency and friends ; 
 while I — but I shall run distracted if I think any longer 
 on the subject ! 
 
 To leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing 
 with the old Scots ballad — 
 
 Oh that I had ne'er been married, 
 
 I would never had nae care ; 
 Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 
 
 They cry crowdie evennair. 
 Crowdie ance, crowdie twice, 
 
 Crowdie three times in a day ; 
 An ye crowdie ony mair, 
 
 Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. 
 
 December lith. 
 We have had a brilliant theatre here this season ; 
 only, as all other business does, it experiences a stagna- 
 tion of trade from the epidemical complaint of the 
 country, want of cash. I mentioned our theatre merely 
 to lug in an occasional Address, which I wrote for the 
 benefit-night of one of the actresses, and wliich is as 
 follows: — * * * 
 
 IBth, Christmas morning. 
 
 This, my much-loved friend, is a morning of wishes ; 
 accept mine — so Heaven hear me as they are sincere ! — 
 that blessings may attend your steps, and affliction know 
 you not ! In the charming words of my favourite au- 
 thor. The Man of Feeling, " May the Great Spirit bear 
 up the weight of thy grey hairs, and blunt the arrow 
 that brings them rest !" 
 
 Now that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper ? 
 Is not the " Task" a glorious poem % The religion of 
 the " Task," bating a few scraps of Calvinistie divinity, 
 is the religion of God and Nature — the religion that 
 exalts, that ennobles man. Were not you to send me 
 your " Zeluco," in return for mine ? Tell me how you 
 like my marks and notes through the book. I would 
 not give a farthing for a book, unless I were at liberty 
 to blot it with my criticisms. 
 
 I have lately collected, for a friend's perusal, all my 
 letters ; I mean those which I first sketched, in a rough 
 draught, and afterwards wrote out fair. On looking 
 
 * [An address beginning— 
 
 " Still anxious to secure your partial favour." 
 
 * See Poetical Works, p. 79- J 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 over some old musty papers, which from time to time 
 1 had parcelled by, as trash that were scarce worth 
 preserving, and which yet, at the same time, I did not 
 cai-e to destroy, I discovered many of these rude 
 sketches, and have written, and am writing them out, 
 in a bound MS. for my friend's library. As I wrote 
 always to you the rhapsody of the moment, I cannot find 
 a single scroll to you, except one, about the commence- 
 ment of our acquaintance. If there were any possible 
 conveyance, I would send you a perusal of my book. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCLV. 
 TO MR ALEXANDER FINDLATER,* 
 
 SUPERVISOR OP EXCISE, DUMFRIES. 
 
 Sir — Enclosed are the tv/o schemes. I would not 
 have troubled you with the collector's one, but for sus- 
 picion lest it be not right. Mr Erskine promised me to 
 make it right, if you will have the goodness to show 
 him how. As I have no copy of the scheme for myself, 
 and the alterations being very considerable from what 
 it was formei'ly, I hope that I shall have access to this 
 scheme I send you, when I come to face up my new 
 books. So much for schemes. And that no scheme to 
 betray a friend, or mislead a stranger ; to seduce a 
 YOUNG GIRL, or rob a hen-roost ; to subvert liberty, or 
 bribe an exciseman ; to disturb the general assembly, 
 or annoy a gossipping ; to ovei'throw the credit of or- 
 thodoxy, or the authority of old songs ; to oppose your 
 wishes, or frustrate mij hopes — may prosper — is the 
 sincere wish and prayer of R. B. 
 
 No. CCLVI. 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING 
 
 CHRONICLE. 
 
 Dumfries, 1795. 
 
 Sir — You will see, by your subscribers' list, that I 
 have been about nine months of that number. 
 
 I am sorry to inform you, that in .that time seven or 
 eight of your papers either have never been sent me, 
 or else have never reached me. To be deprived of any 
 one number of the first newspaper in Great Britain for 
 information, ability, and independence, is what I can 
 ill brook and bear ; but to be deprived of that most 
 admirable oration of the Marquis of Lansdowne, when 
 he made the great, though ineffectual attempt (in the 
 language of the poet, I fear too true) " to save a sink- 
 ing state" — this was a loss that 1 neither can, nor will 
 forgive you. That paper. Sir, never reached me ; but 
 I demand it of you. I am a Briton, and must be in- 
 terested in the cause of liberty ; I am a man, and the 
 RIGHTS OF HUMAN NATURE caunot be indifferent to me. 
 However, do not let me mislead you — I am not a man 
 in that situation of life, which, as your subscriber, can 
 be of any consequence to you, in the eyes of those to 
 whom SITUATION OF LIFE ALONE is the Criterion of man. 
 I am but a plain tradesman, in this distant, obscure 
 country town ; but that humble domicile in which I 
 shelter my wife and children, is the Castellum of a 
 Briton ; and that scanty, hard-earned income which 
 supports them, is as truly my property, as the most 
 magnificent fortune of the most puissant member of 
 your house of nobles. 
 
 These, Sir, are my sentiments, and to them I sub- 
 scribe my name ; and were I a man of ability and con- 
 sequence enough to address the public, with that name 
 should they appear. I am, &c.t 
 
 * [This gentleman now resides at Glasgow in retirement, 1833.] 
 
 t " This letter owes its origin to the following circumstance. 
 A neighbour of the poet's at Dumfries called on him, and com- 
 plained that he had been greatly disappointed in the irregular 
 delivery of the paper of ' The Morning Chronicle.' Burns asked, 
 * "Why do not you write to the editors of the paper ?' ' Good God, 
 Sir, can / presume to write to the learned editors of a newspa- 
 per ?' ♦ Well, if you are afraid of v/riting to the editors of a 
 newspaper, / am not ; and, if you think proper, I'll draw up a 
 sketch of a letter which you may copy.' 
 
 Bums tore a leaf from his exci;;e book, and instantly produced 
 
 No. CCLVII. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP, 
 
 in LONDON. 
 
 Dumfries, 20th December, 1795. 
 
 I have been prodigiously disappointed in this London 
 journey of yours. In the first place, when your last to me 
 reached Dumfries, I was in the country, and did not 
 return until too late to answer your letter ; in the next 
 place, I thought you would certainly take this route ; 
 and now I know not what is become of you, or whether 
 this my reach you at all. God grant that it may find 
 you and youi's in prospering health and good spirits ! 
 Do let me hear from you the soonest possible. 
 
 As I hope to get a frank from my friend Captain 
 Miller, I shall, every leisure hour, take up the pen, and 
 gossip away whatever comes first, prose or poetry, ser- 
 mon or song. In this last article I have abounded of 
 late. I have often mentioned to you a superb publica- 
 tion of Scottish songs, which is making its appearance 
 in your great metropolis, and where I have the honour 
 to preside over the Scottish verse, as no less a person- 
 age than Peter Pindar does over the English. 
 
 December Idth. 
 
 Since I began this letter, I have been appointed to 
 act in the capacity of supervisor here, and I assure you, 
 what with the load of business, and what with that busi- 
 ness being new to me, I could scarcely have commanded 
 ten minutes to have spoken to you, had you been in 
 town, much less to have written you an epistle. This 
 appointment is only temporary, and during the illness 
 of the present incumbent ; but I look forward to an 
 early period when I shall be appointed in full form — a 
 consummation devoutly to be wished ! My political sins 
 seem to be forgiven me. 
 
 This is the season (New-year's-day is now my date) 
 of wishing ; and mine are most fervently offered up for 
 you ! May life to you be a positive blessing while it 
 lasts, for your own sake ; and that it may yet be greatly 
 prolonged, is my wish for my own sake, and for the 
 sake of the rest of your friends ! What a transient busi- 
 ness is life 1 Very lately I was a boy ; but t'other day 
 I was a young man ; and I already begin to feel the 
 rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast 
 o'er my frame. With all my follies of youth, and, I 
 fear, a few vices of manhood, still I congratulate myself 
 on having had, in early days, religion strongly impressed 
 on my mind. I have nothing to say to any one as to 
 which sect he belongs to, or what creed he believes ; 
 but I look on the man who is firmly persuaded of in- 
 finite wisdom and goodness superintending and direct- 
 ing every circumstance that can happen in his lot — I 
 felicitate such a man as having a solid foundation for 
 his mental enjoyment — a firm prop and sure stay, in 
 the hour of difficulty, trouble, and distress — and a 
 never-failing anchor of hope, when he looks beyond the 
 grave. 
 
 January \1th. 
 
 You will have seen our worthy and ingenious friend, 
 the doctor, long ere this. I hope he is well, and beg to 
 be remembered to him. I have just been reading over 
 again, I dare say for the hundred and fiftieth time, his 
 View of Society and Manners ; and still I read it with 
 dehght. His humour is perfectly original — it is neither 
 the humour of Addison, nor Swift, nor Sterne, nor of 
 any body but Dr Moore. By the bye, you have de- 
 prived me of Zeluco; remember that, when you are 
 disposed to rake up the sins of my neglect from among 
 the ashes of my laziness. 
 
 He has paid me pretty compliment, by quoting me in 
 his last publication.* R. B. 
 
 the sketch Which I have transcribed, and which is here printed. 
 The poor man thanked him, and took the letter home. How- 
 ever, that caution which the watchfulness of his enemies had 
 taught him to exercise, prompted him to the prudence of begging 
 a friend to wait on the person for whom it was written, and re- 
 quest the favour to have it returned. This request was complied 
 with, and the paper never appeared in print."— Cromkk. 
 * [The novel entitled " Edward.""] 
 
90 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 No. CCLVIII. 
 
 ADDRESS OP THE SCOTCH DISTILLERS TO 
 THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 Sir — While pursy burgesses crowd your gate, sweat- 
 ing under the weight of heavy addresses, permit us, the 
 quondam distillers in that part of Great Britain called 
 Scotland, to approach you, not with venal approbation, 
 but with fraternal condolence ; not as what you are just 
 now, or for some time have been, but as what, in all 
 probability, you will shortly be. We shall have the 
 merit of not deserting our friends in the day of their 
 calamity, and you will have the satisfaction of perusing 
 at least one honest address. You are well acquainted 
 with the dissection of human nature ; nor do you need 
 the assistance of a fellow-creature's bosom to inform 
 you, that man is always a selfish, often a perfidious 
 being. This assertion, however the hasty conclusions 
 of superficial observation may doubt of it, or the raw 
 inexperience of youth may deny it, those who make the 
 fatal experiment we have done, will feel. You are a 
 statesman, and consequently are not ignorant of the 
 traffic of these corporation compliments. The little great 
 man who drives the borough to market, and the very 
 great man who buys the borough in that market, they 
 two do the whole business; and you well know, they, 
 likewise, have their price. With that sullen disdain 
 which you can so well assume, risej illustrious Sir, and 
 spurn these hireling efibrts of venal stupidity. At best 
 they are the compliments of a man's friends on the 
 morning of his execution : they take a decent farewell ; 
 resign you to your fate ; and hurr-y away from your 
 approaching hour. 
 
 If fame say true, and omens be not very much mis- 
 taken, you are about to make your exit from that world 
 ■where the sun of gladness gilds the paths of prosperous 
 men : permit us, great Sir, with the sympathy of fellow- 
 feeling, to hail your passage to the realms of ruin. 
 
 Whether the sentiment proceed from the selfishness 
 or cowardice of mankind, is immaterial ; but to point 
 out to a child of misfortune those who are still more 
 unhappy, is to give him some degree of positive enjoy- 
 ment. In this Hght, Sir, our downfall may be again 
 useful to you : though not exactly in the same way, it 
 is not perhaps the first time it has gratified your feel- 
 ings. It is true, the triumph of your evil star is ex- 
 ceedingly despiteful. At an age when others are the 
 votaries of pleasure, or underhngs in business, you had 
 attained the highest wish of a British statesman ; and 
 with the ordinary date of human life, what a prospect 
 was before you ! Deeply rooted in royal favour, you 
 overshadowed the land. The birds of passage which 
 follow ministerial sunshine through every clime of po- 
 litical faith and manners, flocked to your branches; 
 and the beasts of the field (the lordly possessors of hills 
 and valleys) crowded under your shade. " But behold 
 a watcher, a holy one, came down from heaven, and 
 cried aloud, and said thus : Hew down the tree, and 
 cut off" his branches ; shake oS" his leaves, and scatter 
 his fruit ; let the beasts get away from under it, and 
 the fowls from his branches !" A blow from an un- 
 thought-of quarter, one of those terrible accidents which 
 •peculiarly mark the hand of Omnipotence, overset your 
 career, and laid all your fancied honours in the dust. 
 But turn your eyes. Sir, to the tragic scenes of our fate. 
 An ancient nation, that for many ages had gallantly 
 maintained the unequal struggle for independence with 
 her much more powerful neighbour, at last agrees to a 
 union which should ever after make them one people. 
 In consideration of certain circumstances, it was cove- 
 nanted that the former should enjoy a stipulated alle- 
 viation in her share of the public burdens, particularly 
 in that branch of the revenue called the Excise. This 
 just privilege has of late given great umbrage to some 
 interested, powerful individuals of the more potent part 
 of the empire, and they have spared no wicked pains, 
 under insidious pretexts, to subvert what they dared 
 not openly to attack, from the dread which they yet 
 entertained of the spirit of their ancient enemies. 
 In this conspiracy we fell ; nor did we alone suffer — I 
 
 our country was deeply wounded. A number of (we 
 will say) respectable mdividuals, largely engaged ia 
 trade, where we were not only useful, but absolutely 
 necessary, to our country in her dearest interests ; we, 
 with all that was near and dear to us, were sacrificed 
 without remorse to the infernal deity of political expe- 
 diency ! We fell to gratify the wishes of dark envy, 
 and the views of unprincipled ambition ! Your foes. 
 Sir, were avowed ; were too brave to take an ungenerous 
 advantage : you fell in the face of day. On the contrary, 
 our enemies, to complete our overthrow, contrived to 
 make their guilt appear the villany of a nation. Your 
 downfall only drags with you your private friends and 
 partisans : in our misery are more or less involved the 
 most numerous and most valuable part of the commu- 
 nity — all those who immediately depend on the culti- 
 vation of the soil, from the landlord of a province down 
 to his lowest hind. 
 
 Allow us. Sir, yet further, just to hint at another rich 
 
 vein of comfort in the dreary regions of adversity the 
 
 gratulations of an approving conscience. In a certain 
 great assembly, of wMch you are a distinguished mem- 
 ber, panegyrics on your private virtues have so often 
 wounded your delicacy, that Ave shall not distress you 
 with any thing on the subject. There is, however, one 
 part of your pubHc conduct which our feelings will 
 not permit us to pass in silence ; our gratitude must 
 trespass on your modesty : we mean, worthy Sir, yout 
 whole behaviour to the Scots distillers. In evil hours, 
 when, obtrusive recollection presses bitterly on the sense, 
 let that, Sir, come, like a healing angel, and speak the 
 peace to your soul which the world can neither give nor 
 take away. We have the honour to be. Sir, your sym- 
 pathising fellow-sufferers and grateful humble servants, 
 John Barleycorn, Prseses. 
 
 No. CCLIX. 
 
 TO THE HON. THE PROVOST, BAILIES, AND 
 
 TOWN COUNCIL OF DUMFRIES. 
 
 Gentlemen — The literary taste and liberal spirit of 
 your good town has so ably filled the various depart- 
 ments of your schools, as to make it a very great object 
 for a parent to have his children educated in them. 
 Still, to me, a stranger, with my large family, and very 
 stinted income, to give my young ones that education 
 I wish, at the high-school fees which a stranger pays, 
 will bear hard upon me. 
 
 Some years ago your good town did me the honour 
 of making me an honorary burgess. Will you allow 
 me to request that this mark of distinction may extend 
 so far as to put me on a footing of a real fi-eeman of the 
 town, in the schools ? 
 
 If you are so very kind as to grant my request, it will 
 certainly be a constant incentive to me to strain every 
 nei-ve where I can officially serve you; and will, if 
 possible, increase that grateful respect with which I 
 have the honour to be, gentlemen, your devoted, hum- 
 ble servant, R. B.* 
 
 No. CCLX. 
 TO MRS RIDDEL. 
 
 Dumfries, 20th January, 1796. 
 
 I CANNOT express my gratitude to you for allowing 
 me a longer perusal of " Anacharsis." In fact, I never 
 met with a book that bewitched me so much ; and 
 I, as a member of the library, must warmly feel the 
 obligation you have laid us under. Indeed, to me the 
 obUgation is stronger than to any other individual of 
 our society ; as " Anacharsis " is an indispensable 
 desideratum to a son of the muses. 
 
 The health you wished me in your morning's card, 
 is, I think, flown from me for ever. I have not been 
 able to leave my bed to-day till about an hour ago. 
 These wickedly unlucky advertisements I lent (I did 
 
 *'The request was immediately complied with.— Ckomek. 
 
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 91 
 
 wrong) to a friend, and 1 am ill able to go in quest of 
 him. 
 
 The muses have not quite foi'saken me. The follow- 
 ing detached stanzas I intend to interweave in some 
 disastrous tale of a shepherd. R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXI. 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Dumfries, 2>\st January, 179G. 
 These many months you have been two packets in 
 my debt — what sin of ignorance I have committed 
 against so highly valued a friend, I am uttei'ly at a loss 
 to guess. Alas ! Madam, ill can I aiford, at this time, 
 to be deprived of any of the small remnant of my plea- 
 sures. I have lately drunk deep of the cup of affliction. 
 The autumn robbed me of my only daughter and dar- 
 ling child, and that at a distance, too,* and so rapidly, 
 as to put it out of my power to pay the last duties to 
 her. I had scarcely begun to recover from that shock, 
 when I became myself the victim of a most severe 
 rheumatic fever, and long the die spun doubtful ; until, 
 after many weeks of a sick-bed, it seems to have turned 
 up hfe, and I am beginning to crawl across my room, 
 and once indeed have been before my own door in the 
 street. 
 
 ■\Mien pleasure fascinates the mental sight. 
 
 Affliction purifies the visual ray, 
 Religion hails the drear, the untried night, 
 And shuts, for eyer shuts ! life's doubtful day. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXII. 
 
 TO MRS RIDDEL, 
 
 Who had desired him to go to the Birth-day Assembly on 
 
 that day to show his loyalty. 
 
 Dumfries, iih June, 1796. 
 
 I AM in such miserable health as to be utterly inca- 
 pable of showing my loyalty in any way. Racked as I 
 am with rheimiatisms, I meet evei'y face with a greet- 
 ing, like that of Balak to Balaam — " Come, curse me, 
 Jacob ; and come, defy me, Israel !" So say I — Come, 
 curse me that east wind ; and come, defy me the north ! 
 Would you have me in such circumstances copy you 
 out a love-song ? 
 
 I may perhaps see you on Saturday, but I will not 
 be at the ball. Why should 1 1 — " man dehghts not me, 
 nor woman either !" Can you supply me with the song, 
 " Let us all be imhappy together"— -do if you can, and 
 obUge le pauvre miserable, R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXIII. 
 TO MR CLARKE, 
 
 SCHOOL:iIAST£R, FORFAE. 
 
 Dumfries, '26th June, 1796. 
 
 Mt dear Clabke — Still, still the victim of affliction ! 
 Were you to see the emaciated figm*e who now holds 
 the pen to yon, you would not know your old friend. 
 Whether I shall ever get about again, is only kno'u'n to 
 Him, the Great Unknown, whose creature I am. Alas, 
 Clarke ! I begin to fear the worst. As to my indivi- 
 dual self, I am tranquil, and would despise myself if I 
 were not ; but Burns's poor widow, and half-a-dozen of 
 his dear httle ones — ^helpless orphans ! — there I am 
 weak as a woman's tear. Enough of this ! 'Tis half of 
 my disease. 
 
 I duly received your last, enclosing the note. It 
 came extremely in time, and I am much obHged by 
 your punctuahty. Again I must request you to do me 
 the same kindness. Be so very good as, by retiu'n of 
 post, to enclose me another note. I trust you can do 
 it without inconvenience, and it will seriously oblige me. 
 If I must go, I shall leave a few friends behind me, 
 whom I shall regret while consciousness remains, I 
 
 * [The child died at Mauchline.] 
 
 know I shall live in their remembrance. Adieu, dear 
 Clarke. That I shall ever see you agaui, is, I am afraid, 
 highly improbable. R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXIV. 
 TO :MR JAMES JOHNSON, EDINBURGH 
 
 Dumfries, Ath July, 1796, 
 
 How are you, my dear friend, and how comes on your 
 fifth volume I You may probably think that for some 
 tine past I have neglected you and your work ; but, 
 alas ! the hand of pain, and soiTOw, and care, has these 
 many months lain heavy on me. Personal and domes- 
 tic affliction have almost entirely banished that alacrity 
 and life with which I used to woo the rural muse of 
 Scotia. 
 
 You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and have a 
 good right to Hve in this world — because you deser\^e 
 it. ]\Iany a merry meeting this pubhcation has given 
 us, and possibly it may give us more, though, alas ! I 
 fear it. This protracting, slow, consuming illness which 
 hangs over me, will, I doubt much, my ever dear friend, 
 arrest my sun before he has well reached his middle 
 career, and will tm-n over the poet to far more impor- 
 tant concerns than studying the brilliancy of wit, or 
 the pathos of sentiment. However, hope is the cordial 
 of the human heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as 
 well as I can. 
 
 Let me hear from you as soon as convenient. Your 
 work is a great one ; and now that it is finished, I see, 
 if we were to begin again, two or three things that might 
 be njended ; yet I will venture to prophesy, that to 
 future ages yom- publication will be the text-book and 
 standard of Scottish song and music. 
 
 I am ashamed to ask another favour of you, because 
 you have been so very good already ; but my wife has 
 a very particular friend of hers, a young lady who singa 
 well, to whom she wishes to present the " Scots Musi- 
 cal ^Museum." If you have a spare copy, will you be 
 so obliging as to send it by the very first /y, as I am 
 anxious to have it s(*Dn.* *Yours ever, R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXV. 
 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Brow, sea-bathing quarters, 7th July, 1796. 
 
 My dear Ci::s'>TXGHAM — I received yoiu's here this 
 moment, and am indeed lughly flattei-ed Avith the ap- 
 probation of the literary circle you mention — a Hterary 
 circle inferior to none in the two kingdoms. Alas ! my 
 friend, I fear the voice of the bard will soon be heard 
 among you no more. For these eight or ten months I 
 have been aihng, sometimes bedfast, and sometimes not ; 
 but these last three months I have been tortured with 
 an excruciating rheumatism, which has reduced me to 
 nearly the last stage. You actually would not know 
 me if you saw me. Pale, emaciated, and so feeble as 
 occasionally to need help from my chau^ — my spirits 
 fled! fled! — but I can no more on the subject; only 
 the medical folks tell me that my last and only chance 
 is bathing, and country quartei's, and riding. The deuce 
 of the matter is this ; when an exciseman is off" duty, 
 his salary is reduced to £35 instead of £50. What way, 
 in the name of thi'ift, shall I maintain myself, and keep 
 a horse in country quarters, with a wife and five chil- 
 dren at home, on £35 ? I mention this, because I had 
 intended to beg your utmost interest, and that of all the 
 friends you can muster, to move our commissioners of 
 Excise to grant me the fuU salary ; I dare say you know 
 them aU personally. If they do not grant it me,t I 
 
 * In this humble ana delicate manner did poor Bums ask for 
 a copy of a work of which he was principally the foimder, and 
 to which he had contributed, gratuitously, not less than 184 ori- 
 ginal, altered, and collected songs .' The editor has seen 180 tran- 
 scribed by his own hand for the Museum.— Cro:)Iek. 
 
 t [It is truly painful to mention that the request was not 
 gi-anted.] 
 
92 
 
 BtJRNS*S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 must lay my account with an exit truly en pocte — if I 
 die not of disease, I must perish with hunger. 
 
 I have sent you one of the songs ; the other my me- 
 mory does not serve me with, and I have no copy here ; 
 but I shall be at home soon, when I will send it you. 
 Apropos to being at home ; Mrs Burns threatens in a 
 week or two to add one more to my paternal charge, 
 which, if of the right gender, I intend shall be intro- 
 duced to the world by the I'espectable designation of 
 Alexander Cunningham Burns. My last was James 
 (rlencairn, so you can have no objection to the company 
 of nobility. Farewell. R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXVI. 
 TO MR GILBERT BURNS. 
 
 IQth July, 1796. 
 Dear Brother — It will be no very pleasing news to 
 you to be told that I am dangerously ill, and not likely 
 to get better. An inveterate rheumatism has reduced 
 me to such a state of debility, and my appetite is so 
 totally gone, that I can scarcely stand on my legs. I 
 have been a week at sea-bathing, and I Avill continue 
 there, or in a friend's house in the country, all the 
 summer. God keep my wife and children : if I am 
 taken from their head, they will be poor indeed. I have 
 contracted one or two serious debts, partly from my 
 illness these many months, partly from too much 
 thoughtlessness as to expense when I came to town, 
 that ^vill cut in too -much on the little I leave them in 
 your hands. Remember me to my mother. Yours, 
 
 R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXVII. 
 
 TO MRS BURNS. 
 
 BroWf Thursday. 
 My dearest Love — I delayed writing until I could 
 teU you what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. 
 It would be injustice to deny that it has eased my pains, 
 and I think has strengthened me ; but my appetite is 
 still extremely bad. No flesh nor fish can I swallow : 
 pori'idge and milk are the only thing I can taste. I am 
 very happy to hear, by Miss Jess Lewars, that you are 
 all well. My very best and kindest compliments to her, 
 and to all the children. I will see you on Sunday. Your 
 affectionate husband, R. B. 
 
 CCLXVIII. 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 Brow, Saturday, \2th July, 179(). 
 Madam — I have written you so often, without receiv- 
 ing any answer, that I would not trouble you again, but 
 for the circumstances in which I am. An illness which 
 has long hung about me, in all probability will speedily 
 send me beyond that bourn whence no traveller returns. 
 Your friendship, with which for many years you ho- 
 noured me, was a friendship dearest to my soul. Your 
 conversation, and especially your correspondence, were 
 at once highly entertaining and instructive. With what 
 pleasure did I use to break up the seal ! The remem- 
 brance yet adds one pulse more to my poor palpitating 
 heart. Farewell ! ! ! R. B.* 
 
 * Bums had, however, the pleasure of receiving a satisfactory 
 explanation of his friend's silence, and an assurance of the con- 
 tinuance of her friendship to his widow and children ; an assur- 
 ance that hasheenamolv fulfilled.— Currik. 
 
 No. CCLXIX. 
 TO MR JAMES BURNESS, 
 
 WRITER, MONTROSE. 
 
 Dumfries, 12th July. 
 
 My DEAR Cousin — When you offered me money 
 assistance, little did I think 1 should want it so soon. A 
 rascal of a haberdasher, to whom I owe a considerable 
 bill, taking it into his head that I am dying, has 
 commenced a process against me, and will infallibly put 
 my emaciated body into jail. Will you be so good as to 
 accommodate me, and that by return of post, with ten 
 pounds ? Oh, James ! did you know the pride of my 
 heart, you would feel doubly for me ! Alas ! I am not 
 used to beg. The worst of it is, my health was coming 
 about finely ; you know, and my physician assured me, 
 that melancholy and low spirits are half my disease 
 — guess, then, my horrors since this business began. 
 If I had it settled, I would be, I think, quite well in a 
 manner. How shall I use the language to you, oh do 
 not disappoint me ! but strong necessity's curst com- 
 mand. 
 
 I have been thinking over and over my brother's 
 affairs, and I fear I must cut him up ; but on this I 
 will correspond at another time, particularly as I shall 
 [require] your advice. 
 
 Forgive me for once more mentioning by return of 
 post — save me from the horrors of a jail !* 
 
 My compliments to my friend James, and to all 
 the rest. I do not know what I have written. The 
 subject is so horrible, I dare not look it over again. 
 Farewell ! R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXX. 
 
 TO JAMES GRACIE, Esq. 
 
 Brow, Wednesday morning, 
 16th July, 1796. 
 
 My dear Sir — It would [be] doing high injustice to 
 this place not to acknowledge that my rheumatisms 
 have derived great benefits fi'om it already ; but, alas ! 
 my loss of appetite still continues. I shall not need 
 your kind offer this weeh,'Y and I return to town the 
 beginning of next week, it not being a tide week. I am 
 detaining a man in a burning hurry. So, God bless 
 you ! R. B. 
 
 No. CCLXXI. 
 
 MASON, MAUCHLINE. 
 
 Dumfries, l^th July, 1796. 
 
 My dear Sir — Do, for Heaven's sake, send Mrs 
 Armour here immediately. My wife is hourly expect- 
 ing to be put to bed. Good God ! what a situation for 
 her to be in, poor girl, without a friend ! I returned 
 from sea-bathing quarters to-day, and my medical 
 friends would almost persuade me that I am better, 
 but I think and feel that my strength is so gone, that 
 the disorder will prove fatal to me. Your son-in-law, 
 
 R.B.§ 
 
 * [The request was immediately complied with by this gene- 
 rous relative.] 
 
 t [Mr Gracie, who was a hanker in Dumfries, had offered to 
 bring Bums home in a post-chaise.] 
 
 X [The father of Mrs Burns.] 
 
 § [This is the last ascertained piece of Burns's composition, 
 being written only three days before his death.] 
 
( 03 ) 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR GEORGE THOMSON. 
 
 [The following branch of Burns's Correspondence took its rise 
 in the circumstances referred to in the first and second letters. 
 Mr George Thomson, of Edinburgh, having designed a more 
 than usually elegant collection of the national music of Scotland, 
 applied to the poet for his aid in improving the songs, many of 
 which were imworthy of publication. Bums, with that enthu- 
 siasm which he entertained on the subject of Scottish music, 
 entered heartily into Mr Thomson's views, and contributed about 
 sixty songs to the work. The letters which passed between the 
 poet and Mr Thomson are here given, as prepared for publication 
 by the latter individual, and presented to the public in the vo- 
 lumes of Dr Currie, who prefaced them with the following note : 
 — ' ' The undertaking of Mr Thomson is one in which the public 
 may be congratulated in various points of view,* not merely as 
 having collected the finest of the Scottish songs and airs of past 
 times, but as having given occasion to a number of original songs 
 of our bard, which equal or surpass the former efibrts of the pas- 
 toral muses of Scotland, and which, if we mistake not, may be 
 safely compared with the lyric poetry of any age or country. The 
 letters of Mr Burns to Mr Thomson include the songs he presented 
 to him, some of which appear in diflferent stages of their progress ; 
 and these letters will be found to exhibit occasionally his notions 
 of song-writing, and his opinions on various subjects of taste and 
 criticism. These opinions, it will be observed, were called forth 
 by the observations of his correspondent, Mr Thomson ; and 
 without the letters of this gentleman, those of Burns would have 
 been often vmintelligible. He has therefore yielded to the earnest 
 request of the trustees of the family of the poet, to suffer them 
 to appear in their natural order ; and, independently of the illus- 
 tration they give to the letters of our bard, it is not to be doubted 
 that their intrinsic merit will ensure them a reception from the 
 public far beyond what Mr Thomson's modesty would permit him 
 to buppose."] 
 
 No. I. 
 MR THOMSONt TO BURNS. 
 
 E'dinburgh, September, 1702. 
 Sir — For some years past 1 have, with a friend or 
 two, employed many leisure hours in selecting and col- 
 lating the most favourite of our national melodies for 
 publication. We have engaged Pleyel, the most agree- 
 able composer living, to put accompaniments to these, 
 and also to compose an instrumental prelude and con- 
 clusion to each air, the better to fit them for concerts, 
 both public and private. To render this work perfect, 
 we are desirous to have the poetry improved, wherever 
 it seems unworthy of the music ; and that it is so in 
 many instances, is allowed by every one conversant 
 with our musical collections. The editors of these seem, 
 in general, to have depended on the music provmg an 
 excuse for the verses ; and hence, some charming me- 
 lodies are united to mere nonsense and doggrel, while 
 others are accommodated with rhymes so loose and 
 
 * [Mr Thomson's work is entitled, " A Select Collection of 
 Original Scottish Airs for the Voice : to which are added, Intro- 
 ductory and Concluding Symphonies and Accompaniments for 
 the Piano-Forte and Violin, by Pleyel and Kozeluch ; with select 
 and characteristic Verses, by the most admired Scottish Poets," 
 &c. London : printed and sold by Preston, No. 97, Strand. It 
 has been completed in five volumes— one edition being in folio and 
 another in 8vo.] 
 
 t [Mr George Thomson was bom at Limekilns in Fife, about 
 the year 1759, and educated at Banfi", his father being a school- 
 master successively at these two places. Through the recom- 
 mendation of Mr Home, the author of " Douglas," he was ad- 
 mitted, in 1780, to the ofiice of the Board of Trustees for the 
 Encouragement of Manufactures in Scotland, as their junior 
 clerk ; and he is now (1838), after a service of fifty-eight years, 
 principal clerk to the Board. His natural taste for music was 
 cultivated, in his early years, at the meetings of the St Cecilia 
 Society in Edinburgh— an amateur body, whose performances 
 used to attract no inconsiderable share of notice in those days. 
 Mr Thomson's Collection of Scottish Airs, first designed about 
 1792, was not completed for many years : it has been , in fact, the 
 employment of the leisiue hours of the better part of his life.] 
 
 indelicate, as cannot be sung in decent company. To 
 remove this reproach would be an easy task to the 
 author of the " Cotter's Saturday Night ;" and, for the 
 honour of Caledonia, I would fain hope he may be 
 induced to take up the pen. If so, we shall be enabled 
 to present the public with a collection, infinitely more 
 interestmg than any that has yet appeared, and ac- 
 ceptable to all persons of taste, whether they wish for 
 correct melodies, delicate accompaniments, or charac- 
 teristic vei'ses. We will esteem your poetical assistance 
 a particular favour, besides paying any reasonable price 
 you shall please to demand for it. Profit is quite a 
 secondary consideration with us, and we are resolved 
 to spare neither pains nor expense on the publication. 
 Tell me frankly, then, whether you will devote your 
 leisure to writing twenty or twenty-five songs, suited 
 to the particular melodies which I am prepared to send 
 you. A few songs, exceptionable only in some of their 
 verses, I will likewise submit to your consideration ; 
 leaving it to you, either to mend these, or make new 
 songs in their stead. It is superfluous to assure you 
 that I have no intention to displace any of the sterling 
 old songs ; those only will be removed which appear 
 quite silly or absolutely indecent. Even these shall be 
 all examined by Mr Burns, and if he is of opinion that 
 any of them are deserving of the music, in such casts 
 no divorce shall take place. G. Thomson. 
 
 No. II. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Dumfries, 16 th Sept 1792. 
 
 Sir — I have just this moment got your letter. As 
 the request you make to me will positively add to my 
 enjoyments in complying with it, I shall enter into your 
 undertaldng with all the small portion of abilities I have, 
 strained to their utmost exex'tion by the impulse of 
 enthusiasm. Only, don't hurry me — "Deil tak the hind- 
 most " is by no means the cri de guerre of my muse. 
 Will you, as I am inferior to none of you in enthusiastic 
 attachment to the poetry and music of old Caledonia, 
 and, since you request it, have cheerfully promised 
 my mite of assistance — will you let me have a list of 
 your airs with the first line of the printed verses you 
 intend for them, that I may have an opportunity of 
 suggesting any alteration that may occur to me ? You 
 know 'tis in the way of my trade ; still leaving you, gen- 
 tlemen, the undoubted right of publishers to approve 
 or reject, at your pleasure, for your owai publication. 
 Apropos, if you are for English verses, there is, on my 
 part, an end of the matter. Whether in the simplicity 
 of the ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only hope to 
 please myself in being allowed at least a sprinliling of our 
 native tongue. English verses, particularly the works of 
 Scotsmen, that have merit, are certainly very eligible. 
 " Tweedside i" " Ah ! the poor shepherd's mournful 
 fate !" " Ah ! Chloris, could I now but sit," &c., you 
 cannot mend ; but such insipid stuff as " To Fanny fair 
 could I impart," «Scc., usually set to " The Mill, Mill, ! " 
 is a disgrace to the collections in which it has already 
 appeared, and would doubly disgrace a collection that 
 will have the very superior merit of yours. But more 
 of this in the further prosecution of the business, if I 
 am called on for my strictures and amendments — I say 
 amendments, for I will not alter except where I my- 
 self, at least, think that I amend. 
 
 As to any remunex'ation, you may think my songs 
 either above or below price ; for they shall absolutely 
 be the one or the other. In the honest enthusiasm witii 
 which I embark in your undertaking, to talk of money, 
 wages, fee, hire, &c., would be downright prostitution * 
 
 * [We have been informed that Burns marked his loathing of 
 remuneration by the use of even a stronger term than this, which 
 was bubstituted by the originiil editor.] 
 
94 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 of sowl 1 A proof of each of the songs that I compose or 
 amend, I shall receive as a favour. In the rustic phrase 
 of the season, "Gucle speed the wark!" I am, Sir, 
 your very humble servant, R. Burns. 
 
 No. III. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, I3th Oct. 1792. 
 
 Dear Sir — I received with much satisfaction your 
 pleasant and obliging letter, and I return my warmest 
 acknowledgments for the enthusiasm with which you 
 have entered into our undertaking. We have now no 
 doubt of being able to produce a collection highly de- 
 serving of public attention in all respects. 
 
 I agree with you in thinking English verses, that have 
 merit, very eligible, wherever new verses are neces- 
 sary, because the Enghsh becomes every year, more 
 and more, the language of Scotland ; but if you mean 
 that no English verses, except those by Scottish authors, 
 ought to be admitted, I am half inclined to differ from 
 you. I should consider it unpardonable to sacrifice 
 one good song in the Scottish dialect, to make room for 
 English verses ; but if we can select a few excellent 
 ones suited to the unprovided or ill-provided airs, would 
 it not be the very bigotry of literary patriotism to reject 
 such, merely because the authors were born south 
 of the Tweed ? Our sweet air, " My Nannie, !" which 
 in the collections is joined to the poorest stuff that Allan 
 Ramsay ever wrote, beginning, " While some for plea- 
 sure pawn their health," answers so finely to Dr Percy's 
 beautiful song, " Oh Nancy, wilt thou go with me ?" that 
 one would think he wrote it on purpose for the air. 
 However, it is not at all our wish to confine you to 
 English verses : you shall freely be allowed a sprinkling 
 of your native tongue, as you elegantly express it ; and, 
 moreovei', we will patiently wait your own time. One 
 thing only I beg, which is, that however gay and spor- 
 tive the muse may be, she may always be decent. Let 
 her not write what beauty would blush to speak, nor 
 wound that charming delicacy which forms the most 
 precious dowry of our daughters. I do not conceive 
 the song to be the most proper vehicle for mtty and 
 brilliant conceits; simplicity, I believe, should be its pro- 
 minent feature : but, in some of our songs, the writers 
 have confounded simplicity with coarseness and vulga- 
 rity ; although, between the one and the other, as Dr 
 Beattie well observes, there is as great a difference as 
 between a plain suit of clothes and a bundle of rags. 
 The humorous ballad, or pathetic complaint, is best 
 suited to our artless melodies ; and more interesting, 
 indeed, in all songs, than the most pointed wit, dazzling 
 descriptions, and flowery fancies. 
 
 With these trite observations, I send you eleven of 
 the songs, for which it is my wish to substitute others 
 of your writing. I shall soon transmit the rest, and, 
 at the same time, a prospectus of the whole collection ; 
 and you may believe we will receive any hints that you 
 are so kind as to give for improving the work, with the 
 greatest pleasure and thankfulness. I remain, dear 
 Sir, .Sec. 
 
 No. IV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 My dear Sir — Let me tell you, that you are too fas- 
 tidious in your ideas of songs and ballads. I own that 
 your criticisms are just ; the songs you specify in your 
 list have, all but one, the faults you remark in them ; 
 but who shall mend the matter ? Who shall rise up 
 and say, " Go to ! I will make a better ?" For instance, 
 on reading over "The- Lea-rig," I immediately set 
 about trying my hand on it, and, after all, I could make 
 nothing more of it than the following, which, Heaven 
 knows, is poor enough. 
 
 [Here follow the two first stanzas of " My ain kind dearie O !" 
 for which see Poetical Works, p. 116.] 
 
 Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr Percy's 
 ballad to the air, " Nannie, O !" is just. It is besides. 
 
 perhaps, the most beautiful ballad in the English lan- 
 guage. But let me remai'k to you, that in the sentiment 
 and style of our Scottish airs, there is a pastoral sim- 
 plicity, a something that one may call the Doric style 
 and dialect of vocal music, to which a dash of our na- 
 tive tongue and manners is particularly, nay pecuharly, 
 apposite. For this reason, and, upon my honour, for 
 this reason alone, I am of opinion (but, as I told you 
 before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to approve or 
 reject, as you please) that my ballad of " Nannie, 1'* 
 might perhaps do for one set of verses to the tune. Now 
 don't let it enter into your head, that you are under 
 any necessity of taking my verses. I have long ago 
 made up my mind as to my own reputation in the busi- 
 ness of authorship, and have nothing to be pleased or 
 oflFendedat, in your adoption or rejection of my verses. 
 Though you should reject one half of what I give you, 
 I shall be pleased with your adopting the other half, 
 and shall continue to serve you with the same assiduity. 
 In the printed copy of my " Nannie, O !" the name 
 of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it : 
 " Behind yon hills where Lugar flows.'* 
 
 Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of 
 the stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeq,ble modu- 
 lation of syllables. 
 
 I will soon give you a great manymore remarks on 
 this business ; but I have just now an opportunity of 
 conveying you this scrawl, free of postage, an expense 
 that it is ill able to pay : so, with my best compUments 
 to honest Allan, Gude be wi' ye, &c. 
 Friday Night. 
 
 Saturday Morning, 
 
 As I find I have still an hour to spare this morning 
 before my conveyance goes away, I will give you " Nannie, 
 !" at length. 
 
 Your remarks on " Ewe-bughts, Marion," are just ; 
 still it has obtained a place among our more classical 
 Scottish songs; and what with many beauties in its 
 composition, and more prejudices in its favour, you will 
 not find it easy to supplant it. 
 
 In my very early years, when I was thinking of going 
 to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a 
 dear girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the 
 merits of " Ewe-bughts ;" but it will fill up this page. 
 You must know that all my earlier loye-songs were the 
 breathings of ardent passion, and though it might have 
 been easy in after-times to have given them a polish, 
 yet that polish, to me, whose they were, and who 
 perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced the 
 legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed 
 on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of 
 wines, their race. 
 
 [Here follows the song " Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary ?'• 
 for which see Poetical Works, p. 116. Mr Thomson did not adopt 
 the song in his collection.] 
 
 « Gala Water," and " Auld Rob Morris," I think, 
 will most probably be the next subject of my musings. 
 However, even on my verses, speak out your criticisms 
 with equal frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, 
 the uncomplying bigot of opinidtrete, but cordially to 
 join issue with you in the furtherance of the work. 
 
 No. V, 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 November 8th, 1792. 
 If you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs in your 
 collection shall be poetry of the first merit, I am afraid 
 you will find more difficulty in the undertaking than 
 you are aware of. There is a peculiar rhythmus in 
 many of our airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables 
 to the emphasis, or what I would call the feature-notes 
 of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under 
 almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air, 
 " J\Iy wife's a wanton wee thing," if a few lines smooth 
 and pretty can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. 
 The following were made extempore to it ; and though, 
 on further study, I might give you something more 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 95 
 
 profounil, yet It might not suit the light-horse gallop of 
 the air so well as this random clink : — 
 
 [Here follows " My -wife's a winsome wee thing," for which 
 Eee Poetical Works, p. 116.] 
 
 I have just heen looldng over the " Collier's bonny 
 dochter ;" and if the following rhapsody, which I com- 
 posed the other day, on a charming Ayi-shire girl, Miss 
 Lesley Bailhe, as she passed through this place to 
 England, will suit your taste better than the " ColUer 
 Lassie," fall on and welcome : — 
 
 [Here follows " Bonnie Lesley," for which see Poetical "Works, 
 p. 116.] 
 
 I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic 
 airs, until more leisure, as they will take, and deserve, 
 a greater effort. However, they are all put into your 
 hands, as clay into the hands of the potter, to make one 
 vessel to honour, and another to dishonour. Farewell, 
 &c. 
 
 No. VI. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 \ith November^ 1792. 
 f After transcribing " Highland IMary," for which see Poetical 
 Works, p. 116, the poet thus proceeds :— ] 
 
 My dear Sir — I agree with you that the song, 
 « Katharine Ogie," is very poor stuff, and unworthy, 
 altogether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I tried to 
 mend it ; but the awkward sound, Ogie, recurring so 
 often in the rhyme, spoils every attempt at introducing 
 sentiment into the piece. The foregoing song pleases 
 myself; I think it is in my happiest manner : you will 
 see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of 
 the song is one of the most interesting passages of my 
 youthftii days, and I own that I should be much 
 flattered to see the verses set to an air which would 
 ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still glow- 
 ing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed 
 lustre over the merits of the composition. 
 
 I have partly taken your idea of " Auld Rob Morris." 
 1 have adopted the two first verses, and am going on 
 with the song on a new plan, which promises pretty 
 well. I take up one or another, just as the bee of the 
 moment buzzes in my bonnet-lug; and do you, sans 
 ceremonie, make what use you choose of the productions. 
 Adieu, &e. 
 
 No. VII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, Nov. 1792. 
 
 Dear Sir — I was just going to write to you, that on 
 meeting with your Nannie, Ihad fallen violently in love 
 with her. I thanlc you, therefore, for sending the 
 charming rustic to me, in the dress you wish her to 
 appear before the public. She does you great credit, 
 and will soon be admitted into the best company. 
 
 I regret that your song for the "Lea-rig" is so short; 
 the air is easy, soon sung, and very pleasing : so that, 
 if the singer stops at the end of two stanzas, it is a 
 pleasure lost ere it is well possessed. 
 
 Although a dash of our native tongue and maimers 
 is doubtless pecuHarly congenial and appropriate to our 
 melodies, yet I shall be able to present a considerable 
 number of the very Flowers of English song, well 
 adapted to those melodies, which, in England at least, 
 will be the means of recommending them to still greater 
 attention than they have procured there. But, you will 
 observe, my plan is, that every air shall, ia the first 
 place, have verses wholly by Scottish poets ; and that 
 those of Enghsh \vriters shall follow as additional songs 
 for the choice of the singer. 
 
 What you say of the "Ewe-bughts" is just ; I admire 
 it, and never meant to supplant it. All I requested 
 was, that you would try your hand on some of the 
 inferior stanzas, which are apparently no part of the 
 original song ; but this I do not urge, because the song 
 is of sufficient length, though those inferior stanzas be 
 omitted, as they will be by the singer of taste. You 
 
 must not think I expect all the songs to be of super- 
 lative merit ; that were an unreasonable expectation. 
 I am sensible that no poet can sit down doggedly to 
 pen verses, and succeed well at all times. 
 
 I am highly pleased with your humorous and amorous 
 rhapsody on " Bonnie Lesley :" it is a thousand times 
 better than the " Collier's lassie." " The deil he cou'd 
 na scaith thee," &c., is an eccentric and happy thought. 
 Do you not think, however, that the names of such old 
 heroes as Alexa^nder sound" rather queer, imless in 
 pompous or mere burlesque verse? Instead of the 
 line, " And never made anither," I would humbly 
 suggest, " And ne'er made sic anither ;" and I would 
 fain have you substitute some other line for " Return 
 to Caledonie," in the last verse, because I think this 
 alteration of the orthography, and of the sound of 
 Caledonia, disfigures the word, and renders it Hudi- 
 brastic. 
 
 Of the other song, " My wife's a winsome wee 
 thing," I think the first eight lines very good ; but I 
 do not admire the other eight, because four of them are 
 a bare repetition of the first verses. I have been trying 
 to spra a stanza, but could make nothing better than 
 the following : do you mend it, or, as Yorick did with 
 the love letter, whip it up in your o'W'n way : — 
 
 Oh leeze me on my wee thing. 
 My bonnie blythesome wee thing ; 
 Sae lang's I hae my wee thing, 
 I'll think my lot divine. 
 
 Tho' warld's care we share o't. 
 And may see meikle mair o't, 
 Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
 And ne'er a word repine. 
 
 You perceive, my dear Sir, I avail myself of the 
 libei'ty, which you condescend to allow me, by speaking 
 freely what I think. Be assured, it is not my disposi- 
 tion to pick out the faults of any poem or picture I see : 
 my first and chief object is to discover and be dehghted 
 with the beauties of the piece. If I sit down to examine 
 critically, and at leisure, what, perhaps, you have 
 written in haste, I may happen to observe careless 
 lines, the reperusal of which might lead you to improve 
 them. The wren will often see what has been over- 
 looked by the eagle. I remain yours faithfully, &c. 
 
 P. S. Your verses upon "Highland Mary" are just 
 come to hand : they breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, 
 and, like the music, will last for ever. Such verses, 
 united to such an air, with the delicate harmony of 
 Pleyel superadded, might form a treat worthy of being 
 presented to Apollo himself. I have heard the sad 
 story of your Mary ; you always seem inspired when 
 you write of her. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Dumfries, 1st Dec. 1792. 
 Your alterations of my *' Nannie, O !" are perfectly 
 right. So are those of "My wife's a ^\'insome wee 
 thing." Your alteration of the second stanza is a 
 positive improvement. Now, my dear Sii', with the 
 freedom which characterises our correspondence, I 
 must not, can not alter "Bonnie Lesley." You are 
 right; the word " Alexander " makes the line a little 
 uncouth, but I think the thought is pretty. Of Alex- 
 ander, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the 
 subHme language of Scripture, that "he went forth 
 conquering and to conquer.' ■ 
 
 For nature made her what she is, 
 
 And never made anither. (Such a person as she is.) 
 
 This is, in my opinion, more poetical than " Ne'er 
 made sic anither." However, it is immaterial : make 
 it either way. " Caledonie," I agree wth you, is not so 
 good a word as could be wished, though it is sanctioned 
 in three or four instances by Allan Ramsay; but I 
 cannot help it. In short, that species of stanza is the 
 most difficult that I have ever tried. 
 
96 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 The " Lea-rig" is as follows : — 
 
 [Here the poet repeats the first two stanzas, adding a third. 
 The whole are inserted in his Poetical Works, p. 116.] 
 I am interrupted. Yours, &c. 
 
 No. IX. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Ath December, 1792. 
 The foregoing [" Auld Rob Moi'ris" and " Duncan 
 Gray," for .which see his Poetical Works, p. 117] I 
 submit, my dear Sir, to your better judgment. Acquit 
 them, or condemn them, as seemeth good in your sight. 
 " Duncan Gray" is that kind of hght-horse gallop of an 
 air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its 
 ruling feature. 
 
 No. X. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 [Prefatory to this letter, Burns transcribes the songs " Puu-tith 
 Cauld'*and " Gala Water," for which see his Poetical Works, 
 p. 117.] 
 
 Jan. 17S3. 
 
 Many returns of the season to you, my dear Sir. 
 How comes on your publication ? — will these two fore- 
 going be of any service to you 1 I should like to know 
 what songs you print to each tune, besides the vei'ses 
 to which it is set. In short, I would wish to give you 
 my opinion on all the poetry you publish. You know 
 it is my trade, and a man in the way of his trade may 
 suggest useful hints that escape men of much superior 
 parts and endowments in other things. 
 
 If you meet with my dear and much-valued Cunning- 
 ham, greet him, in my name, with the compliments of 
 the season. Yours, &c. 
 
 No. XI. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, Jan. 20, 1793. 
 
 You make me happy, my dear Sir, and thousands 
 will be happy, to see the charming songs you have sent 
 me. Many merry returns of the season to you, and 
 may you long continue among the sons and daughters 
 of Caledonia, to delight them and to honour yourself. 
 
 The four last songs with which you favoured me for 
 " Auld Rob aiorris," " Duncan Gray," " Gala Watei'," 
 and " Cauld Kail," are admirable. Duncan is indeed 
 a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every 
 body. 
 
 The distracted lover in " Auld Rob," and the happy 
 shepherdess in " Gala Water," exhibit an excellent 
 contrast : they speak from genuine feeling, and power- 
 fully touch the heart. 
 
 The number of songs v/hich I had qi'iginally in view 
 was limited, but I now resolve to inclu^fe every Scotch air 
 and song worth singing ; leaving nonetbehind but mere 
 gleanings, to Avhich the publishers of omne gatherum are 
 welcome. I would rather be the editor of a collection 
 from which nothing could be taken away, than of one 
 to which nothing could be added. We intend presenting 
 the subscribers with two beautiful stroke engravings, 
 the one characteristic of the plaintive, and the other of 
 the lively songs ; and I have Dr Beattie's promise of 
 an essay upon the subject of our national music, if his 
 health will permit him to write it. As a number of our 
 songs have doubtless been called forth by particular 
 events, or by the charms of peerless damsels, there 
 must be many curious anecdotes relating to them. 
 
 The late Mr Tytler of Woodhouselee, I believe, knew 
 more of this than any body ; for he joined to the pursuits 
 of an antiquary a taste for poetry, besides being a man 
 of the world, and possessing an enthusiasm for music 
 beyond most of his contemporaries. He was quite 
 pleased with this plan of mine, for I may say it has 
 been solely managed by me, and we had several long 
 conversations about it when it was in cnibi'} o. If I 
 
 could sunply mention the name of the heroine of each 
 song, and the incident which occasioned the verses, it 
 would be gratifying. Pray, will you send me any in- 
 formation of this sort, as well with regard to yoi^r own 
 songs as the old ones ? 
 
 ^ To all the favourite songs of the plaintive or pastoral 
 kind, will be joined the deHcate accompaniments, &c., 
 of Pleyel. To those of the comic and humorous class, 
 I thuik accompaniments scarcely necessary ; they are 
 chiefly fitted for the conviviality of the festive board, 
 and a tuneful voice, with a proper delivery of the words, 
 renders them perfect. Nevertheless, to these I propose 
 adding bass accompaniments, because then they are 
 fitted either for singing, or for instrumental perform- 
 ance, when there happens to be no singer. I mean to 
 employ our right trusty friend Mr Clarke to set the 
 bass to these, which he assures me he will do con amore^ 
 and with much greater attention than he ever bestowed 
 on any thing of the kind. But for this last class of airs 
 I will not attempt to find more than one set of vei'ses. 
 
 That eccentric bard, Peter Pindar, has started I 
 know not how many difficulties about writing for the 
 airs I sent to him, because of the peculiarity of their 
 measure, and the trammels they oppose on his flying 
 Pegasus. I subjoin, for your perusal, the only one I 
 have yet got from him, being for the fine air, " Lord 
 Gregoi'y." The Scots verses printed Avith that air are 
 taken from the middle of an old ballad, called " The 
 Lass of Lochroyan," which I do not admire. I have 
 set down the air, therefore, as a creditor of yours. 
 Many of the jacobite songs are replete with wit and . i 
 humour — might not the best of these be included in our \ I 
 volume of comic songs ? \ I 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 1 1 
 
 FROM THE HON. ANDREW ERSKINE.* 
 
 Mr Thomson has been so obliging as to give me a 
 perusal of your songs. " Highland Mai'y" is most 
 enchantingly pathetic, and " Duncan Gray" possesses 
 native genuine humour — " Spak o' lowpin' o'er a linn," 
 is a line of itself that should make you immortal. 
 I sometimes hear of you from our mutual friend Cun- 
 nmgham, who is a most excellent fellow, and possesses, 
 above all men I know, the charm of a most obHging 
 disposition. You kindly promised me, about a year j 
 ago, a collection of your unpublished productions, reli- j 
 gious and amorous. I know, from experience, how : 
 irksome it is to copy. If you will get any trusty person i 
 in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will give Peter j 
 Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble, and I i 
 certainly shall not betray your confidence." I am your 'i 
 hearty admirer, Andrew Ebskine. 
 
 No. XII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 IQth January, 1793. 
 
 I APPROVE greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr 
 Beattie's essay will, of itself, be a treasure. On my 
 part I mean to draw up an appendix to the Doctor's 
 essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, &c., of our- 
 Scots songs. All the late Mr Ty tier's anecdotes I have 
 by me, taken down in the course of my acquaintance 
 with him, from his own mouth. I am such an enthu- 
 siast, that in the course of my several peregrinations, 
 tlu'ough Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual 
 spot from which evei'y song took its rise, " Lochaber,"^ 
 and the " Braes of Ballenden," excepted. So far as 
 the locality, either from the title of the aii", or the 
 tenor of the song, could be ascei*tained, I have paid 
 my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scots 
 muse. 
 
 I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable 
 
 * [Third son of Alexander, fifth Earl of Kellie, by -Janet, daugh- 
 ter of the celebrated physician and wit, Dr Pitcairn. Mr Erskino 
 was a v>'it and a poet, and the author in part of a curious and 
 rare volume, entitled " Letters between the Hon. Andrew 
 Erokine and James Boswell, Esq. London, 17()3 " — an amusing 
 specimen of youthful frolic and vivacity. Mr Eddied ia llOo.} . 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 97 
 
 collection of jacobito songs ; but would it give no 
 offence i In the meantime, do not you think that some 
 of tliem, particularly " The sow's tail to Geordie," as 
 an air, with other words, might be well worth a place 
 in your collection of hvely songs ? 
 
 If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would 
 be proper to have one set of Scots words to every air, 
 and that the set of words to which the notes ought to 
 be set. There is a naivete, a pastoral simplicity, in a 
 slight interadxture of Scots words and phraseology, 
 which is more in unison (at least to my taste, and, I 
 will add, to every genuine Caledonian taste) with the 
 simple pathos, or rustic sprightliness of our native 
 music, than any English verses whatever. 
 
 The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to 
 your work.* His " Gregory*' is beautiiul. I have 
 tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots, on the same 
 subject, wliicii are at your service. Not that I intend 
 to enter the lists vdih Peter — that would be presimip- 
 tion indeed. My song, though much inferior in poetic 
 merit, has, I think, more of the ballad simplicity in it. 
 [Here follows " Lord Gregorj-," as inserted in the Poetical 
 Works, p. lia] 
 
 No. XIII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 20thJ]rarck, 1793. 
 My dear Sir — The song prefixed [" Mary ilorison"] 
 is one of my juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I 
 do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits 
 or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in 
 my stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, 
 and ^dtty. 
 
 What is become of the list, &c., of your songs ? I 
 shall be out of all temper with you by and bye. I have 
 always looked on myself as the prince of indolent cor- 
 respondents, and valued myself accordin^y ; and I wiU 
 not, can not, bear rivalship from you, nor a^y body else. 
 
 No. XIY. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 March, 1793. 
 WANDERING WILLIE. 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Wilhe, 
 
 Now tired v.-ith wandering, baud awa harae ; 
 Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie. 
 
 And teU me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 
 Loud blew the catdd %vinter ^vinds at our pai-tiug ; 
 It was na the blast brought the tear in my ee : 
 Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
 
 The simmer to nature, my WilHe to me. 
 Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers ! 
 ' Oh how your Wild horrors a lover alarms ! 
 Awaken, ye breezes ! blow gently, ye billows ! 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 
 
 * The song of Dr Wolcot (Peter Pindar), on the same subject, 
 is as follows : — 
 
 " Ah oi)e. Lord Gregorj", thy door ! 
 
 A midnight wanderer sighs ; 
 Hard rush the rains, the tempests roai". 
 
 And lightnings cleave the sides." 
 " Who comes with woe at this drear night— 
 
 A pilgrim of the gloom ? 
 If she whose love did once delight, 
 
 r.Iy cot shall yield her room." 
 " Alas ! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn. 
 
 That once was priz'd by thee : 
 Think of the ring by yonder biu-n 
 
 Thou gav'st to love and me. 
 But should'st thou not poor 3Iarion know, 
 
 m turn my feet and part ; 
 And think the storms that round me blow. 
 Far kinder than thy heart." 
 It is but doing justice to Dr "Wolcot to mention, that his song is 
 the original. Mr Burns saw it, liked it, and immediately wrote 
 the other on the same subject, which is derived from the old 
 Scottish ballad of uncertain origin.— Cur.r.iK, 
 G 
 
 But if he's forgotten his faithfuUest Nannie, 
 
 Oh still How between us, thou wide-roaring main ; 
 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it. 
 
 But, dj-ing, beUeve that my Willie's my ain ! 
 
 I leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine whether 
 the above, or the old " Thro' the lang muir,"* be the 
 
 best. 
 
 [The two next letters of Bums to Mr Thomson, as published 
 by Dr Currie, consist only of the two songs, " Oh open the door 
 to me, O 1" and " Jessie," for which see Poetical Works, p. 120.] 
 
 No. XY. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, 2d April, 1793. 
 
 I WILL not recognise the title you give yourself, 
 "'the prince of indolent correspondents;" but if the 
 adjective were taken away, I think the title would then 
 fit you exactly. It gives me pleasure to find you can 
 furnish anecdotes with respect to most of the songs : 
 these \\t11 be a hterary curiosity. 
 
 I now send you my list of the songs, which I believe 
 will be found nearly complete. I have put do^\-n the 
 first lines of all the English songs v.hicli I propose 
 giving in addition to the Scotcli verses. If any others 
 occur to you, better adapted to the character of the 
 airs, pray mention them, when you favour me with 
 your strictures upon every thing else relating to the 
 work. 
 
 Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, with 
 his s\-mphonies and accompaniments added to tliem. I 
 wish you were here, that I might serve up some of them 
 to you with your own verses, by way of dessert after 
 dinner. There is so much delightful fancy in the 
 SATnphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in the 
 accompaniments — they are indeed beyond all praise. 
 
 I am very much pleased with the several last pro- 
 ductions of your muse : your '■' Lord Gregory," in my 
 estimation, is more interesting than Peter's, beautiful 
 as his is. Your " Here awa, Willie," must undergo 
 some alterations to suit the air. Mr Erskine and I 
 have been conning it over ; he will suggest what is 
 necessary to make them a fit match.f 
 
 The gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste 
 
 * [An old song, commencing with the two following stanzas :— 
 Here awa, there awa, here awa, Willie, 
 
 Here awa, there awa, here awa hame ; 
 Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee, 
 
 Xow I hae gotten my WtUie again. 
 Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie, 
 
 Through the lang muir I have followed him hame, 
 "VMiatever betide us, nought shall divide us. 
 
 Love now rewards all mj' sorrow and lain.] 
 
 t " AVandering Willie," as altered by Sir Erskine and 3Ir 
 Thomson. 
 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
 
 Here awa, there awa, baud awa hame ; 
 Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 
 
 Tell me thou bring'st me my WDIie the same. 
 Winter winds blew loud and caul' at our parting, 
 
 Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 
 Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
 
 As simmer to nature, so "VTillie to me. 
 Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers, 
 
 How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
 Blow soft, ye breezes ! roll gently, ye billows ! 
 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 
 But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Xannie, 
 
 Flow still betvreen us, thou dark-hea\lng main ! 
 3Iay I never see ir, may I never trow it, 
 
 TSTiile, dying, I think that my WUlie's my ain. 
 Our poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these al- 
 terations, and rejected others. The last edition is as follows : — 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
 
 Here awa, there awa, baud awa hame ; 
 Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 
 
 Tell me thou bxing'st me my WUUe the samo. 
 
BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 you are no stranger to, is so well pleased, both with the 
 musical and poetical part of our work, that he has 
 volunteered his assistance, and has already written four 
 songs for it, which, by his own desire, I send for your 
 
 [The next communication of Burns to Mr Thomson, marked 
 No. XVni. in Currie's publication of their correspondence, con- 
 sisted merely of the songs, " The Soldier's Return," and " Meg o' 
 the Mill," respectively to be foimd at pp. 118 and 120 of the ac- 
 companying edition of Burns's Poetical Works.} 
 
 No. XVI. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 7th April, 1793. 
 Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You 
 cannot imagine how much this business of composing 
 for your publication has added to my enjoyments. What 
 with my early attachment to ballads, your book, &c., 
 ballad-making is now as completely my hobby-horse as 
 ever fortification was Uncle Toby's ; so I'U e'en canter 
 it away till I come to the Hmit of my race — God grant 
 that I may take the right side of the winning post ! — 
 and then cheerfully looking back on the honest folks 
 with whom I have been happy, I shall say or sing, 
 ** Sae merry as we a' hae been ! " and, raising my last 
 looks to the whole human race, the last words of the 
 voice of " Coila"* shall be, " Good night, and joy be 
 wi' you a' ! " So much for my last words : now for a 
 few present remarks, as they have occurred at random, 
 on looking over your list. 
 
 The first Hues of " The last time I came ^o'er the 
 moor," and several other hues in it, are beautiful ; but, 
 in my opinion — pardon me, revered shade of Ramsay ! 
 — the song is unworthy of the divine air. I shall try to 
 make or mend. " For ever, fortune, wilt thou prove," 
 is a charming song ; but " Logan burn and Logan 
 braes" is sweetly susceptible of rural imagery: I'll 
 try that likewise, and, if I succeed, the other song may 
 class among the English ones. I remember the two 
 last lines of a verse in some of the old songs of " Logan 
 Water" (for I know a good many different ones) which 
 I think pretty : — 
 
 Now my dear lad maun face his faes. 
 
 Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 
 " My Patie is a lover gay," is unequal. "His mind is 
 never muddy," is a muddy expression indeed. 
 
 Then I'll resign and marry Pate, 
 And syne my cockernony — 
 This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your book. 
 
 Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting. 
 
 Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 
 Welcome now simmer, and welcome my WUlie, 
 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
 Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers 
 
 How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
 Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! 
 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 
 But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
 Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main ! 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it. 
 But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 
 Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance in 
 themselves, and were adopted, it may be presumed, for the sake 
 of suiting the words better to the music. The Homeric epithet 
 for the sea, dark-heaving, suggested by Mr Erskine, is in itself 
 more beautiful, as well perhaps as more sublime, than wide-roar- 
 ing, which he has retained, but as it is only applicable to a placid 
 state of the sea, or, at most, to the swell left on its surface after 
 the storm is over, it gives a picture of that element not so well 
 adapted to the ideas of eternal separation, which the fair mourner 
 is supposed to imprecate. From the original song of ' ' Here awa, 
 Willie," Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line and 
 part of the first. The superior excellence of this beautiful poem 
 v/ill, it is hoped, justify the different editions of it which we have 
 given.— CuRRiE. 
 
 * Burns here calls himself the " Voice of Coila," in imitation 
 of Ossian, who denominates himself the " Voice of Cona." " Sae 
 merry as we a' hae been !" and " Good night, and joy be wi' you 
 a'!" are the names of two Scottish tunes.— CuBras. 
 
 My song, " Rigs of barley," to the same tune, does 
 not altogether please me ; but if I can mend it, and 
 thrash a few loose sentiments out of it, I will submit it 
 to your consideration. " The lass o' Ratio's mill" is 
 one of Ramsay's best songs; but there is one loose 
 sentiment in it, which my much-valued friend Mr 
 Erskine will take into his critical consideration. In Sir 
 John Sinclair's statistical volumes, are two claims — 
 one, I think, from Aberdeenshire, and the other from 
 Ayrshire — for the honour of this song. The following 
 anecdote, which I had from the present Sir WilHam 
 Cunningham of Robertland, who had it of the late John 
 Earl of Loudon, I can, on such authorities, believe: — ■ 
 
 Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon-castle with 
 the then Earl, father to Earl John ; and one forenoon, 
 riding, or walking, out together, his lordship and Allan 
 passed a sweet romantic spot on Irvine water, still 
 called " Ratio's mill," where a bonnie lass was "tedding 
 hay, bareheaded on , the green." My lord. observed to 
 Allan, that it would be a fine theme for a song. Ramsay 
 took the hint, and, lingering behind, he composed the 
 first sketch of it, which he produced at dinner. 
 
 " One day I heard Mary say," is a fine song ; but, 
 for consistency's sake, alter the name " Adonis." Were 
 there ever such banns pubhshed, as a purpose of mar- 
 riage between Adonis and Mary ! I agree with you 
 that my song, " There's nought but care on every 
 hand," is much superior to "Puirtith cauld." The 
 original song, "The mill, mill, 0!" though excellent, 
 is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible ; still I like the , 
 title, and think a Scottish song would suit the notes ' 
 best ; and let your chosen song, which is very pretty, 
 follow as an English set. " The banks of the Dee" is, 
 you know, literally " Langolee," to slow time. The 
 song is well enough, but has some false imagery in it : 
 for instance, 
 
 And sweetly the nightingale sang from the tree. 
 
 In the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, 
 but never from a tree ; and in the second place, there 
 never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of 
 the Dee, or on the banks of any other I'iver in Scotland. 
 Exotic rural imagery is always comparatively flat. If 
 I could hit on another stanza, equal to ^' The small 
 birds rejoice," &c., I do myself honestly avow, that I 
 think it a superior song.* "John Anderson, my jo" — 
 the song to this tune in Johnson's Museum, is my 
 compositiouj and I think it not my worst : if it suit you, 
 take it, and welcome. Your collection of sentimental 
 and pathetic songs is, in my opinion, very complete ; 
 but not so your comic ones. Where are " Tulloch- 
 gorum," " Lumps o' puddin," " Tibbie Fowler," and 
 several others, which, in my humble judgment, are well 
 worthy of preservation ? There is also one sentimental 
 song of mine in the Museum, which never was known 
 out of the immediate neighbourhood, until I got it taken 
 down from a country girl's singing. It is called " Cra- 
 gieburn wood," and, in the opinion of Mr Clarke, is one 
 of the sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an enthusiast 
 about it ; and I would take his taste in Scottish music 
 against the taste of most connoisseurs. 
 
 You are quite right in inserting the last five in your 
 list, though they are certainly Irish. " Shepherds, I 
 have lost my love ! " is to me a heavenly air — what 
 would you think of a set of Scottish verses to it ? I 
 have made one to it, a good while ago, which I think 
 * '^' *, but m its original state it is not quite a lady's 
 song. I enclose an altered, not amended copy for you, 
 if you choose to set the time to it, and let the Irish 
 verses follow.'t' 
 
 * The bard did produce a second stanza of "|The Chevalier's La- 
 ment" (to which he here alludes), worthy of the first. — Currib. 
 t Mr Thomson, it appears, did not approve of this song, even 
 in its altered state. It does not appear in the correspondence ; 
 but it is probably one to be found in his MSS. beginning, 
 Yestreen I got a pint of wine 
 A place where body saw na 
 Yestreen lay on this breast of mine. 
 The gowden locks of Anna. 
 It is highly characteristic of our bard, but the strain of sentiment 
 does not correspond with the air to which he proposes it should, 
 be allied,— CuRRiE. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 99 
 
 Mr Erskinc's songs are all pretty, but his " Lone 
 vale" is divine. Yours, &c. 
 
 Let me know just how you like these random hints. 
 
 No. XVII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, April, 1793. 
 
 I REJOICE to find, my dear Su', that ballad-making 
 continues to be your hobby-horse. Great pity 'twould 
 be were it otherwise. I hope you will amble it away 
 for many a year, and "witch the world with your 
 horsemanship." 
 
 I know there are a good many lively songs of merit 
 that I have not put down in the list sent you ; but I have 
 them all in my eye. "My Patie is a lover gay," though 
 a Uttle imequal, is a natural and very pleasing song, 
 and I humbly think we ought not to displace or alter 
 it, except the last stanza.*' 
 
 No. XVIII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON 
 
 April, 1793. 
 I HAVE yours, my dear Sir, this moment. I shall 
 answer it and your former letter, in my desultory way 
 of saying whatever comes uppex'most. 
 
 The business of many of our tunes wanting, at the 
 beginning, what fiddlers call. a starting-note, is often a 
 rub to us poor rhymers. 
 
 " There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes. 
 That wander through the blooming heather," 
 you may alter to 
 
 " Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
 Ye wander," &c. 
 
 My song, " Here awa, there awa," as amended by 
 Mr Erskine, I entirely approve of, and return you.+ 
 
 Give me leave to criticise your taste in the only thing 
 in which it is, in my opinion, reprehensible. You know 
 I ought to know something of my own trade. Of pathos, 
 sentiment, and point, you are a complete judge ; but 
 there is a quality more necessary than either in a song, 
 and which is the very essence of a ballad — I mean 
 simpHcity : now, if I mistake not, this last feature you 
 are a little apt to sacrifice to the foregoing. 
 
 Ramsay, as every other poet, has not been always 
 equally happy in his pieces ; still I cannot approve of 
 taking such liberties with an author as Mr W. proposes 
 doing with " The last time I came o'er the moor." Let 
 a poet, if he chooses, take up the idea of another, and 
 work it mto a piece of his own ; but to mangle the 
 works of the poor bard, whose tuneful tongue is now 
 mute for ever, in the dark and narrow house — by 
 Heaven, 'twould be sacrilege ! I grant that Mr W.'s 
 version is an improvement ; but I know Mr W. well, 
 and esteem him much ; let him mend the song, as the 
 Highlander mended his gun — he gave it a new stock, a 
 new lock, and a new barrel. 
 
 I do not, by this, object to leaving out unproper 
 fetanzas, where that can be done without spoiling the 
 whole. One stanza in " The lass o' Patie's mill " must 
 be left out : the song will be nothing worse for it. I am 
 not sure if we can take the same liberty with " Com 
 rigs are bonnie." Perhaps it might want the last stanza, 
 and be the better for it, " Cauld kail in Aberdeen," you 
 must leave with me yet a while. I have vowed to have 
 a song to that air, on the lady whom I attempted to 
 celebrate in the verses, " Puirtith cauld and restless 
 love." At any rate, my other song, " Green grow the 
 rashes," will never suit, That song is current in Scot- 
 land under the old title, and to the merry old tune of 
 that name, which, of course, would mar the progress of 
 
 * The original letter from Mr ThotQSOn contains many obser- 
 vations on the Scottish songs, and on the maimer of adapting the 
 words to the music, which, at his desire, are suppressed. The 
 subseqiient letter of Mr Bums refers to several of these observa- 
 tions.— Cubrie. 
 
 + The reader has already seen that Burns did not finally adopt 
 all of Mr Erskine'a alterations.— Cux^uii;. 
 
 your song to celebrity. Your book will be the standard 
 of Sc(rts songs for the future : let this idea ever keep 
 your judgment on the alarm. 
 
 I send a song on a celebrated toast in this country, 
 to suit " Bonnie Dimdee." I send you also a ballad to 
 the " Mill, Mill, !"* 
 
 " The last time I came o'er the moor," I would fain 
 attempt to make a Scots song foi", and let Ramsay's be 
 the EngHsh set. You shall hear from me soon. When 
 you go to London on this business, can you come by 
 Dumfries? I have still several MS. Scots airs by me, 
 which I have picked up, mostly from the singing of 
 country lasses. They please me vastly ; but your learned 
 lugsf would perhaps be displeased with the very feature 
 for which I like them. I call them simple ; you would 
 pronounce them silly. Do you know a fine air called 
 " Jackie Hume's Lament ?" I have a song of consider- 
 able merit to that air. I'll enclose you both the song 
 and tune, as I had them ready to send to Johnson's 
 Museum.^ I send you likewise, to me, a beautiful 
 Httle air, which I had taken down from viva voce. § 
 Adieu, 
 
 No. XIX. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 [Here the poet inserts the song, beginning " Farewell, thou 
 streams that winding flows"— Poetical Works, p. 125.] 
 
 April, 1793. 
 Mr DEAR Sir — I had scarcely put my last letter into 
 the post office, when I took up the subject of " The last 
 time I came o'er the moor," and ere I slept drew the 
 outlines of the foregoing. How far I have succeeded, 
 I leave on this, as on every other occasion, to you to 
 decide. I own my vanity is flattered, when you give 
 my songs a place in your elegant and superb work ; but 
 to be of service to the work is my first wish. As I have 
 often told you, I do not in a single instance wish you, 
 out of comphment to me, to inseii; any thing of mine. 
 One liint let me give you — whatever Mr Pleyel does, 
 let him not alter one iota of the original Scottish au's, 
 I mean in the song department, but let oiu* national 
 music preserve its native features. They are, I own, 
 frequently wild and unreducible to the more modern 
 rules ; but on that very eccentricity, perhaps, depends 
 a great part of their effect. 
 
 No. XX. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinhxrgh, 26th April, 1793. 
 I HEARTILY thank you, my dear Sir, for your last two 
 letters, and the songs which accompanied them. I am 
 always both instructed and entertained by your obser- 
 vations ; and the frankness with which you speak out 
 your mind, is to me highly agreeable. It is very pos- 
 sible I may not have the true idea of simphcity in 
 composition. I confess there are several songs, of 
 Allan Ramsay's for example, that I think silly enough, 
 wliich another person, more conversant than I have 
 been with country people, would perhaps call simple 
 and natural. But the lowest scenes of simple nature 
 wiU not please generally, if copied precisely as they are. 
 The poet, like the painter, must select what will form 
 an agreeable, as well as a natural picture. On this 
 subject it were easy to enlarge ; but, at present, suffice 
 it to say, that I consider simplicity, rightly understood, 
 as a most essential quality in composition, and the 
 gx'oundwork of beauty in all the arts. I will gladly 
 
 * The song to the tune of " Bonnie Dundee" is that named 
 " Jessie." The ballad to the " JMill, Jlill, O I" is that beginning, 
 " When wild war's deadly blasts are blawn."— Cuerie. 
 
 t Ears. 
 
 i: The song here mentioned is that given in No. XVni., " O 
 ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten ?" This song is surejy 
 Mr Bm-ns's OAvn writing, though he does not generally praise his 
 own songs so much.— A'ote by Mr Thomson. 
 
 § The air here mentioned is that for which he wrote the ballad 
 of " Bonnie Jean." 
 
100 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 apnropriate your most interesting new ballad, " When 
 wild war's deadly blast," &c. to the « Mill, Mill, O !" 
 as well as the two other songs to their respective airs ; 
 but the third and fourth lines of the first verse must 
 undergo some little alteration in order to suit the music. 
 Pleyel does not alter a single note of the songs. That 
 would be absui'd indeed! With the airs which he 
 introduces into the sonatas, I allow him to take such 
 liberties as he pleases ; but that has nothing to do with 
 the songs. 
 
 P.S. I wish you would do as you proposed with your 
 " Rigs of barley." If the loose sentiments are thrashed 
 out of it, I will find an air for it ; but as to this there is 
 no hurry. 
 
 No. XXI. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 June, 1793. 
 
 When I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend of mine, 
 in whom I am much interested, has fallen a sacrifice to 
 these accursed times, you will easily allow that it might 
 unhinge me for doing any good among ballads. My 
 own loss, as to pecuniary matters, is trifling ; but the 
 total ruin of a much-loved friend is a loss indeed. 
 Pardon my seeming inattention to your last commands. 
 
 I cannot alter the disputed lines in the " Mill, Mill, 
 O !"* What you think a defect, I esteem as a positive 
 beauty ; so you see how doctors differ. I shall now, 
 with as much alacrity as I can muster, go on with your 
 commands. 
 
 You know Frazer, the hautboy -player in Edinbui'gh 
 — ^lie is here, instructing a band of music for a fencible 
 corps quartered in this county. Among many of his 
 airs that please me, there is one, well known as a reel, 
 by the name of " The Quaker's Wife ;" and which, I 
 remember, a grand-aunt of mine used to sing, by the 
 name of " Liggeram Cosh, my bonnie wee lass." Mr 
 Frazer plays it slow, and with an expression that quite 
 charms me. I became such an enthusiast about it, 
 that I made a song for it, which I here subjoin, and 
 enclose Frazer's set of the tune. If they hit your fancy, 
 they are at your service ; if not, return me the tune, 
 and I will put it in Johnson's Museum. I think the song 
 is not in my worst manner. 
 
 [Here Bums inserts the song " Blytlie hae I been on yon hill," 
 for which see Poetical Works, p. 119.] 
 
 I should wish to hear how this pleases you. 
 
 No. XXII. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 June 25th, 1793. 
 Have you ever, my dear Sir, felt your bosom ready 
 to burst with indignation, on reading of those mighty 
 villains who divide kingdom against kingdom, desolate 
 provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the wantonness 
 of ambition, or often from still more ignoble passions ? 
 In a mood of this kind to-day I recollected the air of 
 "Logan Water," and it occurred to me that its querulous 
 melody probably had its origin from the plaintive indig- 
 nation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at the 
 tyrannic strides of some public destroyer, and over- 
 whelmed with private distress, the consequence of a 
 country's ruin. If I have done any thing at all like 
 justice to ray feelings, the following song, composed in 
 
 * The lines were the third and fourth :— 
 
 AVi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 
 xVnd mony a widow mourning. 
 As our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first number 
 of Mr Thomson's musical work was in the press, this gentleman 
 ventured, by Mr Erskine's advice, to substitute for them in that 
 publication. 
 
 And eyes again with pleasure boam'd 
 That had been bleared with mourning. 
 Thongh better suited to the music, these lines are inferior to the 
 original. This is the only alteration adopted by Mr Thomson, 
 which Burns did not approve, or at least assent to.— Cukiuk. 
 
 1 
 
 111 , 
 
 si 
 
 three-quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow- 
 chair, ought to have some merit : — 
 
 [Here is inserted the song, " Logan Braes," for which see 
 Poetical Works, p. 119.] 
 
 Do you know the following beautiful little fragment, 
 in^ Witherspoon's collection of Scots songs ? 
 
 Air—" HugUe Graham:' 
 Oh gin my love were yon red rose, 
 
 That grows upon the castle wa' ; 
 And I myseV a drap o' dew. 
 
 Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 
 Oh there, beyond expression blest, 
 
 I'd feast on beauty a' the night, 
 Scal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
 
 Till fiey'd awa by Phoebus' light ! 
 
 This thought is inexpressibly beautiful ; and quite, so 
 far as I know, original. It is too short for a song, else 
 1 would forswear you altogether, unless you gave it a 
 place. I have often tried to eke a stanza to it, but in 
 vain. After balancing myself for a musing five minutes, 
 on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, I produced the 
 following. 
 
 The verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I frankly 
 confess ; but if worthy of insertion at all, they might 
 be first in place ; as every poet who knows any thing of 
 his trade, will husband his best thoughts for a conclud- 
 ing stroke. 
 
 Oh were my love yon lilac fair, 
 
 Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 
 And I, a bird to shelter there. 
 
 When weai'ied on my little wing ! 
 How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
 By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
 But I wad sing on wanton wing. 
 When youthfu' May its bloom renewed. 
 
 No. XXIII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Monday, \st July, 1 793. 
 
 I AM extremely sorry, my good Sir, that any thing 
 should happen to unhinge you. The times are terribly 
 out of tune, and when harmony will be restored, Heaven 
 knows. 
 
 The first t)ook of songs, just published, will be dis- 
 patched to you along with this. Let me be favoured 
 with your opinion of it, frankly and freely. 
 
 I shall certainly give a place to the song you have 
 written for the " Quaker's Wife ;" it is quite enchanting. 
 Pray, will you return the list of songs, with such airs 
 added to it as you think ought to be included? The 
 business now rests entirely on myself, the gentlemen 
 who originally agreed to join the speculation having 
 requested to be off. No matter, a loser I cannot be. 
 The superior excellence of the work will create a 
 general demand for it, as soon as it is properly knov/n ; 
 and were the sale even slower than it promises to bo, 
 I should be somewhat compensated for my labour, by 
 the pleasure I shall receive from the music. I cannot 
 express how much I am obliged to you for the exquisite 
 new songs you are sending me ; but thanks, my friend, 
 are a poor return for what you have done — as I shall 
 be benefited by the publication, you must suffer me to 
 enclose a small mark of my gratitude,* and to repeat 
 it afterwards when I find it convenient. Do not return 
 it, for, by Heaven ! if you do, our coi'respondence is at 
 an end ; and though this would be no loss to you, it 
 would mar the publication, which, under your auspices, 
 cannot fail to be respectable and interesting. 
 
 Wednesday morning. 
 I thank you for your delicate additional verses to tho 
 old fragment, and for your excellent song to " Logan 
 water" — Thomson's truly elegant one will follow ior 
 the English singer. Your apostrophe to statesmen is 
 admirable, but I am not sure if it is quite suitable to 
 the supposed gentle character of the fair mourner -«vhc>, 
 speaks it. 
 
 * Five pounds. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 101 
 
 No. XXIV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Juhj Id, 1793. 
 
 ]\Iy bear Sir— I have just finished the foUowmg 
 ballad, and, as 1 do think it iu my best style, I send it 
 you. Mr Clarke, who Avrote down the air from Mrs 
 Burns's wood-uote wild, is very fond of it, and has 
 given it a celebrity by teaching it to some young ladies 
 of tlie first fashion here. If you do not like the air 
 enough to give it a place in your collection, please 
 return it. The song you may keep, as I remember it. 
 [Here follows the song of " Bonnie Jean," inserted iu the 
 Poetical Works, p. 119.] 
 
 I have some thoughts of inserting in your index, or 
 in my notes, the names of the fair ones, the themes 
 of my songs. I do not mean the name at full ; but 
 dashes or asterisms, so as ingenuity may find them out. 
 
 The heroine of the foregoing is Miss M., daughter to 
 Mr M., of D., one of yom' subscribers. I have not 
 painted her in the rank which she holds in life, but iu 
 the dress and character of a cottager. 
 
 foretell and affirm, that your great-grand-child will hold 
 up your volumes, and say, with honest pridu, "This so 
 much admired selection was the work of my ancestor !" 
 
 MR 
 
 No. XXV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 July, 1793. 
 I ASSURE you, my dear Sir, that you truly hurt me 
 with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my 
 own eyes. However, to return it would savour of 
 affectation ; but, as to any more traffic of that debtor 
 and creditor kind, I swear, by that Honour which 
 crowns the upright statue of Robert Burns's Integrity 
 — on the least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn the 
 bypast transaction, and from that moment commence 
 entire stranger to you ! Burns's character for genero- 
 sity of sentiment and independence of mind, will, I 
 trust, long outlive any of his wants which the cold 
 unfeeling ore can supply ; at least, I will take care that 
 such a character he shall deserve. 
 
 Thank you for my copy of your pubUcation. Never 
 did my eyes behold in any musical work such elegance 
 and correctness. Your preface, too, is admirably 
 written, only your partiality to me has made you say 
 too much : however, it will bind me down to double 
 every effort in the future progress of the Avork. The 
 following ai'e a few remarks on the songs in the list 
 you sent me. I never copy what I write to you, so I 
 may be often tautological, or perhaps contradictory. 
 
 " The Flowers o' the Forest," is charming as a poem, 
 and should be, and must be, set to the notes ; but, though 
 out of your rule, the three stanzas beginning, 
 I hae seen the smiling o' fortune beguiling, 
 are worthy of a place, were it but to immortalise the 
 author of them, who is an old lady of my acquaintance, 
 and at this moment living in Edinburgh. She is a Mrs 
 Cockburn, I forget of what place, but from Roxburgh- 
 shire.* What a charmmg apostrophe is 
 
 Oh fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting, 
 AVhy, why torment us, poor sons of a day ! 
 The old ballad, " I wish I were where Helen lies," 
 is silly, to contemptibility. My alteration of it, in 
 Johnson's, is not much better. Mr Pinkerton, in his, 
 what he calls, ancient ballads (many of them notorious, 
 though beautiful enough, forgeines), has the best set. 
 It is full of his own interpolations — but no mattei*. 
 
 In my next I will suggest to your consideration a few 
 songs which may have escaped your hurried notice. In 
 the meantime allow me to congratulate you now, as a 
 brother of the quill. You have committed your cha- 
 racter and fame, which will now be tried, for ages to 
 come, by the illustrious jury of the Sons and Daughters 
 OF Taste — all whom poesy can please, or music charm. 
 Being a bard of nature, I have some pretensions to 
 second sight; and I am warranted by the spirit to 
 
 * [Katherine Rutherford of Femilee in Selkirkshire, by mar- 
 riage 3Tr3 Patrick Cockburn. She died in 1704, ut an advanced 
 
 age.] 
 
 No. XXVI 
 THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, \st August, 1793. 
 
 Dear Sir — I had the pleasure of receiving your last 
 two letters, and am happy to find you are quite pleased 
 with the appeai-ance of the fii-st book. When you come 
 to hear the songs sung and accompanied, you will be 
 charmed with them. 
 
 " The bonnie brucket lassie " certainly deserves bet- 
 ter verses, and I hope you will match her. " Cauld kail 
 in Aberdeen," " Let me in this ae night," and several 
 of the livelier airs, wait the muse's leisure ; these are 
 peculiarly worthy of her choice gifts ; besides, you'll 
 notice, that iu airs of this sort the singer can always 
 do greater justice to the poet, than in the slower airs 
 of " The bush aboon Ti'aquah-," " Lord Gregory," and 
 the like ; for in the manner the latter were frequently 
 sung, you must be contented with the sound, without 
 the sense. Indeed, both the airs and words are dis- 
 guised by the very slow, languid, psalm-singing style 
 in which they are too often performed ; they lose 
 animation and expression altogether, and instead of 
 speaking to the mind, or touching the heax't, they cloy 
 upon the ear, and set us a-yawning ! 
 
 Your ballad, " There was a lass, and she was fair," 
 is simple and beautiful, and shall undoubtedly grace 
 my collection. 
 
 No. XXVII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 August, 1793. 
 
 My dear Thomson — I hold the pen for our friend 
 Clarke, who at present is studying the music of the 
 spheres at my elbow. The Georgium Sidus he thinks 
 is rather out of tune ; so, until he rectify that mattei', 
 he cannot stoop to terrestrial affairs. 
 
 He sends you six of the rondeau subjects, and if 
 more are wanted, he says you shall have them. 
 
 Confound your long stairs ! S. Clarke. 
 
 No. XXVIII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Augtist, 1793. 
 
 Your objection, my dear Sir, to the passages in my 
 song of " Logan Water," is right iu one instance ; but 
 it is difficult to mend it : if I can, I will. The other 
 passage you object to does not appear in the same light 
 to me. 
 
 I have tried my hand on " Robin Adair," and, you 
 will probably think, with little success ; but it is such 
 a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, that 1 despair 
 of doing any thing better to it. 
 
 [Here follows " Phillis the Fair," for which see Poetical 
 Works, p. 120.] 
 
 So much for namby-pamby. I may, after all, try my 
 hand on it in Scots verse. There I always find myself 
 most at home. 
 
 I have just put the last hand to the song I meant for 
 " Cauld kail in Aberdeen." If it suits you to insert it, 
 I shall be pleased, as the heroine is a favourite of mine ; 
 if not, I shall also be pleased; because I wish, and will 
 be glad, to see you act decidedly on the business. 'Tis 
 a tribute as a man of taste, and as an editor, which you 
 owe youi'self. 
 
 No. XXIX. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 August, 1793 
 My good Sir — I consider it one of the most agree- 
 able cii-cumstances attending this publication of mine. 
 
102 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 that it has procured me so many of your much- valued 
 epistles. Pray make my acknowledgments to St Stephen 
 for the tunes ; tell him I admit the justness of his com- 
 plaint on my staircase, conveyed in his laconic postscript 
 to your jeu (V esprit, which I perused more than once, 
 without discovering exactly whether your discussion 
 was music, astronomy, or politics ', though a sagacious 
 friend, acquainted with the convivial habits of the poet 
 and the musician, ofiered me a bet of two to one you 
 were just drowning care together ; that an empty bowl 
 was the only thing that would deeply afiFect you, and 
 the only matter you could then study how to remedy ! 
 
 I shall be glad to see you give "Robin Adair" a 
 Scottish dress. Peter is furnishing him with £^n English 
 suit for a change, and you are well matched together. 
 Robin's air is excellent, though he certainly has an 
 out-of-the-way measure as ever pooi,' Parnassian wight 
 was plagued with. I wish you would invoke the muse 
 for a single elegant stanza to be substituted for the 
 concluding objectionable verses of " Down the burn 
 Davie," so that this most exquisite song may no longer 
 be excluded from good company. 
 
 Mr Allan has made an inimitable drawing from your 
 " John Anderson, my jo," which I am to have engraved 
 as a frontispiece to the humorous class of songs ; you 
 will be quite charmed with it, I promise you. The old 
 couple are seated by the fireside. Mrs Anderson, in 
 great good humour, is clapping John's shoulders, while 
 lie smiles and looks at her with such glee, as to show 
 that he fully recollects the pleasant ,days and nights 
 when they were "first acquent." The drawing would 
 do honour to the pencil of Teniers. 
 
 No. XXX, 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 August, 1793. 
 
 That erinkum-cranlcum tune, " Robin Adair," has 
 run so in my head, and I succeeded so ill in my last 
 attempt, that I have ventured, in this morning's walk, 
 one essay more. You, my dear Sir, will remember an 
 unfortunate part of our worthy friend Cunningham's 
 story, which happened about three years ago. That 
 struck my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea 
 justice as follows :■ — 
 
 [Here follows " Had I a cave," inserted in Poetical Works, 
 p. 121.] 
 
 By the way, I have met with a musical Highlander 
 in Breadalbane's Fencibles, which are quartered here, 
 who assures me that he well remembers, his mother 
 singing Gaelic songs to both, " Robin Adair" and "Gra- 
 machree." They certainly have more of the Scotch 
 than Irish taste in them. 
 
 This man comes from the vicinity of Inverness : so 
 it could not be any intercourse with Ireland that could 
 bring them ; except, what I shrewdly suspect to be 
 the case, the wandering minstrels, harpers, and pipers, 
 used to go frequently errant through the wilds both 
 of Scotland and Ireland, and so some favourite airs 
 might be common to both. A case in point — they 
 have lately, in Ireland, published an Irish air, as they 
 say, called " Caun du delish." The fact is, in a publi- 
 cation of Corri's, a great while ago, you will find the 
 same air, called a Highland one, with a Gaelic song set 
 to it. Its name there, I think, is " Oran Gaoil," and 
 a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the Rev. Gaelic 
 parson, about these matters. 
 
 No. XXXI. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 August, 1793. 
 
 My dear Sir— *' Let me in this ae night" I will 
 reconsider. I am glad that you are pleased with my 
 song, " Had I a cave," &c., as I liked it myself. 
 
 I walked out yesterday evening with a volume of the 
 Museum in my hand, when, turning up " Allan Water," 
 "What numbers shall the muse repeat," &c., as the 
 
 words appeared to me rather unwoi'thy of so fine an air, 
 and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved 
 under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to 
 suit the measure. I may be wrong ; but I thmk it not 
 in my worst style. You must know, that in Ramsay^s 
 Tea-table, where the modern song first appeared, the 
 ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is " Allan Water," 
 or "My love Annie's very bonnie." This last has 
 certainly been a line of the origmal song ; so I took up 
 the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line 
 in its place, which I presume it formerly occupied ; 
 though I likewise give you a choosing hue, if it should 
 not hit the cut of your fancy : 
 
 [Here follows " By Allan stream I chanced to rove," for which 
 see Poetical Works, p. 121.] 
 
 Bravo I say I ; it is a good spng. Should you think 
 so too (not else), you can set the music to it, and let 
 the other follow as English verses. 
 
 Autumn is my propitious season. I make more 
 verses in it than all the year else. God bless you ! 
 
 No. XXXII. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 August, 1793. 
 Is " Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad," one of 
 your airs ? I admire it much ; and yesterday I set the 
 following verses to it. Urbani, whom I have met with 
 here, begged them of me, as he admires the air much ; 
 but as I understand that he looks with rather an evil 
 eye on your work, I did not choose to comply. How- 
 ever, if the song does not suit your taste, I may possibly 
 send it him. The set of the air which I had in my eye 
 is in Johnson's Museum. 
 
 [Here follows " Oh whistle, and I'll come to you," inserted in 
 Poetical Works, p. 121.] 
 
 Another favourite air of mine is, " The muckin' o' 
 Geordie's byre." When sung slow with expression, I 
 have wished that it had had better poetry ; that I have 
 endeavoured to supply as follows ; — 
 
 [Here he gives the song " Adown winding Nith," as inserted 
 in Poetical Works, p. 121.] 
 
 Mr Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a comer in 
 your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a 
 Miss Phillis M'Murdo, sister to " Bonnie Jean." They 
 are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me, the 
 very first grist I get from my rhyming-mill. 
 
 No. XXXIII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 August, 1793. 
 
 That tune, "Cauld kail," is such a favourite of 
 yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a 
 gloamin-shot at the muses ;* when the muse that pre- 
 sides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiruig 
 dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I 
 have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, 
 sweet simple inspirer that was by my elbow, " smooth 
 gliding without step," and pouring the song on my 
 glowing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's 
 native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to 
 cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration 
 from her, so I more than suspect that she has followed 
 me hither, or, at least, makes me occasional visits; 
 secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you, is the 
 very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and 
 which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum. 
 [Here follows " Come, let me take thee:" see Poetical Works, 
 p. 121.] 
 
 If you think the above will suit your idea of your 
 favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. " The last 
 time I came o'er the moor" I cannot meddle with, as 
 to mending it ; and the musical world have been so 
 long accustomed to Ramsay's words, that a dififerent 
 
 * Gloamin— twilight, prohably from glooming. A beautiful 
 poetic word, which ought to be adopted in England. A gloamin- 
 shot, a twilight interview.— CuRR IK. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 103 
 
 song, tlioiigli positively superior, would not be so well 
 received. I am not fond of choruses to songs, so I 
 have not made one for the foregoing. 
 
 No. XXXIV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 August, 1793. 
 [The poet inserts the song of " Dainty Davie," which it seems to 
 have been the purpose of this letter to communicate. See Poe- 
 tical Works, p. 121. Bums had previously communicated, for 
 Johnson's Museum, a song nearly the same, the stanzas of which 
 conclude with the awkward expression, " The gardener wi' his 
 paidle," and to which he makes allusion in the brief prose text 
 of this epistle.] 
 
 So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the 
 low part of the tune. See Clarke's set of it in the 
 Museum. 
 
 N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the 
 tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is non- 
 sense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, is the 
 way, 
 
 . No. XXXV. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, 1st Sept. 1793. 
 
 My dear Sir — Since writing you last, I have received 
 half a dozen songs, with which I am delighted beyond 
 expression. The humour and fancy of " Whistle, and 
 I'll come to you, my lad," will render it nearly as great 
 a favourite as " Duncan Gray." " Come, let me take 
 thee to my breast," " Adown winding Nith," and "By 
 Allan stream," &c., are full of imagination and feeling, 
 and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended. 
 " Had I a cave on some wild distant shore," is a striking 
 and affecting composition. Our friend to whose story 
 it refers, reads it with a swelling heart, I assure you. 
 The union we are now forming, I think, can never be 
 broken ; these songs of yours will descend, with the 
 music, to the latest posterity, and will be fondly 
 cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility, exist 
 in our island. 
 
 While the muse seems so propitious, I think it right 
 to enclose a list of all the favours I have to ask of her — 
 no fewer than twenty and three ! I have burdened the 
 pleasant Peter with as many as it is probable he will 
 attend to : most of the remaining airs would puzzle the 
 'English poet not a little — they are of that peculiar 
 measure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him 
 who writes for them. 
 
 No. XXXVI. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Sept. 1793. 
 
 You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exer- 
 tion in my power is heartily at your service. But one 
 thing I must hint to you; the very name of Peter 
 Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a 
 verse from him now and then ; though I have no objec- 
 tion, as well as I can, to bear the burden of the business. 
 
 You Ivnow that my pretensions to musical taste are 
 merely a few 6f nature's instincts, untaught and untu- 
 tored by art. For this reason, many musical composi- 
 tions, particularly where much of the merit lies in 
 counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish 
 the ears of you connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no 
 otherwise than merely as melodious din. On the other 
 hand, by way of amends, I am dehghted with many 
 little melodies, which the learned musician despises as 
 silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air 
 " Hey tuttie taitie," may rank among this number ; but 
 well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy, it has often 
 filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which 
 I have met with in many places in Scotland, that it was 
 Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn. 
 This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me 
 
 to a pitch of enthusiasm on the tlieme of liberty and 
 independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish 
 ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the 
 gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on 
 that eventful moi'ning. 
 
 BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN., 
 
 Tune — He^ tuttie taitie. 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to victory ! 
 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour : 
 See the front o' battle lour : 
 See approach proud Edward's power— => 
 Chains and slavery 
 
 Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Let him turn and flee ! 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa'. 
 
 Let him follow me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins, 
 But they shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty's in every blow ! — 
 Let us do or die ! 
 
 ^ So may God ever defend the cause of truth and 
 liberty, as he did that day ! Amen. 
 
 P. S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly 
 pleased with it, and begged me to make soft verses for 
 it,; but I had no idea of giving myself any trouble on the 
 subject, till the accidental recollection of that glorious 
 struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas 
 of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite so 
 ancient, roused my rhjoning mania. Clarke's set of the 
 tune, with his bass, you will find in the Museum, though 
 I am afraid that the air is not what will entitle it to a 
 place in your elegant selection. 
 
 No. XXXVIL 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Sept. 793. 
 
 I DARE say, my dear Sir, that you will begin to think 
 my correspondence is persecution. No matter, I can't 
 help it; a ballad is my hobby-horse, which, though 
 otherwise a simple sort of harmless idiotical beast 
 enough, has yet this blessed headstrong property, that 
 when once it has fairly made off with a hapless wight, 
 it gets so enamoured with the tinkle-gingle, tinlde-gingle 
 of its own bells, that it is sure to run poor pilgarlick, 
 the bedlam jockey, quite beyond any useful point or 
 post in the common race of men. 
 
 The following song I have composed for ^^Oran-gaoil," 
 the Highland air that, you tell me in your last, you 
 have resolved to give a place to in your book. I have 
 this moment finished the song, so you have it glowing 
 from the mint. If it suit you, well ! — If not, 'tis also 
 well! 
 
 [Here follows "Behold the hour," inserted in Poetical Works, 
 p. 122.] 
 
 No. XXXVIII. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, 5th Sept. 1793. 
 
 I BELIEVE it is generally allowed that the greatest 
 
 modesty is the sure attendant of the greatest merit. 
 
 While you are sending me verses that even Shakspeare 
 
 might be proud to own, you speak of them as if they 
 
104 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 ^ 
 
 were ordinary productions ! Your heroic ode is to me 
 the noblest composition of the kind in the Scottisli 
 language. I happened to dine yesterday with a party 
 of your friends, to whom I read it. They were all 
 charmed with it ; entreated me to find out a suitable 
 air for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so 
 totally devoid of interest or grandeur as " Hey tuttie 
 taitie." Assuredly your partiality for this tune must 
 arise from the ideas associated in your mind by the 
 tradition concerning it, for I never heard any person, 
 and I have conversed again and again with the greatest 
 enthusiasts for Scottish airs — I say, I never heard any 
 one speak of it as worthy of notice. 
 
 I have been running over the whole hundred airs, of 
 which I lately sent you the list ; and I think " Lewie 
 Gordon " is most happily adapted to your ode ; at least 
 with a very slight variation of the fom-th line, which I 
 shall presently submit to you. There is in "Lewie 
 Gordon " more of the grand than the plaintive, parti- 
 cularly when it is sung with a degree of spirit, which 
 your words would oblige the singer to give it. I would 
 have no scruple about substituting your ode in the 
 room of " Lewie Gordon," which has neither the inte- 
 rest, the grandeur, nor the poetry, that characterise 
 your verses. Now, the variation I have to suggest upon 
 the last line of each verse, the only line too short for 
 the air, is as follows : — 
 
 Verse 1st, Or to glorious victory. 
 
 2d, Chains — chains and slavery. 
 3d, Let him, let Mm turn and flee. 
 4th, Let him bravely follow me. 
 5th, But they shall, they shall be free. 
 6th, Let us, let us do or die ! 
 If you connect each line with its own verse, I do not 
 think you will find that either the sentiment or the 
 expression loses any of its energy. Theonly line which 
 I dislike in the wliole of the song is, " Welcome to your 
 gory bed." Would not another word be preferable to 
 *' welcome ?" In your next I will expect to be informed 
 whether you agree to what I have proposed. The little 
 alterations I submit with the greatest deference. 
 
 The beauty of the verses you have made for " Oran- 
 gaoil " will ensure celebrity to the air. 
 
 No. XXXIX. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Sept. 17C3. 
 
 I HAVE received your hst, my dear Sir, and here go 
 my observations on it.* 
 
 " Down the burn Davie." I have this moment tried 
 an alteration, leaving out the last half of the third 
 stanza, and the first half of the last stanza, thus : 
 
 As down the burn they took their way, 
 
 And thro' the flowery dale ; 
 His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 
 
 And love was aye the tale. 
 
 With " Mary, when shall Ave return, 
 
 Sic pleasure to renew ?" 
 Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn. 
 And aye shall follow you."f 
 " Thro' the wood laddie" — I am decidedly of opinion 
 that both in this, and " There'll never be peace till 
 Jamie comes hame," the second or high part of the 
 tune being a repetition of the first part an octave higher, 
 is only for instrumental music, and would be much 
 better omitted in singing. 
 
 " Cowden-knowes." Remember in your index that 
 the song in pure English to this tune, beginning, 
 When summer comes, the swains on Tweed, 
 
 * Mr Thomson's list of songs for his publication. In his re- 
 marks the bard proceeds in order, and goes througli the whole ; 
 but on many of them he merely signifies his approbation. All 
 his remarks of any importance are presented to the reader.— 
 
 CURRIB. 
 
 t This alteration Mr Thomson has adopted (or at least intended 
 to adopt), instead of the last stanza of the original song, which 
 is objectionable in point of delicacy.— CuRurR, 
 
 is the production of Crawford. Robert was liis Chris* 
 tian name. 
 
 " Laddie, lie near me," must lie by me for some time. 
 I do not know the air ; and until I am complete master 
 of a tune, in my own singing (such as it is,) I can never 
 compose for it. My way is : I consider the poetic sen- 
 timent coi-respondent to my idea of the musical expres- 
 sion ; then choose my theme ; begin one stanza : when 
 that is composed, which is genei-ally the most difficult 
 part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, 
 look out for objects in nature around me that are in 
 unison and harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, 
 and workings of my bosom ; humming every now and 
 then the air with the verses I have framed. When I 
 feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary 
 fire-side of my study, and there commit my effusions 
 to paper ; swinging at intervals on the hind-legs of my 
 elbow-chair, by way of calling forth my own critical 
 strictures as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at home, 
 is almost invariably my way. 
 
 What cui'sed egotism ! 
 
 " Gill IMorice " I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy 
 length ; the air itself is never sung ; and its place can 
 well be supplied by one or two songs for fine airs that 
 are not in your list — for instance, "Craigieburn wood" 
 and " Roy's wife." The first, beside its intrinsic merit, 
 has novelty ; and the last has high merit, as well as 
 great celebrity. I have the original words of a song for 
 the last air, in the handwriting of the lady Avho com- 
 posed it ; and they are superior to any edition of the 
 song which the public has yet seen. 
 
 " Highland-laddie." The old set will please a mere 
 Scotch ear best ; and the new an Italianised one. There 
 is a third, and what Oswald calls the old " Highland 
 laddie," which pleases me more than either of them. 
 It is sometimes called "Ginglin Johnnie ;" it being the 
 air of an old humorous tawdry song of that name. You 
 will find it in the Museum, " I hae been at Crooldeden," 
 &c. I would advise you, in this musical quandary, to 
 offer up your pi"ayers to the muses for inspiring direc- 
 tion ; and in the meantime, waiting for this direction, 
 bestow a libation to Bacchus ; and there is not a doubt 
 but you will hit on a judicious choice. Probatum est. 
 
 " Auld Sir Simon" I must beg you to leave out, and 
 put in its place " The Quaker's wife." 
 
 " Blythe hae I been o'er the hill," is one of the finest 
 songs ever I made in my life, and, besides, is composed 
 on a young lady, positively the most beautiful, lovely 
 woman in the world. As I purpose giving you the 
 names and designations of all my heroines, to appear in 
 some future edition of your work, perhaps half a centui-y 
 hence, you must certainly include " The bonniest lass in 
 a' the warld," in your collection. 
 
 " Dainty Davie" I have heard sung nineteen thou- 
 sand nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and always 
 with the chorus to the low part of the tune ; and nothing 
 has surprised me so much as your opinion on this 
 subject. If it will not suit as I proposed, we will lay 
 two of the stanzas together*, and then make the chorus 
 follow. 
 
 " Fee him, father :" I enclose you Frazer's set of 
 this tune when he plays it slow : in fact, he makes it 
 the language of despair. I shall here give you two 
 stanzas, in that style, merely to try if it will be any 
 improvement.* Were it possible, in singing, to give it 
 half the pathos which Frazer gives it in playing, it would 
 make an admirably pathetic song. I do not give these 
 verses for any merit they have. I composed them at 
 the time in which " Patie Allan's mither died — that 
 was, about the back o' midnight ;" and by the lee-side 
 of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in 
 company except the hautbois and the muse. 
 
 [Here follows " Thou hast left me ever," inserted in Poetical 
 Works, p. 122.] 
 
 "Jackie and Jenny" I would discard, and in its place 
 * [It is very surprising that Burns should have thouglit it ne- 
 cessary to substitute new verses for the old song to this air, which 
 is one of the most exquisite effusions of genuine natural sentiment 
 in the whole range of Scottish lyrical poetry. Its merit is now 
 fiiUy appreciated, while Uurnij's substitute song is never sung.] 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 105 
 
 would put " There's nae luck about the house," which 
 has a very pleasant air, and wliich is positively the 
 finest love-ballad in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps 
 in any other language, " When she came ben she 
 bobbit," as an air, is more beautiful than either, and in 
 the andante way would unite with a charming senti- 
 mental ballad. 
 
 " Saw ye my father ? " is one of my greatest favour- 
 ites. The evening before last, I wandered out, and 
 began a tender song, in Avhat I think is its native style. 
 I must premise, that the old way, and the way to give 
 most efiect, is to have no stai-ting-note, as the fiddlers 
 call it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every 
 country girl sings " Saw ye my father ?" &c. 
 
 My song is but just begun ; and I should lilce, before 
 I proceed, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled 
 it with the Scottish dialect, but it may be easily turned 
 into cox'rect English.* 
 
 " TodHn hame." Urbani mentioned an idea of his, 
 which has long been mine, that this air is Mghly sus- 
 ceptible of pathos : accordingly, you -\\\\\ soon hear him 
 at your concert tiy it to a song of mine in the jMuseum, 
 " Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." One song more, 
 and I have done ; " Auld lang syne." The air is but 
 mediocre ; but the following song, the old song of the 
 olden times, and which has never been in print, nor 
 even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old 
 man's singing, is enough to recommend any air. 
 
 [Here the poet gives " Auld lang syne,'" as printed in the Poe- 
 tical Works, p. 122, and which, it is needless to observe, was his 
 own composition.] 
 
 No^^', I suppose, I have tired your patience fairly. 
 You must, after all is over, have a number of ballads, 
 properly so called. "Gill Morice," " Tranent Muh-," 
 " i\lacpherson's farewell," " Battle of Sheriff-muir," or, 
 " We ran, and they ran" (I know the author of this 
 charming ballad, and his history), " Hardiknute," 
 " Barbara Allan" (I can furnish a finer set of this tune 
 than any that has yet appeared) ; and besides do you 
 know that I really have the old tune to which " The 
 cherry and the slae " was sung, and which is mentioned 
 as a well-known air in " Scotland's Complaint," a book 
 published before poor Mary's days ? It was then called, 
 " The banks o' Helicon ;" an old poem which Pinkerton 
 has brought to light. You will see all this in Tytler's 
 Histoi-y of Scottish Music. The tune, to a learned ear, 
 may have no great merit ; but it is a great curiosity. I 
 liave a good many original things of this kind. 
 
 No. XL. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Septevrber, 1793. 
 I AM happy, my dear Sir, that my ode pleases you so 
 much. Your idea, "honour's bed," is, though a beau- 
 tiful, a hackneyed idea ; so, if you please, we will let the 
 line stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows : — 
 
 BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 ROBERT BRUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS AR:MY. 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, 
 ^"elcome to your gory bed ! 
 Or to glorious victory ! 
 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
 See the front o' battle lour ; 
 See approach proud Edward's power — 
 Edward ! chains and slaver-y 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave? 
 Wha can fill a coward's gi-ave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Traitor ! coward ! turn, and flee ! 
 
 * [The song here alluded to is one which the poet afterwards 
 sent in an entire form. It begins, 
 
 Y^Tiere are the joys I hae met in the morning. 
 Here also Burns has completely failed to supplant the old song.} 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', • 
 
 Sodger ! hero ! on wi' me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains ! 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins. 
 But they shall be — shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 T}Tants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty's in every blow ! 
 Forward ! let us do or die ! 
 
 N. B. I have borrowed the last stanza from the 
 common stall edition of Wallace — 
 
 A false usurper sinks in every foe. 
 And liberty returns with every blow. 
 
 A couplet worthy of Homer. Yesterday you had 
 enough of my correspondence. The post goes, and my 
 head aches miserably. One comfoi't ! I suffer so much, 
 just now, in this world, for last night's joviality, that 
 I shall escape scot-free for it in the world to come. 
 Amen. 
 
 No. XLI. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 \2th September, 1793. 
 
 A THOUSAND thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your 
 observations on the list of my songs. I am happy to 
 find your ideas so much in unison with my own, re- 
 specting the generality of the airs, as well as the verses. 
 About some of them ^\e diffei", but there is no disputing 
 about hobby-horses. I shall not fail to profit by the 
 remax'ks you make, and to re-consider the whole with 
 attention. 
 
 " Dainty Davie" must be sung, two stanzas together, 
 and then the chorus: 'tis the proper way. I agree 
 witii you, that there may be something of pathos, or 
 tenderness at least, in the air of " Fee him, father," 
 when performed with feeling : but a tender cast may 
 be given almost to any lively air, if you sing it very 
 slowly, expressively, and with serious words. I am, 
 however, clearly and invariably for retaining the cheer- 
 ful tunes joined to their own humorous verses, wher- 
 ever the vei'ses are passable. But the sweet song for 
 " Fee him, father," which you began about the back 
 of midnight, I will publish as an additional one. Mr 
 James Balfour, tlie king of good fellows, and the best 
 smger of the lively Scottish ballads that ever existed, 
 has charmed thousands of companies with " Fee him, 
 father," and Avith " Todlin hame" also, to the old words, 
 which never should be disunited from either of these 
 airs. Some bacchanals I would wish to discard. " Fy ! 
 let's a' to the bridal," for instance, is so coarse and 
 vulgar, that I think it fit only to be sung in a company 
 of drunken colliers ; and " Saw ye my father ?" appears 
 to me both indelicate and silly. 
 
 One word more with regard to your heroic ode. I 
 think, with great deference to the poet, that a prudent 
 general would avoid saying any thing to his soldiers 
 which might tend to make death more frightful than 
 it is. " Gory " presents a disagreeable image to the 
 mind ; and to tell them " Welcome to your gory bed," 
 seems rather a discouraging address, notwithstanding 
 the alternative which follows. I have shown the song 
 to three friends of excellent taste, and each of them 
 objected to this line, which emboldens me to use the 
 freedom of bringing it again under your notice. I would 
 suggest, 
 
 Now prepare for honour's bed. 
 Or for glorious victory ! 
 
 No. XLII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 September, 1793. 
 " Who shall decide when doctors disagree ?" My 
 nde pleases me so much that I cannot alter it. Your 
 
106- 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 proposed alterations would, in my opinion, make it 
 tame. I am exceedingly obliged to you for putting me 
 on reconsidering it, as I think I have much improved 
 it. Instead of " sodger ! hero 1" I will have it " Cale- 
 donian ! on wi* me !" 
 
 I have scrutinised it over and over ; and to the world, 
 some way or other, it shall go as it is. At the same 
 time it will not in the least hurt me, should you le"ave 
 it out altogether, and adhere to your first intention of 
 adopting Logan's verses.* 
 
 I have finished my song to "Saw ye my father ?"» 
 and in English, as you will see. That there is a syllable 
 too much for the expression of the air, is true ; but, 
 allow me to say, that the mere dividing of a dotted 
 crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver, is not a great 
 matter : however, in that I have no pretensions to cope 
 in judgment with you. Of the poetry I speak with 
 coirfidence ; but the music is a business where I hint 
 my ideas with the utmost diffidence. 
 
 The old verses have merit, though unequal, and are 
 
 popular : my advice is to set the air to the old words, 
 
 and let mine follow as English verses. Here they are: — 
 
 [Follows the song " Where are the joys," inserted in Poetical 
 
 Works, p. 122.] 
 
 Adieu, my dear Sir ! the post goes, so I shall defer 
 some other remarks until more leisure. 
 
 No. XLIII. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 September, 1793. 
 I HAVE been turning over some volumes of songs, to 
 find verses whose measures would suit the airs for 
 which you have allotted me to find English songs. 
 
 * Mr Thomson has very properly adopted this song (if it may 
 be so called) as the bard presented it to him. He has attached 
 it to the air of " Lewie Gordon," and perhaps among the exist- 
 ing airs he could not find a better ; but the poetry is suited to a 
 much higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of some 
 Scottish Handel, if any such should in future arise. The reader 
 ■nill have observed, that Burns adopted the alterations proposed 
 by his friend and correspondent in former instances, with great 
 readiness ; perhaps, indeed, on all indifferent occasions. In the 
 present instance, however, he rejected them, though repeatedly 
 urged, with determined resolution. With every respect for the 
 judgment of Mr Thomson and his friends, we may be satisfied 
 that he did so. He who, in preparing for an engagement, attempts 
 to withdraw his imagination from images of death, will probably 
 have but imperfect success, and is not fitted to stand in the ranks 
 of battle, where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue. Of such 
 men the conquerors of Bannockburn were not composed. Bruce'a 
 troops were inured to war, and familiar with all its sufferings 
 and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day, their spirits 
 were, without doubt, wound up to a pitch of enthusiasm suited 
 to the occasion : a pitch of enthusiasm, at which danger becomes 
 attractive, and the most terrific forms of death are no longer 
 terrible. Such a strain of sentiment this heroic "welcome" 
 may be supposed well calculated to elevate— to raise their hearts 
 high above fear, and to nerve their arms to the utmost pitch of 
 mortal exertion. These observations might be illustrated and 
 siipported by a reference to the martial poetry of all nations, 
 from the spirit-stirring strains of Tyrtffius, to the war-song of 
 General Wolfe. Mr Thomson's observation, that •' ' Welcome to 
 your gory bed,' is a discouraging address," seems not sufficiently 
 considered. Perhaps, indeed, it may be admitted, that the term 
 gory is somewhat objectionable, not on account of its presenting 
 a frightful but a disagreeable image to the mind. But a great 
 poet, uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, seeks 
 always to present a picture that is vivid, and is uniformly dis- 
 posed to sacrifice the delicacies of taste on the altar of the ima- 
 gination. And it is the privilege of superior genius, by producing 
 a new association, to elevate expressions that were originally 
 low, and thus to triumph over the deficiencies of language. In 
 how many instances might this be exemplified from the works 
 of our immortal Shakspeare :— 
 
 Who vrovldfardels bear, 
 To groan and sweat under a weary life — 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a hare bodkin ? 
 
 It were easy to enlarge, but to suggest such reflections is-probably 
 eufiicient.— CuRRiE, 
 
 For " Muirland Willie," you have, in Ramsay's Tea- 
 table, an excellent song, beginning, "Ah, why those 
 tears in Nelly's eyes ?" As for " The collier's dochter," 
 take the following old bacchanal : — 
 
 [Here follows *' Deluded swain, the pleasure," inserted in Poe- 
 tical Works, p. 122.] 
 
 The faulty line in Logan- Water, I mend thus: 
 " How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? " 
 
 The song otherwise will pass. As to " M'^Gregorla 
 Rua-Ruth," you will see a song of mine to it, with a 
 set of the air superior to yours, in the Museum, vol. ii. 
 p. 181. The song begins, 
 
 " Raving winds around her blowing." 
 
 Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are downright 
 Irish. If they were like the " Banks of Banna," for 
 instance, though really Irish, yet in the Scottish taste, 
 you might adopt them. Since you are so fond of Irish 
 music, what say you to twenty-five of them in an 
 additional number % We could easily find this quantity 
 of charming airs ; I will take care that you shall not 
 want songs ; and I assure you that you would find it 
 the most saleable of the whole. If you do not approve 
 of "Roy's wife," for the music's sake, we shall not 
 insert it. "Deil tak the wars" is a charming song; 
 so is, " Saw ye my Peggy?" " There's nae luck about 
 the house" well deserves a place. I cannot say that 
 " O'er the hills and far awa" strikes me as equal to 
 your selection. " This is no my ain house" is a great 
 favourite air of mine ; and if you will send me your set 
 of it, I will task my muse to her highest eff'ort. What 
 is your opinion of " I hae laid a herrin' in saut 1" I 
 like it much. Your Jacobite airs are pretty, and there 
 are many others of the same kind pretty; but you 
 have not room for them. You cannot, I think, insert 
 "Fy ! let's a' to the bridal," to any other words than its 
 own. 
 
 What pleases me, as simple and naive, disgusts you 
 as ludicrous and low. Fortius reason, "Fy! gie me 
 my coggie, Sirs," " Fy ! let's a' to the bridal," with 
 several others of that cast, are to me highly pleasing ; 
 while, "Saw ye my father, or saw ye my mother?" 
 dehghts me with its descriptive simple pathos. Thus 
 my song, " Ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten ?" 
 pleases myself so much, that I cannot try my hand at 
 another song to the air, so I shall not attempt it. I 
 know you will laugh at all this ; but " ilka man wears 
 his belt his ain gait." 
 
 No. XLIV. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 October, 1793. 
 
 YotTR last letter, my dear Thomson, was indeed laden 
 with heavy news. Alas, poor Erskine !* The recollec- 
 tion that he was a coadjutor in your publication, has 
 till now scared me from writing to you, or turning my 
 thoughts on composing for you. 
 
 I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of 
 the " Q,uaker's wife ;" though, by the bye, an old 
 Highland gentleman, and a deep antiquarian, tells me 
 it is a GaeHc air, and known by the name of " Leiger 
 m' choss." The following verses, I hope, will please 
 you, as an English song to the air. 
 
 [Here follows ' ' Thine am I, my faithful faif :" Poetical Works, 
 p. 122.] 
 
 Your objection to the English song I proposed for 
 " John Anderson, my jo," is certainly just. The fol- 
 lowing is by an old acquaintance of mine, and I think 
 has merit. The song was never in print, which I think 
 is so much in your favour. The more original good 
 poetry your collection contains, it certainly has so much 
 the more merit. 
 
 * The Honourable A. Erskine, whose melancholy death Mr 
 Thomson had communicated in an excellent letter, which he 
 
 has suppressed.— CuRRiE. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 107 
 
 eONG.— By Gavin Turnbull.* 
 
 Oh condescend, dear charming maid, 
 
 My Mrretched state to view ; 
 A tender swain to love betray'd, 
 
 And sad despair, by you. 
 While here, all melancholy, 
 
 My passion I deplore, 
 Yet, xirg'd by stem resistless fate, 
 
 I love thee more and more. 
 I heard of love, and -with disdain 
 
 The urchin's power denied ; 
 I laugh'd at every lover's pain, 
 
 And mock'd them when they sigh'd. 
 
 But how my state is alter'd ! 
 
 Those happy days are o'er ; 
 
 For all thy unrelenting hate, 
 
 I love thee more and more. 
 
 Oh yield, illustrious beauty, yield ! 
 
 No longer let me mourn ; 
 And though victorious in the field. 
 
 Thy captive do not scorn. 
 Let generous pity warm thee, 
 My wonted peace restore ; 
 And, grateful, I shall bless thee still. 
 And love thee more and more. 
 The following address of, Turnbull's to the Nightin- 
 gale will suit as an English song to the air, " There was 
 a lass, and she was fair." "By the bye, TurnbuU has 
 a great many songs in MS., which I can command, if 
 you like his manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend 
 of mine, I may be prejudiced in his favour ; but I like 
 some of his pieces very much. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove. 
 
 That ever tried the plaintive strain. 
 Awake thy tender tale of love. 
 
 And soothe a poor forsaken swain. 
 For though the muses deign to aid. 
 
 And teach him smoothly to complain ; 
 Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid, 
 
 Is deaf to her forsaken swain. 
 All day, with fashion's gaudy sons, 
 
 In sport she wanders o'er the plain : 
 Their tales approves, and still she shuns 
 
 The notes of her forsaken swain. 
 When evening shades obscure the sky. 
 
 And bring the solemn hours again, 
 Begin, sweet bird, thy melody. 
 And soothe a poor forsaken swain. 
 I shall just transcribe another of Tumbuil's, which 
 would go charmingly to " Lewie Gordon." 
 
 LAURA. 
 
 Let me wander where I will. 
 
 By shady wood, or winding riU ; 
 
 Where the sweetest May-bom flowers 
 
 Paint the meadows, deck the bowers ; 
 
 TNTiere the linnet's early song 
 
 Echoes sweet the woods among : 
 
 Let me wander where I will, 
 
 Laura haunts my fancy still. 
 
 tf at rosy dawn I choose 
 
 To indulge the smiling muse } 
 
 If I court some cool retreat. 
 
 To avoid the noontide heat ; 
 
 If beneath the moon's pale ray. 
 
 Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray; 
 
 Let me wander where I will, 
 
 Laura haunts my fancy still. 
 
 When at night the drowsy god 
 
 Waves his sleep-compelling rod. 
 
 And to fancy's wakeful eyes 
 
 Bids celestial visions rise ; 
 
 While with boundless joy I rove 
 
 Thro' the fairy land of love : 
 
 Let me wander where I will, 
 
 Laura haunts my fancy still. 
 * [Gavin TumbuU was the author of a now forgotten volume, 
 published at Glasgow in 1788, imder the title of . " Poetical 
 Essays." Bums's over-praise of the pieces he quotes from this 
 ** old acquaintance" must be obvious.] 
 
 The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other 
 opportunity. 
 
 No. XLV. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 7th November i 1793. 
 
 My good Sir — After so long a silence, it gave mo 
 peculiar pleasure to recognise your well-known hand, 
 for I had begun to be apprehensive that all was not 
 well with you. I am happy to find, however, that your 
 silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you 
 have got among the ballads once more. 
 
 I have to thank you for your English song to " Leiger 
 m' choss," which I think extremely good, although the 
 colouring is warm. Your friend Mr Turnbull's songs 
 have doubtless considerable merit; and as you have 
 the command of his manuscripts, I hope you may find 
 out some that will answer as English songs, to the airs 
 yet unprovided. 
 
 [The next commimication of Bums to Mr Thomson, marked 
 No. XLIX in Currie's publication of their correspondence, merely 
 consists of the songs, " Husband, husband, cease your strife," 
 and " Wilt thou be my dearie ?"] 
 
 No. XLVI. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, 17th April, 1794. 
 
 My dear Sir — Owing to the distress of our friend 
 for the loss of Ms child, at the time of his receiving 
 your admirable but melancholy letter, I had not an 
 opportunity, till lately, of perusing it.* How sorry I 
 am to find Bums saying, " Canst thou not minister to 
 a mind diseased ?" while he is deUghting others from 
 one end of the island to the other. Like the hypochon- 
 driac who went to consult a physician upon his case— 
 " Go," says the doctor, " and see the famous Cai'lini, 
 who keeps all Paris in good hmnour." " Alas ! Sir," 
 replied the patient, " I am that unhappy Carlini !" 
 
 Your plan for our meeting together pleases me 
 greatly, and I trust that by some means or other it 
 will soon take place ; but your bacchanalian challenge 
 almost frightens me, for I am a miserable weak 
 drinker ! 
 
 Allan is much gratified by your good opinion of his 
 talents. He has just begun a sketch from your " Cot- 
 ter's Saturday Night," and, if it pleases himself in th'e 
 design, he will probably etch or engrave it. In sub- 
 jects of the pastoral and humorous land, he is, perhaps, 
 unrivalled by any artist living. He fails a little in 
 giving beauty and grace to his females, and his colour- 
 ing is sombre, otherwise his paintings and drawings 
 would be in greater request. 
 
 I hke the music of the " Sutor's dochter," and will 
 consider whether it shall be added to the last volume ; 
 your verses to it are pretty ; but your humorous EngHsh 
 song, to suit " Jo Janet," is inimitable. What think 
 you of the air, " Withm a mile of Edinburgh ?" It has 
 always struck me as a modem English imitation, but 
 it is said to be Oswald's, and is so much liked, that I 
 believe I must include it. The verses are little better 
 than namby-pamby. Do you consider it worth a stanza 
 or two ? , 
 
 No. XL VII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Mai/, 1794. 
 My dear Sir— I return you the plates, with which 
 I am highly pleased ; I would humbly propose, instead 
 of the younker knitting stockings, to put a stock and 
 horn into his hands. A finend of mine^ who is positively 
 the ablest judge on the subject I have ever met with, 
 and though an unknown, is yet a superior artist with 
 the burm, is quite channed with Allan's manner. I 
 got him a peep of the " Gentle Shepherd ;" and he 
 pronounces Allan a most original artist of great ex. 
 cellence. 
 
 * [A Letter to Mr Cnnninghara. to be found at p. 85,] 
 
10^ 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 I 
 
 For my part, I look on Mr Allan's choosing my 
 favourite poem for liis subject, to be one of the highest 
 compliments I have ever received. 
 
 I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up in 
 France, as it will put an entire stop to our work. Now, 
 and for six or seven months, I shall be quite in song, 
 as you shall see by and bye. I got an air, pretty enough, 
 composed by Lady Elizabeth Hei'on of Heron, which 
 she calls " The banks of Cree." Cree is a beautiful 
 romantic stream ; and as her ladyship is a particular 
 friend of mine, I have written the following song to it. 
 
 [Here follows the song entitled *« The Banks of Cree :" see 
 Poetical A^' orks, p. 123.] 
 
 • No. XLVIII. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Juhj, 17.04. 
 
 Is there no news yet of Pleyel ? Or is your work to 
 ])e at a dead stop, until the alHes set our modern 
 Orpheus at liberty from the savage thraldom of dem^o- 
 crat discords ? Alas the day ! And woe is me ! That 
 auspicious period, pregnant with the happiness of 
 millions.* * * * * 
 
 I have presented a copy of your songs to the daughter 
 of a much-valued and much-honoured friend of mine, 
 Mr Graham of Fintry. 1 wrote on the blank side of 
 the title-page the following address to the young lady : 
 
 "Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives. 
 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 
 
 Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, 
 Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 
 
 So may no ruffian-feeling* in thy breast. 
 Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among ; 
 
 But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
 Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song. 
 
 Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 
 
 As modest want the tale of woe reveals : • 
 
 AVhile conscious virtue all the strain endears, 
 
 And heaven-born piety h'er sanction seals." 
 
 No. XLIX. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinhurgh, 10th August, 1794. 
 My DEAii Sir — I owe you an apology for having so 
 long delayed to acknowledge the favour of your last. 
 I fear it will be as you say, I shall have no more songs 
 from Pleyel till France and we are friends ; but never- 
 theless, I am very desirous to be prepared with the 
 poetry ; and as the season approaches in which your 
 muse of Coila visits you, I trust I shall, as formerly, be 
 frequently gratified with tlae result of your amorous and 
 tender interviews ! 
 
 No. L. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 ?>Oth August, 1794. 
 
 The last evening, as I was straying out, and thinking 
 of " O'er the hills and far away," I spun the following 
 stanza for it ; but whether my spinning will deserve to 
 ]je laid up in store, like the precious thread of the silk- 
 worm, or brushed to the devil, like the vile manufac- 
 tui-e of the spider, I leave, my dear Sir, to your usual 
 candid criticism. I was pleased with several lines in it 
 at first, but I own that now it appears rather a flimsy 
 business. 
 
 This is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether it be 
 worth a critique. We have many sailor songs, but as 
 far as I at present recollect, they are mostly the effu- 
 
 * A portion of this letter has been left out, for reasons that Avill 
 be easily imagined. 
 
 t It were to have been wished, that instead of " niffian-feel- 
 in?;," the bard had used a less rugged epithet, e.g. " ruder."— 
 
 sions of the jovial sailor, not tlie waillngs of his love- 
 lorn mistress. I must hei-e make one sweet exception 
 — " Sweet Annie frae the sea-beach came." Now for 
 the song : — 
 
 [" On the seas and far away."— Poetical Works, p. 123.1 
 I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the 
 spirit of Chi'istian meekness. 
 
 No. LI. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinhurgh^ I6th Sept. 1794. 
 
 My dear Sir — You have anticipated my opinion of 
 " On the seas and far away ;" I do not think it one of 
 your very happy productions, though it certainly con- 
 tains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation. 
 
 The second is the least to my liking, particularly, 
 "Bullets, spare my only joy." Confound the bullets ! 
 It might, perhaps, be objected to the thix'd verse, " At 
 the starless midnight hour," that it has too much gran- 
 deur of imagery, and that greater simplicity of thought \ 
 would have better suited the character of a sailor's } 
 sweetheart. The tune, it must be remembered, is of ; 
 the brisk, cheerful kind. Upon the whole, therefore, > 
 in my humble opinion, the song would be better adapted ; 
 to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last ; 
 verses, with the choruses. i 
 
 No. LII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Sept. 1794. 
 
 I SHALL withdraw my " On the seas and far aAvay " 
 altogether: it is imequal, and umvorthy the work. 
 IMaking a poem is like begetting a son : you cannot 
 know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you 
 produce him to the world to try him. 
 
 For that reason I send you the offspring of my brain, 
 aboi-tions and all ; and, as such, pray look over them 
 and forgive them, and burn them.* I am flattered at 
 your adopting " Ca' the yowes to the knowes," as it 
 was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About 
 seven years ago I was Avell acquainted with a worthy 
 little fellow of a clergyman, a IMr Clunie, who sang it 
 charmingly ; and, at my request, Mr Clarke took it 
 down from his singing. When I gave it to .Johnson, I 
 added some stanzas to the song, and mended others, 
 but still it wdll not do for you. In a solitary stroll which 
 I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral linesj 
 following up the idea of the chorus, which I would 
 preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and impei-- 
 fections on its head. 
 [Here follows " Ca' the yowes," for which see Poetical Works.] 
 
 I shall give you my opinion of your other newly 
 adopted songs my first scribbling fit. 
 
 No. LIIL 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Sept. 1 794. 
 
 Do you know a blackguard Irish song called "Onagh's 
 Waterfall ?" The air is charming, and I have often 
 regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too 
 much, at least for my humble rustic muse, to expect 
 that every effort of hers shall have merit ; still I think 
 that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favoui-ite 
 air, than none at all. On this principle I have all along 
 proceeded in the Scots Musical Museum ; and as that 
 pubUcation is at its last volume, I intend the following 
 song, to the air above mentioned, for that work. 
 
 If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased 
 
 * ThisVirgilian order of the poet should, I think, be disobeyed 
 with respect to the song in question, the second stanza excepted. 
 —A^oie by Mr Thomson. 
 
 Doctors differ. The objection to the second stanza does not 
 strike the editor.— CiRRfE. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON 
 
 109 
 
 to have verses to it that you can sing in the company 
 of ladies. 
 
 [Here follows " She says she Ices me best of a':" Poetical 
 Works, p. 12;i.] 
 
 Not to compare small things with great, my taste in 
 music is like the mighty Frederick of Prussia's taste 
 in painting: we are told that he frequently admired 
 what the connoisseurs decried, and always Avithout any 
 liypocrisy confessed his admii'ation. I am sensible that 
 my taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, because 
 people of undisputed and cultivated taste can find no 
 merit in my favourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply 
 pleased, is that any reason why I should deny myself 
 that pleasure ? Many of our strathspeys, ancient and 
 modern, give me most exquisite enjoyment, whei'e you 
 and other judges would probably be showing disgust. 
 For instance, I am just now making verses for 
 " Rothemurche's rant," an air which puts me in rap- 
 tures ; and, in fact, unless I be pleased with the tune, I 
 never can make verses to it. Here I have Clarke on 
 my side, who is a judge that I will pit against any of 
 you. "Rothemurche," he says, " is an air both original 
 and beautiful ;" and, on his recommendation, I have 
 taken the first part of the tune for a chorus, and the 
 fourth or last part for the song. I am but two stanzas 
 deep in the work, and possibly you may think, and 
 justly, that the poetry is as little worth your* attention 
 as the music. 
 
 [Here follow two stanzas of the song, beginning ' '• Lassie wi' 
 the lint-white locks."] 
 
 I have begun anew, " Let me in this ae night." Do 
 you think that we ought to retain the old choi'us ? I 
 think we must retain both the old chorus aiid the first 
 stanza of the old song. I do not altogether like the 
 third line of the first stanza, but cannot alter it to please 
 myself. I am just three stanzas deep in it. AVould 
 you have the denoutment to be successful or otherAvise ? 
 — should she "let him in" or not? 
 
 Did you not once propose " The sow's tail to Geordie " 
 as an air for your work ? I am quite delighted with 
 it ; but I acknowledge that is no mark of its real 
 excellence. I once set about verses for it, which I 
 meant to be in the alternate way of a lover and his 
 mistress chanting together. I have not the pleasure 
 of knowing Mrs Thomson's Christian name, and yours, 
 I am afraid, is rather burlesque for sentiment, else I 
 had meant to have made you the hero and heroine of 
 the little piece. 
 
 How do you like the following epigram, which I 
 wrote the other day on a lovely young girl's recovery 
 from a fever ? Doctor ]\Iaxwell was the physician who 
 seemingly saved her from the grave ; and to him I 
 addi'ess the following :— 
 
 TO DR max"s\t:ll, 
 
 ON MISS JESSIE STAIG's RECOVERY. 
 
 iMaxwell, if merit here you crave. 
 
 That merit I deny : 
 You save fair Jessy from the grave I — 
 
 An angel could not die ! 
 
 God grant you patience with this stupid epistle ! 
 
 No. LIV. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 I PERCEIVE the sprightly muse is now attendant upon 
 her favoiu'ite poet, whose woodnotes wild are become 
 as enchanting as ever. " She says she loes me best of 
 a'," is one of the pleasantest table songs I have seen, 
 and henceforth shall be mine when the song is going 
 round. I'll give Cunningham a copy ; he can more 
 powerfully proclaim its merit. I am far from under- 
 valuing your taste for the strathspey music ; on the 
 contrary, I thinlc it highly animating and agreeable, 
 and that some of the strathspeys, when graced with 
 such verses as yours, will make very pleasing songs, in 
 the same way that rough Christians are tempered and 
 softened by lovely woman, without whom, you know, 
 they had been brutes. 
 
 I am clear for having the " Sow's tail," particularly 
 as your proposed vei'ses to it ai'e so extremely promis- 
 ing. Geordie, as you observe, is a name only fit for 
 burlesque composition. Mrs Thomson's name (Katha- 
 rine) is not at all poetical. Retain Jeanie, therefore, 
 and make the other Jamie, or any other that sounds 
 agreeably. 
 
 Your " Ca' the ewes" is a precious little morceau. 
 Indeed, I am perfectly astonished and charmed with 
 the endless variety of your fancy. Here let me ask 
 you, whether you never seriously turned your thoughts 
 upon dramatic writing ? That is a field woi'thy of your 
 genius, in which it might shine forth in all its splen- 
 dour. One or two successful pieces upon the London 
 stage would make your fortune. The rage at present 
 is for musical dramas : few or none of those which have 
 appeared since the " Duenna," possess much foetical 
 merit ; there is little in the conduct of the fable, or in 
 the dialogue, to interest the audience : they are chiefly 
 vehicles for music and pageantry. I think you might 
 produce a comic opera in three acts, which would live 
 by the poetry, at the same time that it would be proper 
 to take every assistance from her tuneful sister. Part 
 of the songs, of course, Avould be to our favourite 
 Scottish airs ; the rest might be left to the London 
 composer — Storace for Drury-lane, or Shield for Co- 
 vent-garden, both of them very able and popular musi- 
 cians. I believe that interest and manoeuvring are 
 often necessary to have a drama brought on ; so it may 
 be with the namby-pamby tribe of flowery scribblers : 
 but were you to address j\Ir Sheridan himself by letter, 
 and send him a dramatic piece, I am persuaded he 
 would, for the honour of genius, give it a fair and can- 
 did trial. Excuse me for obtruding these hints upon 
 your consideration.* 
 
 No. LV. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, lith Oct. 1794, 
 
 The last eight days have been devoted to the re- 
 examination of the Scottish collections. I have read, 
 and sung, and fiddled, and considered, till I am half 
 blind, and wholly stupid. The few airs I have added, 
 are enclosed. 
 
 Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the songs I 
 expected from him, which are, in general, elegant and 
 beautiful. Have you heard of a London collection of 
 Scottish airs and songs, just published by INIr Ritson, 
 an Englishman ? I shall send you a copy. His intro- 
 ductoiy essay on the subject is curious, and evinces 
 great reading and research, but does not decide the 
 question as to the origin of our melodies ; though he 
 shows clearly that Mr Tytler, in his ingenious disser- 
 tation, has adduced no sort of proof of the h}q)othesis 
 he wished to establish, and that his classification of the 
 airs according to the eras when they were composed, 
 is mere fancy and conjecture. On John Pinkerton, 
 Esq., he has no mercy, but consigns him to damnation. 
 He snarls at my publication, on the score of Pindar 
 being engaged to write songs for it ; uncandidly and 
 unjustly leaving it to be inferred, that the songs of 
 Scottish writers had been sent a-packing to make room 
 for Peter's ! Of you he speaks with some respect, but 
 gives you a passing hit or two, for daring to dress up a 
 little some old foolish songs for the Museum. His sets 
 of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, from the oldest 
 collections and best authorities : many of them, however, 
 have such a strange aspect, and are so unlike the sets 
 Avhich are sung by every person of taste, old or young, 
 in town or country, that we can scarcely recognise the 
 features of our favourites. By going to the oldest 
 collections of our music, it does not follow that we find 
 the melodies in their original state. These melodies 
 had been preserved, we know not how long, by oral 
 communication, before being collected and printed ; and 
 
 * Our bard had before received the same advice, and certainly 
 took it so far into consideration, as to have cast about for a sub- 
 ject.— Currie. 
 
110 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 as different persons sing the same air very diflferently, 
 according to their accurate or confused recollection of 
 it, so, even supposing the first collectors to possess 
 the industry, taste, and discernment, to choose the 
 best they could hear (which is far from certain), still 
 it must evidently he a chance, whether the collections 
 exhibit any of the melodies in the state they were first 
 composed. In selecting the melodies for my own col- 
 lection, I have been as much guided by the Hving as 
 by the dead. Where these dilBfered, I preferred the sets 
 that appeared to me the most simple and beautiful, 
 and the most generally approved : and without meaning 
 any compliment to my own capability of choosing, or 
 speaking of the paias I have taken, I flatter myself that 
 my sets will be found equally free from vulgar errors 
 on the one hand, and affected graces on the other. 
 
 No. LVI. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 I9th October, 1794. 
 
 My dear Friend — By this morning's post I have 
 your list, and, in general, I highly approve of it. I 
 shall, at more leisure, give you a critique on the whole. 
 Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and I wish 
 you would call on him and take his opinion in general : 
 you know his taste is a standard. He will return here 
 again in a week or two, so please do not miss asking 
 for him. One thing I hope he will do — persuade you 
 to adopt my favourite, " Craigieburn wood," in your 
 selection : it is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The 
 lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women 
 in Scotland ; and in fact {entre nous) is in a manner 
 to me what Sterne's EHza was to him — a mistress, or 
 friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of 
 Platonic love. (Now, don't put any of your squinting 
 constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaver about 
 it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that to my 
 lovely friend you are indebted for many of your best 
 songs of mine. Do you thinlc that the sober, gin-horse 
 routine of existence could inspire a man with life, and 
 love, and joy — could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt 
 him with pathos, equal to the genius of your book ? No ! 
 no ! Whenever I want to be more than ordinary in song 
 — to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs — do 
 you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation ? 
 Tout au contraire! I have a glorious recipe ; the very 
 one that for his own use was invented by the divinity 
 of heaUng and poetry, Avhen erst he piped to the flocks 
 of Admetus. I piit myself in a regimen of admiring a 
 fine woman; and in proportion to the adorabUity of 
 her charms, in proportion you are delighted with 
 my verses. The lightning of her eye is the godhead of 
 Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity 
 of Helicon ! 
 
 To descend to business ; if you like my idea of 
 "When she cam ben she bobbit," the following stanzas 
 of mine, altered a little from what they were formerly, 
 when set to another air, may perhaps do instead of worse 
 stanzas : — 
 [Here follows " Saw ye my Phely :" Poetical Works, p. 124.] 
 
 Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. " The Posie" 
 (in the Musemn) is my composition ; the air was taken 
 down from Mrs Burns's voice.* It is well known in 
 the west country, but the old words are trash. By 
 the bye, take a look at the tune again, and tell me if 
 you do not think it is the original from which '' Roslin 
 Castle" is composed. The second part, in particular, 
 for the first two or three bars, is exactly the old air. 
 " Strathallan's Lament" is mine ; the music is by our 
 right trusty and deservedly well-beloved Allan Master- 
 ton. "Donocht-Head" is not mine; I would give ten 
 pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh 
 Herald, and came to the editor of that paper with the 
 
 * This, and the other poems of which he speaks, had appeared 
 in Johnson's Museum, and Mr T. had inquired whether they 
 were our bard's.— CunniK. 
 
 I 
 
 Newcastle post-mark on it.* " Whistle o'er the lave 
 o't" is mine : the music said to be by a John Bruce, a 
 celebrated violin player in Dumfries, about the beginning 
 of this century. This I know, Bruce, who was an honest 
 man, though a red- wud Highlandman, constantly claimed 
 it ; and by all the old musical people here is believecl 
 to be the author of it. 
 
 " Andrew and his cutty gun." The song to which 
 this is set in the Museum is mine, and was composed on 
 Miss'Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose, commonly and 
 deservedly called the Flower of Strathmore. 
 
 " How long and dreary is the night !" I met with 
 some such words in a collection of songs somewhere, 
 which I altered and enlarged ; and to please you, and 
 to suit your favourite air, I have taken a stride or two 
 across my room and have arranged it anew, as you will 
 find on the other page. 
 
 [Here follows «* How long and dreary is the night :" Poetical 
 Works, p. 124.] 
 
 Tell me how you like this. I differ from your idea 
 of the expression of the tune. There is, to me, a great 
 deal of tenderness in it. You cannot, in my opinion, 
 dispense with a bass to your addenda airs. A lady of 
 my acquaintance, a noted performer, plays and sings at 
 the same time so charmingly, that I shall never bear to 
 see any of her songs sent into the world, as naked as 
 Mr What-d'ye-call-um has done in his London collec- 
 tion.f 
 
 These English songs gravel me to death. I have not 
 that command of the language that I have of my native 
 tongue. I have been at "Duncan Gray," to dress it in 
 English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For 
 instance : — 
 
 [Here follows <' Let not woman e'er complain:" Poetical 
 Works, p. 124.] 
 
 Since the above, I have been out in the country taking 
 a dinner with a friend, where I met witji the lady whom 
 I mentioned in the second page in this odds-and-ends of 
 a^letter. As usual, I got into song ; and returning home 
 I composed the following : — 
 
 * The reader will be ciu^ious to see this poem, so highly praised 
 by Bums. Here it is :— 
 
 " Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head,* 
 The snaw drives snelly through the dale. 
 
 The gaberlimzie tirls my sneck, 
 And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale. 
 
 * Cauld is the night, oh let me in. 
 
 And dinna let your minstrel fa'. 
 And dinna let his >vinding-8heet 
 Be naething but a wreath o' snaw. 
 
 Full ninety winters hae I seen. 
 
 And pip'd where gor-cocks whirring flew, 
 And mony a day I've danc'd, I ween, 
 
 To lilts which from my drone I blew.' 
 My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cried, 
 
 ' Get up guidman, and let him in ; 
 For weel ye ken the winter night 
 
 Was short when he began his din.* 
 
 My Eppie's voice, oh wow it's sweet, 
 
 Even though she bans and scaulds a weo ; 
 But when it's tun'd to sorrow's tale. 
 
 Oh, haith, it's doubly dear to me ! 
 ' Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire, 
 
 I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame ; 
 Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate, 
 
 Ye should na stray sae far frae hame. 
 
 * Nae hame have I,' the minstrel said, 
 
 ' Sad party-strife o'erturned my ha' ; 
 And, weeping at the eve of life, 
 I wander through a wreath o' snaw.* " 
 
 This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. The author need 
 not be ashamed to own himself. It is worthy of Burns, or of 
 Macneill.— CuRRiK. [It was written by a gentleman of New- 
 castle, named Pickering.] 
 
 t Mr Ritson. 
 
 * A mountain in the north. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 Ill 
 
 THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 Tone — Deil tak the Wars. 
 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ; 
 
 Rosy morn now lilts his eye, 
 Numbering ilka bud which nature 
 
 Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 
 
 Now thro' the leafy woods, 
 
 And by the reeking floods, 
 WUd natm'e's tenants, freely, gladly stray ; 
 
 The lintwhite in his bower 
 
 Chants o'er the breathing flower ; 
 
 The lav'rock to the sky 
 
 Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
 While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 
 
 Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning. 
 
 Banishes ilk darksome shade. 
 Nature gladd'ning and adorning ; 
 
 Such to me my lovely maid. 
 
 When absent frae my fair, 
 
 The murky shades o' care 
 With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky ; 
 
 But when in beauty's light. 
 
 She meets my ravished sight, 
 
 When through my very heart 
 
 Her beaming glories dart ; 
 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy !* 
 
 If you honour my verses- by setting the air^to them, 
 I will vamp up the old song, and make it English enough 
 to be understood. 
 
 I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, 
 which you would swear was a Scottish one. I know the 
 authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over 
 is a particular acquaintance of mine. Do preserve me 
 the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke 
 has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the 
 Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it. 
 
 [This song, beginning " But lately seen in gladsome green," is 
 inserted in Poetical Works, p. 112.] 
 
 I would be obliged to you if you would procure me 
 a sight of Ritson's collection of English songs, which 
 you mention in your letter. I will thank you for 
 another information, and that as speedily as you please : 
 whether this miserable drawling hotchpotch epistle has 
 not completely tired you of my correspondence I 
 
 suit the respective airs charmingly. I am perfectly of 
 your opinion with respect to the additional airs. The 
 idea of sending them into the world naked as they were 
 born, was imgenerous. They must all be clothed and 
 made decent by our friend Clarke. 
 
 I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cunningham 
 in sending you Ritson's Scottish collection. Permit me, 
 therefore, to present you with his English collection, 
 which you will receive by the coach. I do not find 
 his historical essay on Scottish song interesting. Your 
 anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks wUl, I am sure, 
 be. much more so. Allan has just sketched a charming 
 design from " Maggie Lauder." She is (iancmg with 
 such spirit as to electrify the piper, who seems almost 
 dancing too, while he is playing with the most exquisite 
 glee. I am much inclined to get a small copy, and to 
 have it engraved in the style of Ritson's prints. 
 
 P. S. Pray what do your anecdotes say concerning 
 " Maggie Lauder ?" — was she a real personage, and of 
 what rank ? You would surely " spier for her, if you 
 ca'd at Austruther town." 
 
 No. LVII. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, 27th October, 1794. 
 I AM sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet 
 can no more exist without his mistress than his meat. 
 I wish I knew the adorable she, whose bright eyes and 
 witching smiles have so often em'aptured the Scottish 
 bard, that I might drink her sweet health when the 
 toast' is going round. " Craigieburn wood" must cer- 
 tainly be adopted into my family, since she is the object 
 of the song ; but, in the name of decency, I must beg 
 a new chorus verse from you. " Oh to be lying beyond 
 thee, dearie," is perhaps a consummation to be wished, 
 but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. 
 The songs in your last will do you lasting credit, and 
 
 '^ Variation :— 
 
 Now to the streaming fomitain. 
 Or up the heathy mountain, 
 The hart, hind, and roe, freely, T/ildly-wanton stray ; 
 In twining hazel bowers 
 His lay the linnet pours ; 
 The lav'rock to the sky 
 Ascends -wi' sangs o' joy. 
 While the sim and thou arise to bless the day. 
 
 When frae my Chloris parted, 
 
 Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, 
 The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my skj'. 
 
 But when she charms my sight. 
 
 In pride of beauty's light ; 
 
 When through my very heart 
 
 Her beaming glories dart ; 
 'Tis then, 'tis theu I wake to life and joy I—Currie. 
 
 No. LVIII. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 November, 1794. 
 
 Maxy thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your present ; 
 it is a bopk of the utmost importance to me. I have 
 yesterday begun my anecdotes, &c., for your work. I 
 intend drawing them up in the form of a letter to you, 
 which will save me from the tedious dull business of 
 systematic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say 
 consists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps of 
 old songs, &c., it would be impossible to give the work 
 a beginning, a middle, and an end, which the critics 
 insist to be absolutely necessary in a woi'k. In my 
 last, I told you my objections to the song you had 
 selected for "My lodging is on the cold ground." On my 
 visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic 
 name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she sug- 
 gested an idea, which I, on my return from the visit, 
 ■wrought into the following song. 
 
 " My ChloriSj mai-k how green the groves." [Poetical Works, 
 p. 124.] 
 
 How do you lilce the simplicity and tenderness of this 
 pastoral ? I think it pretty well. 
 
 I like you for entering so candidly and so Idndly into 
 the story of "ma chere amie.'' I assure you I was 
 never more in eai'nest in my life, than in the account 
 of that affair which I sent you in my last. Conjugal 
 love is a passion which I deeply feel, and highly vene- 
 rate ; but, somehow, it does not make such a figure m 
 poesy as that other species of the passion. 
 Where love is liberty, and nature law. 
 
 Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of which 
 the gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inex- 
 pressibly sweet, while the last has powers equal to all 
 the intellectual modulations of the human soul. Still, 
 I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The 
 welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first 
 and inviolate sentiment that pervades my soul ; and 
 whatever pleasures I might wish for, or whatever might 
 be the raptures they would give me, yet, if they inter- 
 fere -with that first principle, it is ha-ving these pleasures 
 at a dishonest price ; and justice forbids, and generosity 
 disdains, the purchase ! * 
 
 Despairing of my own powers to give you variety 
 enough in English songs, I have been turning over old 
 collections, to pick out songs, of which the measure is 
 something similar to what I want ; and, vAih a little 
 alteration, so as to suit the rhj-thm of the air exactly, 
 to give you them for your work. Where the songs 
 have hitherto been but little noticed, nor have ever 
 been set to music, I think the shift a fair one. A song, 
 which, under the same first verse, you will find in 
 
 * [The lady here in question was Mrs Whelpdale, formerly 
 Miss Jean Lorimer, respecting whom see notes ia Poetical Works, 
 pp. 89 and 128.] 
 
112 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, I have cut down for an 
 English dress to your " Dainty Davie," as follows. 
 
 " It was the charming month of May." [Poetical Worts, 
 p, 124.] 
 
 You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the 
 bombast original, and you Avill be sui-prised that I have 
 made so much of it, I have finished my song to 
 " Rothemurche's rant," and you have Clarke to consult 
 as to the set of the air for singing. 
 
 [Here follows ♦' Lassie wi' the lint-white locks :" sec Poetical 
 Works, p. 125.] 
 
 This piece has at least the merit of being a regular 
 pastoral : the vernal morn, the summer noon, the 
 autumnal evening, and the winter night, are regularly 
 rounded. If you Uke it, well ; if not, I will insert it in 
 the Museum. 
 
 No. LIX. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 I AM out of temper that you should set so sweet, so 
 tender an air, as " Deil tak the \vars," to the foolish 
 old verses. You talk of the silliness of " Saw ye my 
 father?"* — by Heavens! the odds is gold to brass ! Be- 
 sides, the old song, though now pretty well modernised 
 into the Scottish language, is originally, and in the 
 early editions, a bungling low imitation of the Scottish 
 manner, by that genius Tom D'Urfey, so has no pre- 
 tensions to be a Scottish production. There is a pretty 
 English song by Sheridan, in the "Duenna," to this air, 
 which is out of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins, 
 
 "VSTien sable night each drooping plant restoring. 
 The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, 
 is the very native language of simplicity, tenderness, 
 and love. I have again gone over my song to the tune 
 as follows.t 
 
 Now for my English song to " Nancy's to the green- 
 \vood," &c. 
 
 [Here follows the song " Farewell tuou stream :" see Poetical 
 Works, p. 125.] 
 
 There is an air, " The Caledonian Hunt's delight," 
 to which I wrote a song that you will find in Johnson, 
 " Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon :" this air, I 
 think, might find a place among your hundred, as Lear 
 says of his knights. Do you know the history of the 
 air? It is curious enough. A good many years ago, 
 JMr James Miller, writer in your good town, a gentle- 
 man whom possibly you know, was in company with 
 our friend Clarke ; and talking of Scottish music. Miller 
 expressed an ardent ambition to be able to compose a 
 Scots air. Mr Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him 
 to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and pre- 
 serve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly 
 compose a Scots air. Certain it is that, in a few days, 
 Mr Miller produced the rudiments of an air, which Mr 
 Clarke, with some touches and corrections, fashioned 
 mto the tune in question. Ritson, you know, has the 
 same story of the black keys ; but this account which I 
 have just given you, Mr Clarke informed me of several 
 years ago. Now, to show you how difficult it is to 
 trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly 
 asserted that this was an Irish air ; nay, I met with an 
 Irish gentleman Avho affinned he had heard it in Ireland 
 among the old women ; while, on the other hand, a 
 countess informed me, that the first person who intro- 
 duced the air into this country, was a baronet's lady of 
 her acquaintance, who took down the notes from an 
 itinerant piper in the Isle of Man. How difficult, then, 
 to ascertain the truth respecting our poesy and music ! 
 I, myself, have lately seen a couple of ballads sung 
 through the streets of Dumfries, with my name at the 
 
 * [Mr Thomson must have completely misunderstood the cha- 
 racter of this old song. It is a most romantic one, clothed in the 
 most poetical language.] 
 
 t See the song in its first and best dress in page 111. Our bard 
 remarks upon it, "I could easily throw this into an English 
 mould ; but, to ray taste, in the simple and the tender of the 
 pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an inimitable 
 
 effect."— CURRIE. 
 
 head of them as the author, though it was the first time 
 I had ever seen them. 
 
 I thank you for admitting " Craigieburn wood ;" 
 and I shall take care to furnish you Avith a new chorus. 
 In fact, the chorus was not my work, but a part of 
 some old verses to the air. If I can catch myself in a 
 more than ordinarily propitious moment, I shall write 
 a new " Cragieburn wood " altogether. My heart ia 
 much in the theme. 
 
 I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to maJtc the request ; 
 'tis dunning your generosity ; but in a moment when I 
 had forgotten whether I was rich or poor, I promised 
 Chloris a copy of your songs. It wrings my honest 
 pride to write you this ; but an ungracious request is 
 doubly so by a tedious apology. To make you some 
 amends, as soon as I have extracted the necessary 
 information out of them, I will return you Ritson's 
 volumes. 
 
 The lady is not a little proud that she is to make so 
 distinguished a figui-e in your collection, and I am not 
 a little proud that I have it in my power to please her 
 so much. Lucky it is for your patience that my paper 
 is done, for when I am in a sci'ibbling humour, I know 
 not when to give over. 
 
 No. LX. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 loth November, 1794. 
 
 My good Sir — Since receiving your last, I have had 
 another interview with Mr Clarke, and a long consulta- 
 tion. He thinks ~the " Caledonian Hunt" is more 
 bacchanahan than amorous in its nature, and recom- 
 mends it to you to match the air accordingly. Pray, 
 did it ever occur to you how peculiarly well the Scottish 
 airs are adapted for verses in the form of a dialogue ? 
 The first part of the a,ir is generally low, and suited for 
 a man's voice ; and the second part, in many instances, 
 cannot be sung, at concert pitch, but by a female voice. 
 A song thus performed makes an agreeable variety, 
 but few of ours are written in this form : I wish you 
 would think of it in some of those that remain. The 
 only one of the kind you have sent me is admii'able, 
 and will be a universal favourite. 
 
 Your verses for " Rothemurche" are so sweetly pas- 
 toral, and your serenade to Chloris, for " Deil tak the 
 wars," so passionately tender, that I have sung myself 
 into raptures Avith them. Your song for " My lodging 
 is on the cold ground," is likewise a diamond of the 
 first water: I am quite dazzled and delighted by it. 
 Some of your Chlorises, I suppose, have flaxen hair, 
 from your partiahty for this colour — else we differ 
 about it ; for I should scarcely conceive a woman to 
 be a beauty, on reading that she had lint-white locks ! 
 
 " Farewell thou stream that winding flows," I think 
 excellent, but it is much too serious to come after 
 " Nancy" — at least it would seem an incongruity to 
 provide the same air with merry Scottish and melan- 
 choly English verses ! The more that the two sets of 
 verses resemble each other, in their general eharactei', 
 the better. Those you have manufactured for " Dainty 
 Davie" will answer charmingly. I am happy to find 
 you have begun yo«r anecdotes : I care not how long 
 they be, for it is impossible that any thing from your 
 pen can be tedious. Let me beseech you not to use 
 ceremony in telling me when you wish to present any 
 of your friends with the songs : the next carrier will 
 bring you three copies, and you are as welcome to 
 twenty as to a pinch of snuff". 
 
 No. LXL 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 \9th November, 1794. 
 You see, my dear Sir, what a punctual correspondent 
 I am ; though, indeed, you may thank yourself for the 
 tedium of my letters, as you have so flattered me on 
 my horsemanship with my favourite hobby, and have 
 praised the grace of his ambling so much, that I am 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH ^IR TH031S0N. 
 
 113 
 
 scarcely ever off his back. For instance, this morning, 
 though a keen blowing frost, in ray walk before break- 
 fast, I finished my duet, Avhicli you were pleased to 
 praise so much. Whether I have uniformly succeeded, 
 I will not say ; but here it is for you, though it is not 
 an hour old. 
 
 [Here follows the song " Philly and "Willy:" Poetical AVorks, 
 p. 125.] 
 
 Tell me honestly how you like it, and point out what- 
 ever you think faulty. 
 
 I am much pleased with your idea of singing our 
 songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that you did not 
 hint it to me sooner. In those that remain, 1 shall have 
 it in my eye. I remember your objections to the name 
 Philly, but it is the common abbreviation of Phillis. 
 Sally, the only other name that suits, has, to my ear, 
 a vulgarity about it, which unfits it for any thing 
 except burlesque. The legion of Scottish poetasters of 
 the day, whom your brother editor, JNIr Ritson, ranks 
 •with me as my coevals, have always mistaken vulgarity 
 for simplicity ; whereas, simplicity is as much eloignee 
 from vulgarity on the one hand, as from afi'ected pomt 
 and puerile conceit on the other. 
 
 I agree with you as to the air, " Craigieburn wood," 
 that a chorus would, in some degree, spoil the effect, 
 and shall certainly have none in my projected song to 
 it. It is not, however, a case in point with " Rothe- 
 murche ;" there, as in " Roy's wife of AldivaUoch," a 
 chorus goes, to my taste, well enough. As to the chorus 
 going first, that is the case with " Roy's wife," as w^ell 
 as " Rothemurche." In fact, in the first part of both 
 tunes, the rhythm is so peculiar and irregular, and on 
 that irregularity depends so much of their beaut}^, that 
 we must e'en take them with all their A\alduess, and 
 humour the verse accordingly. LeaAing out the starting 
 note, in both tunes, has, I think, an effect that no regu- 
 larity could covmterbalance the want of. 
 
 rOh Roy's wife of Aldivalloeh. 
 ^' "^ Oh lassie wi' the lint-white locks. 
 
 and 
 
 compare with, i ^^OJ''^ ^^ «f Aldivalloeh. 
 
 (^ Lassie wi' the lint-white locks. 
 
 Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable strike 
 you \ In the last case, with the true furor of genius, 
 you sti'ike at once into the wild originahty of the air ; 
 whereas, in the first insipid method, it is like the grating 
 screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into tune. 
 This is my taste ; if I am wTong, I beg pardon of the 
 cognoscenti. 
 
 " The Caledonian Hunt" is so charming, that.it would 
 make any subject in a song go down; but pathos is 
 cei1:ainly its native tongue. Scottish bacchanalians we 
 certainly want, though the few we have are excellent. 
 For mstance, " Todhn hame," is, for wit and humour, 
 an unparalleled composition ; and " Andrew and his 
 cutty gun" is the Avork of a master. By the w'ay, are 
 you not quite vexed to think that those men of genius, 
 for such they certainly were, who composed our fine I 
 Scottish lyrics, should be unknown ? It has given me i 
 many a heart-ache. Apropos to bacchanalian songs in j 
 Scottish, I composed one yesterday, for an air I like ! 
 much — " Lumps o' pudding." 
 [Here follows " Contented wi' little :" Poetical AVorks, p. 125.] 
 
 If you do not relish this air, I will send it to Johnson 
 
 No. LXII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Since yesterday's penmanship, I have framed a couple 
 of English stanzas, by way of an EngHsh song to " Roy's 
 wife." You will allow me, that in this instance my 
 English coi'responds in sentiment vdih. the Scottish. 
 
 [Here follows " Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?" See 
 Poetical AVorks, p. 125.] 
 
 Well ! I think this to be done in two or three turns 
 across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish 
 blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am deter- 
 mined to ha-\e my quantum of applause from somebody. 
 H 
 
 Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want 
 the trifling circumstance of being known to one another, 
 to be the best friends on earth), that I much suspect 
 he has, in his plates, mistaken the figure of the stock 
 and horn. I have, at last, gotten one, but it is a very 
 rude instrument. It is composed of three parts ; the 
 stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep, such 
 as you see in a mutton ham ; the horn, which is a com- 
 mon Highland cow's horn, cut oft' at the smaller end, 
 until the aperture be large enough to admit the stock to 
 be pushed up through the horn untU it be held by the 
 tliicker end of the thigh-bone ; and lastly, an oaten reed 
 exactly cut and notched like that which you see every 
 shepherd boy have, when the corn-stems are green and 
 full-groA\ai. The reed is not made fast in the bone, but 
 is held by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end 
 of the stock ; while the stock, with the iiorn hanging on 
 its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The 
 stock has six or seven ventiges on the upper side, and 
 one back-ventige, like the common flute. This of mine 
 was made by a man from the braes of Athole, and is 
 exactly what the shepherds wont to use in that country. 
 
 However, either it is not quite properly bored in the 
 holes, or else we have not the art of blowing it rightly ; 
 for we can make Kttle of it. If Mr Allan chooses,' I 
 will send liun a sight of mine, as I look on myself to 
 be a kind of brother-brush A\'ith him. " Pinde m poets 
 is nae sin ;" and I will say it, that I look on Mr Allan 
 and ]\Ir Burns to be the only genuine and real painters 
 of Scottish costume in the wox'ld. 
 
 No. LXIII. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 2^th Xovember, 1794. 
 I ACKNOWLEDGE, mv dear Sir, you are not only^the most 
 punctual, but the most delectable correspondent I ever 
 met with. To attempt flattering you never entered into 
 my head ; the truth is, I look back with surprise at my 
 impudence, in so frequently nibbhng at lines and couplets 
 of your incomparable lyrics, for which, perhaps, if you 
 had served me right, you would have sent me to the 
 devil. On the contrary, however, you have aU along 
 condescended to invite my criticism with so much 
 com'tesy, that it ceases to be wonderful if I have some- 
 times given myself the airs of a reviewer. Your last 
 budget demands unqualified praise : all the songs are 
 charming, but the duet is a chef d'oeuvre. " Lumps o' 
 pudding" shall certainly make one of my family dishes ; 
 you have cooked it so capitally, that it Avill please all 
 palates. Do give us a few more of this cast when you 
 find yourself in good spirits ; these convivial songs are 
 more w^anted than those of the amorous kind, of which 
 we have great choice. Besides, one does not often meet 
 with a singer capable of giving the proper effect to the 
 latter, while the former are easily sung, and acceptable 
 to every body. I participate in your regret that the 
 authors of some of our best songs are unkno^AOi ; it is 
 provoking to every admirer of genius. 
 
 I mean to have a picture painted from your beautiful 
 ballad " The Soldier's Return," to be engraved for one 
 of my fi'ontispieces. The most interesting point of time 
 appears to me, when she first recognises her ain dear 
 Willy, "She gaz'd,she redden'd like a rose." The thi-ee 
 hues immediately following are no doubt more impres- 
 sive on the reader's feelings ; but were the painter to 
 fix on these, then you'll observe the animation and 
 anxiety of her countenance is gone, and he could only 
 represent her fainting in the soldier's arms. But I 
 submit the matter to you, and beg your opinion. 
 
 Allan desires me to thank you for yoiu* accurate 
 description of the stock and horn, and" for the very 
 gratifying compliment you pay him in considermg hiru 
 Avorthy of standing in a niche by the side of Burns in the 
 Scottish Pantheon. He has seen the rude instrument 
 you describe, so does not want you to send it; but 
 wishes to know whether you believe it to have ever 
 been generally used as a musical pipe by the Scottish 
 shepherds, and when, and in v.hat part of the country 
 
114 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 chiefly. I doubt much if it was capable of any thing 
 but routing and roaring. A friend of mine says he 
 remembers, to have heard one in his younger days, made 
 of wood instead of your bone, and that the sound was 
 abominable. 
 
 Do not, I beseech you, return any books. 
 
 No. LXIV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 December f 1794. 
 
 It is, I assure you, the pride of my heart to do any 
 thing to forward or add to the value of your book; 
 and as I agree with you that the Jacobite song in the 
 Museum to " There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 
 hame," would not so well consort with Peter Pindar's 
 excellent love-song to that air, I have just framed for 
 you the following : — 
 
 •• My Nannie's awa." [See Poetical Works, p. 125.] 
 
 How does this please you ? As to the point of time 
 for the expression, in your proposed print from my 
 " Sodger's Return," it must certainly be at — ^" She 
 gaz'd." The interesting dubiety and suspense taking 
 possession of her countenance, and the gushing fond- 
 ness, with a mixture of roguish playfulness in his, strike 
 me as things of which a master will make a great deal. 
 In great haste, but in great truth, yours. 
 
 No. LXV. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 January i 1795, 
 
 I FEAR for my songs ; hoA\ ever, a few may please, yet 
 originality is a coy feature in composition, and in a 
 multiplicity of efforts in the same style, disappears 
 altogether. For these three thousand years, we poetic 
 folks have been describing the spring, for instance; 
 and as the spring continues the same, there must soon 
 be a sameness in the imagery^ &c., of these said rhyming 
 folks. 
 
 A great critic (Aikin) on songs, says that love and 
 wine are the exclusive themes for song-writing. The 
 foUoAving is on neither subject, and consequently is no 
 song ; but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three 
 pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhjine. 
 
 " For a' that, and a' that." [See Poetical Works, p. 125.] 
 
 I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, 
 but merely by way of vive la bagatelle ; for the piece 
 is not really poetry. How will the following do for 
 " Craigie-burn wood?" — 
 
 *' Craigie-burn wood." [See Poetical Works, p. 126.] 
 
 Farewell ! God bless you ! 
 
 No. LXVI. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinbui'gh, ?>^th January, 1795. 
 My dear Sir — I thank you heartily for " Nannie's 
 awa," as well as for " Ci'aigieburn," which I think a 
 very comely pair. Your observation on the difficulty 
 of original writing in a number of efforts, in the same 
 style, strikes me very forcibly ; and it has, again and 
 again, excited my wonder to find you continually sur- 
 mounting this difficulty, in the many delightful songs 
 you have sent me. Your vive la bagatelle song, " For 
 a' that," shall undoubtedly be included in my list. 
 
 [In Burns's next communication to Mr Thomson, marked No. 
 LXIX. in Currie's series of their correspondence, he merely 
 transcribes the compound song, inserted in his Poetical Works, 
 pp. 126, 127, under the title of "Oh lassie, art thou sleeping \ 
 yet?** and adds '• I do not know whether it will do."] 
 
 No, LXVII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Ecclefechauj 1th February, 1795. 
 
 Mr DEAR Thomson — You cannot have any idea of 
 the predicament in which I write to you. In the course 
 of my duty as supervisor (m which capacity I have 
 acted of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, 
 wicked, little village.-^* I have gone forward, but snows, 
 of ten feet deep, have impeded my progress : I have 
 tried to «gae back the gate I cam again," but the same 
 obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To 
 add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been 
 torturing catgut, in sounds that would have insulted 
 the dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a 
 butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account 
 exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a 
 dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these miseries ; or 
 to hang myself, to get rid of them : like a prudent man 
 (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and 
 deed), I, of two evils, have chosen the least, and am 
 very drunk, at your service ! 
 
 I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not 
 time then to tell you all I wanted to say ; and, Heaven 
 knows, at present I have not capacity. 
 
 Do you know an air — 1 am sure you must know it— 
 " We'll gang nae mair to yon town ? " I think, in 
 slowish time, it would make an excellent song. I am 
 highly delighted with it ; and if you should think it 
 worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my 
 eye, to whom I would consecrate it. 
 
 As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night. 
 
 No. LXVIII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 2bth February, 1795. 
 
 I HAVE to thank you, my dear Sir, for two epistles, 
 one containing " Let me in this ae night ;" and the 
 other from Ecclefechan, proving that, drunk or sober, 
 your "mind is never muddy.'* You have displayed 
 great address in the above song. Her answer is excel- 
 lent, and, at the same time, takes away the indelicacy j 
 that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. | 
 I like the song, as it now stands, very much. j 
 
 I had hopes you would be arrested some days at 
 Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious fore- 
 noons by song-making. It will give me pleasure to I 
 receive the verses you intend for " Oh wat ye wlia's iu | 
 yon town V J 
 
 No. LXIX. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 May, 1795. 
 [The poet transcribes the " Address to the woodlark," (Poetical 
 Works, p. 127), and adds—] 
 
 Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like 
 this song. 
 
 [He then commimieates the song " On Chloris being ill,'* 
 (Poetical Works, p. 127), and adds—] 
 
 How do you like the foregoing ? The Irish air, " Hu- 
 mours of Glen," is a great favourite of mine, and as, 
 except the silly stuff in the ''- Poor Soldier," there are 
 not any decent verses for it, I have wxitten for it as 
 follows :— 
 
 [Follows the fine IjTic, " Their groves o* sweet mjTtle," (Poe- 
 tical Works, p. 127) ; after which, having transcribed " 'Twaa 
 na her bonnie blue es was my ruin," (Poetical Works, p. 127), he 
 concludes with — ] 
 
 Let me hear from you. 
 
 * [Dr Currie, who was a native of the neighbourhood, remarks 
 that the poet must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse sweet Eccle- 
 fechan at this rate.] 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 l]j 
 
 No. LXX. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any 
 intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, 
 in justice to the ingenious and woi-thy artist, that the 
 design and execution of the " Cotter's Saturday Night" 
 is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of 
 Allan's pencil. I shall be gi'ievously disappointed if 
 you are not quite pleased with it. 
 
 The figure intended for your portrait, I think strik- 
 ingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. 
 This should make the piece interesting to your family 
 every way. Tell me whether Mrs Burns finds you out 
 among the figures. 
 
 I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which 
 I have read your pathetic "Address to the Wood- 
 lark," your elegant panegyric on Caledonia, and your 
 affecting verses on Chloris's illness. Every repeated 
 perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to 
 " Laddie, lie near me," though not equal to these, is 
 vei'y pleasing. 
 
 No. Lxxr. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 [The poet transcribes " How cruel are the parents" and 
 " Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion" (Poetical Works, p. 127), 
 and adds—] 
 
 Well ! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your 
 orders — your tailor could not be more pimctual. I am 
 just now in a high fit for poetising, provided that the 
 strait jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can, in a 
 post or two, administer a little of the intoxicating potion 
 of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's 
 phrensy to any height you want. I am at this moment 
 " holding high converse" with the Pluses, and have not 
 a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. 
 
 No. LXXII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 May^ 1795. 
 
 Ten thousand thanks for your elegant present — 
 though I am ashamed of the value of it being bestowed 
 on a man who has not, by any means, merited such an 
 instance of kindness. I have shown it to two or three 
 judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with 
 me in classing it as a fii"st-rate production. My phiz 
 is sae kenspeckle, that the very joiner's apprentice, 
 whom Mrs Burns employed to break up the parcel (I 
 was out of town that day), knew it at once. My most 
 grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my 
 rustic muse so much with liis masterly pencil. One 
 strange coincidence is, that the Uttle one who is making 
 the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the most 
 strilcing lilceness of an ill-deedie, d — n'd, wee, rumble- 
 gairie urchin of mine, whom, from that propensity to 
 witty wickedness, and manfu' mischief, which, even at 
 twa days' auld, I foresaw would form the striking fea- 
 tures of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol, after a 
 certain friend of mine, who is one of the masters of a 
 grammar-school in a city which shall be nameless. 
 
 Give the enclosed epigram to my much-valued friend 
 Cunningham, and tell him, that on Wednesday I go to 
 visit a friend of his, to whomjiis friendly partiality in 
 speaking of me, in a manner introduced me — I mean a 
 well-known mihtary and literary character, Colonel 
 Dirom. 
 
 You do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. 
 Are they condemned 1 
 
 No. LXXIII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 \%th May, 1795. 
 Ix gives me great pleasure to find that you are aU 
 so well satisfied with Mr Allan's production. The 
 chance resemblance of your little fellow, Avhose promig- 
 
 iug disposition appeared so very early, and suggested 
 whom he should be named after, is curious enough. I 
 am acquainted with that person, who is a prodigy of 
 learning and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though no 
 saint. 
 
 You really make me blush when you tell me you 
 have not merited the drawing from me. I do not think 
 I can ever repay you, or sufiiciently esteem and respect 
 you, for the hberal and kind manner in which you have 
 entered into the spirit of my undertaking, which could 
 not have been perfected without you. So I beg you 
 would not make a fool of me again by speaking of 
 obligation. 
 
 I Mke your two last songs very much, and am happy 
 to find you are in such a high fit of poetising. Long 
 may it last ! Clarke has made a fine pathetic air to 
 Mallet's sujperlative ballad of " William and Margaret," 
 and is to give it to me, to be enrolled am.ong the elect. 
 
 No. LXXIV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 In '- Whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad," the itera- 
 tion of that line is tiresome to my ear. Here goes 
 what I think is an improvement : — 
 
 " Oh %vhistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad ; 
 Oh wliistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad ; 
 Tho' father and mother and a' should gae mad, 
 Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad." 
 
 In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the Priest of 
 the Nine, offer up the incense of Parnassus — a dame 
 whom the Graces liave attired in witchcraft, and whom 
 the Loves have armed with Hghtning — a fair one, herself 
 the heroine of the song, msists on the amendment, and 
 dispute her commands if you dare ! 
 
 [Here follows " This is no my ain lassie :" see Poetical Works, 
 p. 128.] 
 
 Do you know that you have roused the toi-pidity of 
 Clarke at last \ He has requested me to Avrite three 
 or four songs for him, which he is to set to music him- 
 self. The enclosed sheet contains two songs for him, 
 which please to present to my valued friend Cunningham. 
 
 I enclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, 
 and that you may copy the song " Oh bonnie was yon 
 rosy brier." I do not know whether I am right, but 
 that song pleases me ; and as it is extremely probable 
 that Clarke's newly-roused celestial spark wiU be soon 
 smothered in the fogs of indolence, if you like the song, 
 it may go as Scottish verses to the air of '' I wish my 
 love was in a mire ;" and poor Ersldne's English lines 
 may follow. 
 
 I enclose you a " For a' that and a' that," which was 
 never in print : it is a much superior song to mine. I 
 have been told that it was composed by a lady. 
 
 [The poet adds, as addressed to ]\Ir Cunningham, the song, 
 " Now spring has clad the grove in green:" like-\\ise, " Oh 
 honnie was yon rosy brier." See Poetical Works, p. 128.] 
 
 Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition 
 of my poems, presented to the lady whom, in so many 
 fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent 
 sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under 
 the name of Chloris : — 
 
 " To Chloris." [See Poetical Works, p. 39.] 
 
 Une hagatelle de I'amitie. Coila. 
 
 No. LXXV. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, dd Augusi, 1795. 
 
 Mv DEAR Sir— This will be deUvered to you by a Dr 
 Brianton, who has read your wox'ks, and pants for the 
 honour of your acquaintance. I do not know the 
 gentleman ; but his friend, who applied to me for tins 
 introduction, being an excellent young man, I have no 
 doubt he is worthy of all acceptation. 
 
 i\Iy eyes have just been gladdened, and my mind 
 
116 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 feasted, with }our last packet — full of pleasant things 
 indeed. What an imagination is yours ! — it is super- 
 fluous to tell you that I am deUghted with all the three 
 songs, as well as with your elegant and tender verses 
 to Chloris. 
 
 1 am sorry you should be induced to alter " Oh Avhistle 
 and I'll come to ye, my lad," to the prosaic line, " Thy 
 Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad," I must be permitted 
 to say that I do not think the latter either reads or sings 
 so well as the former. I wish, therefore, you would in 
 my name petition the charming Jeanie, whoever she be, 
 to let the hne remain unaltered, 
 
 I should be happy to see Mr Clarke produce a few 
 airs to be joined to your verses. Every body regrets 
 his writing so very little, as every body acknowledges 
 his ability to write well. Pray was the resolution formed 
 coolly before dinner, or was it a midnight vow made 
 over a bowl of punch with the bai'd ? 
 
 I shall not fail to give Mr Cunningham what you 
 have sent him. 
 
 P.S The lady's " For a' that, and a' that," is sensible 
 
 enough, but no more to be compared to yours than I 
 to Hercules. 
 
 No. LXXVI. 
 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 [The poet transcribes the song, ' ' Forlorn my love, no comfort 
 ear :" Poetical AVorks, p. 128.J 
 
 I 
 
 publish a collection of all our favourite airs and songs 
 in octavo, embellished with a number of etchings by our 
 ingenious friend Allan ; what is your opinion of this ? 
 
 No. LXXX. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 February, 1796. 
 
 I\IA^a• thanks, my dear Sii*, for your handsome, elegant 
 present to Mrs Burns, and for my remaining volume " 
 of P. Pindar. Peter is a delightful fellow, and a first 
 favourite of mine. I am much pleased with your idea 
 of publishing a collection of our songs in octavo with 
 etcliings. I am extremely willing to lend every assist- 
 ance in my power. The Irish airs I shall cheerfully 
 undertake the task of finding verses for. 
 
 I have already, you know, equipt three with words, 
 and the other day I strung up a kind of rhapsody to 
 another Hibernian melody, which I admire much. 
 
 [Here follows " Hey for a lass wi' a tocher," for which see 
 Poetical Works, p. 128.] 
 
 If this will do, you have now four of my Irish en- 
 gagement. In my by-j)ast songs I dislike one thing ; 
 the name Chloris — I meant it as the fictitious name of 
 a certain lady : but, on second thoughts, it is a high 
 incongruity to have a Greek appellation to a Scottish 
 pastoral baUad. Of this, and some things else, in my 
 next : I have more amendments to propose. What you 
 
 How do you like the foregoing? I have written it j «^f mentioned of "flaxen locks" is just : they cannot 
 within this hour: so much for the Ipeed of my Pegasus ; ! ffl^L'f *?_^;.\^^tS!l ^ff f^^^^^^ ""^ ^^^''^^' ^^ *^'^ 
 but what say you to his bottom ? 
 
 No, LXXVI I. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 [The poet transcribes " Last May abraw wooer ;" which, with 
 the notes appended to it by Dr Currie, is inserted in the Poetical 
 Works, p. 129. He then adds the fragment, " Why, why, tell 
 thy lover ?" which is also inserted in the Poetical Works, p. 129, 
 and proceeds—] 
 
 Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that 
 I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it. 
 
 I am at present quite occupied with the charming 
 sensations of the toothache, so have not a word to spare. 
 
 No. LXXVIII. 
 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 3d Jnne, 1795. 
 JMy dear Sir — Your English verses to " Let me in 
 this ae night," are tender and beautiful ; and your 
 ballad to the " Lothian Lassie " is a master-piece for 
 its humour and naicete. The fragment for the " Cale- 
 donian Hunt" is quite suited to the oi'iginal measure 
 of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the fragment must 
 content it. I would ratliei', as I said before, have had 
 bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the poet; but, 
 nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord, make us 
 thankful ! 
 
 No. LXXIX. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 bth Feb. 179G. 
 
 Oh Robby Burns, are ye sleeping yet ? 
 
 Or are ye wauking, I would wit ? 
 The pause you have made, my dear Sir, is awful ! 
 Am I never to hear from you again ? I know and I 
 lament how much you have been afilicted of late ; but 
 I trust that returning health and spirits will now enable 
 you to resume the pen, and delight us with your musings. 
 I have still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs that I 
 wish " married to immortal verse." We have several 
 true-born Irishmen on the Scottish list ; but they are 
 now naturalised, and reckoned our own good subjects. 
 Indeed, we have none better. I believe I befoi-e told 
 you that I have been much urged bv some friends to 
 
 also again — God bless you 
 
 No. LXXXI. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Your " Hey for a lass wi' a tocher" is a most excel- 
 lent song, and with you the subject is something new 
 indeed. It is the first time I have seen you debasing 
 the god of soft desire into an amateur of acres and 
 guineas. 
 
 I am happy to find you approve of my proposed 
 octavo edition. Allan has designed and etched about 
 twenty plates, and I am to have my choice of them for 
 that work. Independently of the Hogarthian humour 
 with which they abound, they exhibit the character and 
 costume of the* Scottish peasantry with inimitable feli- 
 city. In this respect, he himself says, they will far 
 exceed the aquatinta plates he did for the Gentle 
 Shepherd, because in the etching he sees clearly what 
 he is doing, but not so with the aquatinta, which he 
 could not manage to his mind. 
 
 The Dutch boors of Ostade are scarcely more cha- 
 i-acteristic and natural than the Scottish figures in those 
 etchings. 
 
 No. LXXXII. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 April, 1796. 
 
 Alas ! my dear Thomson, I fear it will be some tune 
 ere I tune my lyre again ! " By Babel streams I have 
 sat and wept" almost ever since I wrote you last; I 
 have only known existence by the pressure of the heavy 
 hand of sickness, and have counted time by the reper- 
 cussions of pain ! Rheumatism, cold, and fever, have 
 formed to me a terrible combination. I close my eyes 
 in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the 
 vernal day, and say with poor Fergusson, 
 
 Say wherefore has an all-indiilgent heaven 
 Light to the comfortless and wretched given ? 
 
 This will be delivered to you by a Mrs Hyslop, land- 
 lady of the Globe Tavern here, which for these many 
 years has been my howff, and where our friend Clarke 
 and I have had many a merry squeeze. I am highly de- 
 lighted with Mr Allan's etchings. " Woo'd an' married 
 an' a'," is admirable ! The grouping is beyond all praise. 
 
 * Our poet never explained what name he would have substi- 
 tuted for Chloris.— Mn Tho.mson. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR THOMSON. 
 
 117 
 
 The expression of the figm'es, conformable to the story 
 in the ballad, is absolutely faultless perfection. I next 
 admire " Tui'nimspike." What I like least is " Jenny 
 said to Jocky." Besides the female being in lier appear- 
 ance *****, if you take her stooping into the account, 
 she is at least two inches taller than her lover. Poor 
 Cleghorn ! I sincerely sympathise with him. Happy 
 I am to think that he yet has a well-grounded hope of 
 health and enjoyment in this world. As for me — but 
 that is a sad subject ! 
 
 No. LXXXIII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 AthMay, 1796. 
 
 I NERD not tell you, my good Sir, what concern the 
 receipt of your last gave me, and how much I sjinpa- 
 thise in your sufferings. But do not, I beseech you, 
 give yourself up to despondency, or speak the language 
 of despair. The vigour of your constitution, I trust, 
 will soon set you on your feet again ; and then, it is to 
 be hoped, you will see the v/isdom and the necessity of 
 taking due care of a life so valuable to your family, to 
 your friends, and to the world. 
 
 Trusting that your next will bring agreeable accounts 
 of your convalescence and retui'ning good spirits, I 
 remain, with sincere regard, yours. 
 
 P.S. Mrs Hyslop, I doubt not, delivered the gold 
 seal to you in good condition. 
 
 No. LXXXIV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 My dear Sir — I once mentioned to you an air which 
 I have long admired — " Here's a health to them that's 
 awa, hiney," but I forget if you took any notice of it. I 
 have just been tidying to suit it with verses, and I beg 
 leave to recommend the air to your attention once 
 more. I have only begun it. 
 
 [Here follow the three first stanzas of the song : the fourth was 
 found among his MSS. after his death. For the entire song, see 
 Poetical Works, p. 129.] 
 
 No. LXXXV. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 This will be delivered by a Mr Lewai's, a young 
 felloAV of uncommon merit. As he will be a day or two 
 in town, you will have leisure, if you choose, to -\\Tite 
 me by him : and if you have a spare half hour to spend 
 with him, I shall place your kindness to my account. 
 I have no copies of the songs I have sent you, and I 
 have taken a fancy to review them all, and possibly 
 may mend some of them ; so, when you have complete 
 leisure, I will thank you for either the originals or 
 copies.* I had rather be the author of five well-written 
 songs than of ten otherwise. 1 have great hopes that 
 the genial influence of the approaching summer will set 
 me to rights, but as yet I cannot boast of returning 
 health. I have now reason to believe that my com- 
 plaint is a fl}Ting gout — a sad business ! 
 
 Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and remember me 
 to him. 
 
 This should have been delivered to you a month ago. 
 I am still very pooi'ly, but should like much to hear 
 from you. 
 
 No. LXXXVI. 
 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 
 
 Brow, on the Solway-frith, I2th July, 1796. 
 After all my boasted independence, curst necessity 
 compels me to implore you for five pounds. A cruel 
 wretch of a haberdasher, to whom I owe an account, 
 taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced 
 a process, and will infallibly put me into jail. Do, 
 for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by return 
 of post. Forgive me this earnestness, but the horrors 
 of a jail have made me half distracted. I do not ask all 
 
 * It is needless to gay that this revisal BiU'ns did not liye to 
 perform.— CuRRi k. 
 
 this gratuitously ; for, upon returning lieaith, I hereby 
 promise and engage to furnish you with five pounds' 
 worth of the neatest song-genius you have seen. I tried 
 my hand on " Rothennirche" this morning. The 
 measure is so difficult that it is impossible to infur.e 
 much genius into the lines ; they are on the other side. 
 Forgive, forgive me ! 
 
 [For the song alluded to, entitled " Fairest Maid on Devon's 
 Banks," see Poetical "Works, p. 129. Dr Currie adds the follow- 
 ing note: — " Tliese verses, and the letter enclosing them, are 
 written in a character that marks the very feeble state of Burns's 
 bodily strength. I\Ir Syme is of opinion that he could not have 
 been in any danger of a jail at Dumfries, where certainly he had 
 many firm friends, nor under any such necessity of imploring 
 aid from Edinburgh. But about this time his reason began to be 
 at times unsettled, and the horrors of a jail perpetually haunted 
 his imagination. He died on the 2lst of this month."] 
 
 No. LXXXVII. 
 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 
 
 Uth July, 1796. 
 
 My dear Sir — Ever since I received your melan- 
 choly letters by Mrs Hyslop, I have been ruminating in 
 what manner I could endeavour to alleviate your suf- 
 ferings. Again and again I thought of a pecuniary 
 offer, but the recollection of one of your letters on 
 this subject, and the fear of offending your independent 
 spirit, checked my resolution. I thank you heartily, 
 therefore, for the frankness of youi* letter of the 12tla, 
 and, with great pleasure, enclose a draft for the very 
 sum I proposed sending.* Would I were Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer but for one day, for your sake ! 
 
 Pray, my good Sir, is it not possible for you to muster 
 a volume of poetry ? If too much trouble to you, in 
 the present state of your health, some literary friend 
 might be found here, who would select and arrange 
 from your manuscripts, and take upon him the task 
 of editor. In the meantime, it could be advei^tised to 
 be published by subscription. Do not shun this mode 
 of obtaining the value of your labour : remember. Pope 
 published the Ihad by subscription. Think of this, my 
 dear Bui'ns, and do not reckon me intrusive with my 
 advice. You are too well convinced of the respect and 
 friendship I bear you to impute any tiling I say to an 
 unworthy motive. Yours faithfully. 
 
 The verses to " Rothemurche" will answer finely. I 
 am happy to see you can still tune your lyre. 
 
 * [The pecimiary circxmastances attending Mr Thomson's con- 
 nection with Bums, appear liable, at the present day, to much mis- 
 apprehension. This gentleman, whose work has iiltimately met 
 with a good sale, seems to be regarded by some as an enriched 
 man who measm-ed a stinted reward to a poor one, looking for a 
 greater recompense; and several writers have on this ground 
 spoken of him in a very ungracious manner. 
 
 AMien we go back to the time of the correspondence between 
 the two men, and consider their respective circumstances, and 
 the relation in which they came to stand towards each other, 
 the conduct of Mr Thomson assumes quite a different aspect. He 
 and Bums were enthusiasts, the one in music, the other in 
 poetry; they were both of them servants of the government, on 
 limited salaries, with rising families. Mr Thomson, with little 
 prospect of profit, engaged in the preparation of a work, which 
 was designed to set forth the music of his native land to everj' 
 possible advantage, and of which the paper and print alone were 
 likely to exhaust his very moderate resources. For literary aid 
 in this labour of love, he applied to the great Scottish poet, who 
 had already gratuitously assisted Johnson in his Scottish Musical 
 Museum. Mr Thomson offered reasonable remuneration, but 
 the poet scorned the idea of recompense, and declared he would 
 write only because it gave him pleasure. Nevertheless, Mr 
 Thomson, in the course of their correspondence, ventured to send 
 a pecuniary present, which, although not forming an adequate 
 recompense for Burns's services, was still one which such men 
 might be apt, at that period, to offer and accept from each other. 
 This Bums, with hesitation, accepted, but sternly forbade any 
 further remittance, protesting that it would put a period to their 
 correspondence. Yet Mr Thomson, from time to time, expressed 
 his sense of obligation by presents of a different nature, and these 
 I the poet accepted. Burns ultimately, on an emergency, requested 
 i a renewal of the foi-mer remittance, using such terms on the 
 j occasion as showed that his former scorn of all pecuniary remu- 
 
118 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 COMMON-PLACE BOOKS. 
 
 II 
 
 FIRST COMMON-PLACE BOOK. 
 
 BEGUN IN APRIL, 1783. 
 
 In rummaging over some old papers, I lighted on a MS. of my 
 early years, in which I had determined to write myself out, as 
 I was placed by fortime among a class of men to whom my ideas 
 would have been nonsense. I had meant that the book should 
 have lain by me, in the fond hope that some time or other, even 
 after I was no more, my thoughts would fall into the hands of 
 somebody capable of appreciating their value. Its sets off thus — 
 Sums to Mr Riddel of Friars' Carse. 
 
 " Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, &c., 
 by Robert Burness — a man who had little art in making 
 
 Deration was still a predominant feeling in his mind. Mr Thom- 
 son, therefore, sent the very sum asked, believing, if he presumed 
 to send more, that he would run a greater risk of offending than 
 of gratifying the poet in the then irritable state of his feelings. 
 In all this we humbly conceive that no xmprejudiced person at 
 the time would have seen groimds for any charge against Mr 
 Thomson. 
 
 It may fm-ther be remarked, that, at the time of the poet's 
 death, though many songs had been written, only six had been 
 published, namely, those in the first half volume, so that, dur- 
 ing the life of the poet, the publisher had realised nothing by the 
 songs, and must have still been greatly doubtful if he should ever 
 recover what he had already expended on the work. Before 
 many more of the songs had appeared in connection with his 
 music, the friends of the poet's family had resolved to collect his 
 works for publication ; upon which Mr Thomson thought it a 
 duty incumbent on him to give up the manuscripts of the whole 
 of the songs, together with the poet's and his own letters, to Dr 
 Currie, that they might form part of the edition of Bums's works. 
 The full benefit of them, as literary compositions, was thus realised 
 for the poeVs family, Mr Thomson only retaining an exclusive right 
 to publish them afterwards in connection with the music. And 
 hence, after all, the debtor side of his account with Burns is not so 
 great as it is apt to appear. No further debate could arise on this 
 subject, if it were to be regarded in the light in which the parties 
 chiefly interested have regarded it. We see that Burns himself 
 manifests no trace of a suspicion that his correspondent was a 
 selfish or niggardly man ; and it is equally certain, that his sur- 
 viving family always looked on that gentleman as one of the 
 poet's and their own kindest friends. Here, we trust, the mat- 
 ter will at length rest. 
 
 It is a curious fact, not hitherto known to the public, nor even 
 to Mr Thomson himself, that the five pounds sent by him to 
 Bums, as well as the larger sum which the poet borrowed about 
 the same time from his cousin, Mr Burness of Montrose, was 
 not made use of on the occasion, but that the bank orders for 
 both sums remained in Bums's house at the time of his death. 
 This is proved by the following document, for which we are 
 indebted to Mr Alexander Macdonald, of the<General Register 
 House, Edinburgh :— 
 •' The Testament Dative, and Inventory of the debts and sums 
 
 of money which were justly owing to umquhile Robert Bums, 
 
 Ofl&cer of Excise in Dumfries, at the time of his decease, viz. 
 
 the day of July last, faithfully made out and given up by 
 
 Jean Armour, widow of the said defunct, and executrix qua 
 
 relict decerned to him by decreet dative of the Commissary of 
 
 Dumfries, dated 16th September last. 
 
 There was justly owing to the said defunct, at the time of his 
 decease aforesaid, the principal sum of five pounds sterling, con- 
 tained in a promissory note, dated the 14th July last, granted 
 by Sir William Forbes and Co., bankers in Edinburgh, to George 
 Thomson, payable on demand ; which note is by the said Greorge 
 Thomson indorsed, payable to the defunct : Item, the principal 
 sum of ten poimds sterling, contained in a draft dated the 15th 
 July last, drawn by Robert Christie upon the manager for the 
 British Linen Co. in Edinburgh, in favour of James Burness or 
 order; which draft is by the said James Burness indorsed payable 
 4o the defunct. 
 
 Sum of the debts owing to the defunct, £15 sterling. 
 
 Thomas Goldie of Craigmuie, commissary of the commissariat 
 of Dumfries, specially constituted for confirmation of testaments 
 within the bounds of the said commissariat — understanding 
 that, after due summoning and lawful waming, made by public 
 form of edict of the executors, testamentary spouse, bairns, if 
 any were, and intromitters with the goods and gear of the said 
 umquhile Robert Burns, and all others having or pretending to 
 
 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 and 
 irrational. As he was but little indebted to 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 so" -■ entertainment to a curious observer of 
 human na e to see how a ploughman thinks, and 
 feels, undex 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, on all the species." 
 
 There are numbers in the world who do not want sense to make 
 a figure, so much as an opinion of their own abilities to put them 
 upon recording their observations, and allowing them the same 
 importance which tl jy do to those which appear in print.— 
 Shenstone. 
 
 April, 1783. 
 Notwithstanding all that has been said against love, 
 respecting the folly and weakness it leads a young inex- 
 perienced mind into, still I think it in a great measure 
 deserves the liighest encomiums that have been passed 
 upon it. If any thing on earth deserves the name of 
 rapture or transport, it is the feelings of green eighteen 
 in the company of the mistress of his heart, when she 
 repays him with an equal return of affection. 
 
 August. 
 
 There is certainly some connection between love and 
 music, and poetry; and, therefore, I have always 
 thought it a fine touch of nature, that passage in a 
 modern love-composition :— 
 
 As towards her cot he jogg'd along. 
 Her name was frequent in his song- 
 
 For my own part, I never had the least thought or 
 inclination of turning poet till I got once heartily in 
 love, and then i-hyme and song were, in a manner, 
 the spontaneous language of my heart. The following 
 composition was the first of my performances, and done 
 at an early period of life, when my heart glowed with 
 honest warm simplicity, unacquainted and uncorrupted 
 with the ways of a wicked world. The performance is, 
 indeed, very puerile and silly ; but I am always pleased 
 with it, as it recalls to my mind those happy days when 
 my heart was yet honest, and my tongue sincere. The 
 subject of it was a young girl, who really deserved all 
 the praises I have bestowed on her. I not only had 
 this opinion of her then, but I actually think so still, 
 now tliat the spell is long since broken, and the enchant- 
 ment at an end. 
 
 " Oh once I lov'd a bonnie lass," &c * 
 
 Lest my works should be thought below criticism, or 
 meet with a critic who perhaps will not look on them 
 with so candid and favourable an eye, I am determined 
 to criticise them myself. 
 
 The first distich of the first stanza is quite too much 
 in the flimsy strain of our ordinary street ballads ; and, 
 on the other hand, the second distich is too much in 
 the other extreme. The expression is a little awkward, 
 and the sentiment too serious. Stanza the second I am 
 well pleased with, and I think it conveys a fine idea of 
 that amiable part of the sex — the agreeables — or what, 
 in our Scotch dialect, we call a sweet sonsy lass. The 
 third stanza has a little of the flimsy turn in it, and 
 the third line has rather too serious a cast. The fourth 
 stanza is a very indifferent one ; the first line is, indeed, 
 all in the strain of the second stanza, but the rest is 
 
 have interest in the matter imderwritten, &c &c., I decerned 
 therein, die., and in his majesty's name, constitute, ordain, and 
 confirm the said Jean Annour, executrix qua relict to the said 
 defunct, and in and to the debt and sums of money above written. 
 At Dumfries, 6th Oct. 179(3."] * [See Poetical Works, p. 130.] 
 
FIRST COMMON-PLACE BOOK. 
 
 119 
 
 mere expletive. The thoughts in the fifth stanza come 
 finely up to my favourite idea — a sweet sonsy lass : the 
 last line, however, halts a httle. The same sentiments 
 are kept up with equal spirit and tenderness in the 
 sixth stanza ; but the second and fourth Hnes, ending 
 with short syllables, hurt the whole. The seventh 
 stanza has several minute faults ; but I remember I 
 composed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and to this 
 hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, my blood 
 saUies, at the remembrance. 
 
 f >,ptemher. 
 I entirely agree with that judicious phi ,fopher, Mr 
 Smith, in his excellent Theory of Mora r'lentiments, 
 that remorse is the most painful sentim ^^ that can 
 embitter the human bosom. Any ordimry pitch of 
 fortitude may bear up tolerably well under those cala- 
 mities, in the procurement of which we ourselves have 
 had no hand; but when our own follies, or crimes, 
 have made us miserable and wretched, to bear up with 
 manly firmness, and, at the same time, have a proper 
 penitential sense of our misconduct is a glorious effort 
 of self-command. 
 
 Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 
 
 That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish. 
 
 Beyond comparison the worst are those 
 
 That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
 
 In every other circumstance, the mind 
 
 Has this to say — " It was no deed of mine ;" 
 
 But when to all the evil of misfortune 
 
 This stmg is added— "Blame thy foohsh self!" 
 
 Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 
 
 The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt — 
 
 Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others ; 
 
 The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us, 
 
 Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin !— 
 
 Oh burning hell ! in all thy store of torments. 
 
 There's not a keener lash ! 
 
 Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 
 
 Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 
 
 Can reason down its agonising throbs ; 
 
 And, after proper purpose of amendment, 
 
 Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ? 
 
 Oh, happy ! happy ! enviable man ! 
 
 Oh glorious magnanimity of soul ! 
 
 March, 1784. 
 
 I have often observed, in the course of my experience 
 of human life, that every man, even the worst, has 
 something good about him ; though very often nothing 
 else than a happy temperament of constitution inclining 
 him to this or that virtue. For this reason, no man can 
 say in what degree any other person, besides himself, 
 can be, with strict justice, called wicked. Let any of 
 the strictest character for regularity of conduct among 
 us, examine impartially how many vices he has never 
 been guilty of, not from any care or vigilance, but for 
 want of opportunity, or some accidental circumstance 
 intervening — ^how many of the weaknesses of mankind 
 he has escaped, because he was out of the line of such 
 temptation ; and, what often, if not always, weighs more 
 than all the rest, how much he is indebted to the world's 
 good opinion, because the world does not know all — I 
 say, any man who can thus think, mil scan the failings, 
 nay, the faults and crimes, of manldnd around him, 
 with a brother's eye. 
 
 I have often courted the acquaintance of that part of 
 mankind, commonly known by the ordinary phrase of 
 blackguards, sometimes farther than was consistent 
 with the safety of my character ; those who, by thought- 
 less prodigaUty or headstrong passions, have been driven 
 to ruin. Though disgraced by folUes, nay, sometimes 
 stained with guilt, I have yet found among them, in 
 not a few instances, some of the noblest virtues — ^mag- 
 nanimity, generosity, disinterested friendship, and even 
 modesty. 
 
 April, 
 As I am what tlie men of the worW, if they knew 
 
 such a man, would call a whimsical mortal, I have 
 various sources of pleasure and enjoyment, which are, 
 m a manner, peculiar to myself, or some here and 
 there such other out-of-the-way person. Such is the 
 peculiar pleasure I take in the season of winter, more 
 than the rest of the year. This, I beheve, may be partly 
 owing to my misfortunes giving my mind a melancholy 
 cast ; but there is something even in the 
 Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste, 
 Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth, 
 which raises the mind to a serious subHmity, fayourable 
 to every thing great and noble. There is scarcely any 
 earthly object gives me more — I do not know if I 
 should call it pleasure — but something which exalts 
 me, something which enraptures me — than to walk in the 
 sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy 
 winter-day, and hear the stormy wind howling among 
 the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my best 
 season for devotion ; my mind is wrapt up in a kind of 
 enthusiasm to Him, who, in the pompous language of 
 the Hebrew bard, " walks on the wings of the wind." 
 In one of these seasons, just after a train of misfor- 
 tunes, I composed the following : — 
 
 " The wintry west extends his blast," &c.* 
 
 Shenstone finely observes, that love-verses, writ 
 without any real passion, are the most nauseous of all 
 conceits ; and I have often thought, that no man can be 
 a proper critic of love-composition, except he himself, 
 in one or more instances, have been a warm votary of 
 this passion. As I have been all along a miserable 
 dupe to love, and have been led into a thousand weak- 
 nesses and follies by it, for that reason I put the more 
 confidence in my critical skill, in distinguishing foppery 
 and conceit from real passion and nature. Whether 
 the following song will stand the test, I will not pretend 
 to say, because it is my own : only I can say it was, at 
 the time, genuine from the heart : — 
 
 *' Behind yon hills where Lugar flows," &c.t 
 
 March, 1784. 
 There was a certain period of my life that my spirit 
 was broke by repeated losses and disasters, which 
 threatened, and indeed effected, the utter min of my 
 fortune. My body, too, was attacked by that most 
 dreadful distemper, a hypochondria, or confirmed me- 
 lancholy. In this wretched state, the recollection of 
 which makes me yet, shudder, I hung my harp on the 
 willow trees, except in some lucid intervals, in one of 
 which I composed the following : — 
 
 « Oh thou Great Being ! what thou art," &c. J 
 
 April. 
 
 The following song is a wild rhapsody, miserably 
 deficient in versification ; but as the sentiments are the 
 genuine feeUngs of my heart, for that reason I have a 
 particular pleasure in conning it over. 
 " My father was a farmer 
 
 Upon the Carrick border, 0," &c. § 
 
 April. 
 
 1 think the whole species of young men may be 
 naturally enough divided into two grand classes, which 
 I shall call the grave and the merry; though, by the bye, 
 these tenns do not with propriety enough express my 
 ideas. The grave I shall cast into the usual division of 
 those who are goaded on by the love of money, and those 
 whose darling wish is to make a figure in the world. 
 The merry are the men of pleasure of all denomina- 
 tions ; the jovial lads, who have too much fire and spirit 
 to have any settled rule of action, but, without much 
 deliberation, follow the strong impulses of nature : the 
 thoughtless, the careless, the indolent — in particular, 
 he who, with a happy sweetness of natural temper 
 and a cheerful vacancy of thought, steals through Ufe— 
 generally, indeed, in poverty and obscurity ; but poverty 
 
 * [See Poetical Works? p. 54.] 
 ± [The same, p. 54.] 
 
 t [The same, p. 96.1 
 § [The same, p. 130,] 
 
120 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE AVORKS. 
 
 and obscurity are only evils to liim who can sit gravely 
 down and make a repining comparison betweexi his own 
 situation and that of others ; and lastly, to grace the 
 quoinun, such are, generally, those whose heads are 
 capable of all the towerings of genius, and whose hearts 
 are warmed with all the delicacy of feeling. 
 
 I 
 
 August. 
 
 The foregoing was to Imve been an elaborate disser- 
 tation on the various species of men ; but as I cannot 
 please myself in the arrangement of my ideas, I must 
 wait till' further experience and nicer observation throw 
 more light on the subject. In the mean time, I shall 
 set down the following fragment, which, as it is the 
 genuine language of my heart, will enable any body to 
 determine which of the classes I belong to : — 
 " There's nought but care on ev'ry ban'. 
 In ev'ry hour that passes, 0," &c.* 
 
 As the grand end of human life is to cultivate an 
 intercourse with that Being to w^hom we owe life, with 
 every enjojinent that renders life deUghtful, and to 
 maintain an integritive conduct towards our fellow- 
 creatures — that so by forming piety and virtue into 
 habit, we may be fit members for that society of the 
 pious and the good, which reason and revelation teach 
 us to expect beyond the gi'ave — I do not see that the 
 turn of mind and pursuits of such a one as the above 
 verses describe ; one who spends the hours and 
 thoughts which the vocations of the day can spare with 
 Ossian, Shakspeare, Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, &c. ; 
 or, as the maggot takes him, a gun, a fiddle, or a song 
 to make or mend ; and at all times some heart's-dear 
 bonnie lass in view — I say, I do not see that the turn 
 of mind and pursuits of such a one are in the least 
 more inimical to the sacred interests of piety and virtue, 
 than the even lawful bustling and straining after the 
 wox'ld's riches and honours : and I do not see but he may 
 gain heaven as well — which, by the bye, is no mean con- 
 sideration — who steals thi'ough the vale of life, amusing 
 himself with every little flower that fortune throws in 
 his way, as he, who, straining straight forward, and per- 
 haps spattering all about him, gains some of life's little 
 eminences, where, after all, he can only see and be seen 
 a little more conspicuously than what, in the pride of 
 his heart, he is apt to term the poor, indolent devil he 
 has left behind him. 
 
 Atigust. 
 A Prayer, when fainting fits, and other alarming 
 symptoms of a pleurisy, or some other dangerous dis- 
 order, which indeed still threatens me, first put nature 
 on the alarm : — 
 
 " Oh thou unlaiown, Almighty cause 
 Of all my hope and fear ! " &c.t' 
 
 Misgivings in the hour of despondency, and prospect 
 of death : — 
 
 " Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene !" &c. J \ 
 
 being deficient in what Sterne calls " that understrap- 
 ping virtue of discretion."^ I am so apt to a lapsus 
 ImgiicB, that I sometuues tliiuk the character of a cer- 
 tain great man I have read of somewhere is very much 
 apropos to myself — that he was a compound of great 
 talents andgi-eat folly. N. B. — To try if I can discover 
 the causes of this wretched infirmity, and, if possible, 
 to mend it.* 
 
 August. 
 However I am pleased with the works of our Scotch 
 poets, particularly the excellent Ramsay, and the still 
 more excellent Fergusson, yet I am hurt to see other 
 places of Scotland, their towns, rivers, Avoods, haughs, 
 &c,, immortalised in such celebrated performances, 
 while my dear native country, the ancient bailieries of 
 Carrick, Kyle, and Cunningham, famous both in ancient 
 and modern times for a gallant and warlike race of 
 inhabitants — a country where civil, and particularly 
 religious liberty, have ever found their first support, 
 and then.' last asylum — a country, the bu'th-place of 
 many famous philosophers, soldiers, and statesmen, and 
 the scene of many important events recorded in Scottish 
 history, particularly a great many of the actions of the 
 glorious Wallace, the Saviour of his country ; yet, we 
 have never had one Scotch poet of any eminence, to 
 make the fertile banks of Irvine, the romantic Avood- 
 lands and sequestered scenes on Ajt, and the heathy 
 mountainous source and winding sweep of Doon, emu- 
 late Tay, Forth, Ettrick, Tweed, &c. This is a com- 
 plaint I would gladly remedy, but, alas ! I am far 
 unequal to the task, both in native genius and educa- 
 tion. Obscui'e I am, and obscure I must be, though no 
 young poet, nor young soldier's heart, ever beat more 
 fondly for fame than mine — 
 
 And if there is no other scene of being 
 \Miere my insatiate wish may have its fill— 
 This something at my heart that heaves for room, 
 INIy best, my dearest part, was made in vain. 
 
 A utjust. 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Tu.vE — / had a horse, I had nae mair. 
 When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 
 
 i\Iy mind it was nae steady. 
 Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 
 
 A mistress still I had aye. 
 But when I came roun' by ]\Iauchline toun, 
 
 Not dreadin' any body, 
 My heart was caught before I tliouglit, 
 
 And by a Mauchline lady. 
 
 EGOTISMS FROM MY OWN SENSATION'S. 
 
 Mag. 
 
 I don't well know what is tlie reason of it, but some 
 
 how or other, though I am, when I have a mind, pretty 
 
 generally beloved, yet I never could get the art of 
 
 commanding respect.§ I imagine it is o\\ing to mj- 
 
 * [See Poetical Works, p. 97-] 
 
 t [See Poetical Works, p. 55.] 
 
 t [See Poetical Works, p. 55.] 
 
 § " There is no doubt," says Cromek, " that if Bums at any 
 time really laboured under this infirmity, he was successful in 
 inquiring into its causes, and also in his efforts to amend it. 
 When he was, at a later period of life, introduced into the siipe- 
 rior circles of society, he did not appear then as a cypher, nor did j a great orator— an original and very versatile genius. 
 
 September. 
 
 There is a great irregularity in the old Scotch songs, 
 
 a redundancy of syllables with respect to that exactness 
 
 of accent and measure that the English poetry requires, 
 
 but which glides in, most melodiously, with the respec- 
 
 j tive tunes to which they are set. For instance, the 
 fine old song of " The MHl, Mill, 0," to give it a plain, 
 prosaic reading, it halts prodigiously out of measure : 
 on the other hand, the song set to the same tune in 
 
 ! Bremner's collection of Scotch songs, which begins, 
 
 I judge of human character, bears an honourable testimony to the 
 I habitual firmness, decision, and independence of his mind, which 
 constitute the only solid basis of respectability. 
 
 ' Bmns was a very singular man in the strength and variety 
 of his faculties. I saw him, and once only, in the year 1792. We 
 conversed together for about an hour in the street of Dumfries, 
 and engaged in some very animated conversation. We differed 
 in our sentiments sufficiently to be rather vehemently engaged ; 
 and this interview gave me a more lively as well as forcible 
 impression of his talents than any part of his writings. He was 
 
 he, by any violation of the dictates of common sense, give any 
 occasion, even to those who were superciliously disposed to look 
 upon him with contempt. On the contrary, he was conscious of 
 his own moral and intellectual worth, and never abated an inch 
 of his just claims to due consideration. The following extract of 
 a letter from his great and good biographer, who was an excellent 
 
 3d October, 1799.' " 
 
 * [At this place are inserted tlie song, " Though cruel fate 
 should bid us part ;" the fragment, beginning, " One night as I 
 did wander ;" the song, " There was a lad was born in Kyle ;" 
 and the " Elegy on the death of Robert Ruisseaux ;" for which 
 see his Poetical ^^'orks,] 
 
FIRST COM]\[ON-PLACE BOOK. 
 
 121 
 
 " To Funny fair conld I impart," &c., it is most exact 
 measure, and yet, let them both be sung before a real 
 critic, one above the biasses of prejudice, but a thorough 
 judge of nature, how Hat and spiritless will the last 
 appear, how trite, and lamely methodical, compared 
 with the wild-warbling cadence, the heart-moving 
 melody of the first ! This is particularly the case with 
 all those airs which end with a hypermetrical syllaljle. 
 There is a degree of wild irregularity in many of the 
 compositions and fragments which are daily sung to 
 them by my compeers, the common people — a certain 
 liappy arrangement of old Scotch syllables, and yet, 
 very frequently, nothing, not even like rhyme, or same- 
 ness of jingle, at the ends of the lines. This has made 
 me sometimes imaguie that perhaps it might be pos- 
 sible for a Scotch poet, with a nice judicious ear, to set 
 compositions to many of our most favourite airs, parti- 
 cularly that class of them mentioned above, independent 
 of rhyme altogether. 
 
 There is a noble sublimity, a heart-raeltiug tenderness, 
 in some of our ancient ballads, which show tliem to be 
 the work of a masterly hand : and it has often given 
 me many a heart-ache to reflect that such glorious old 
 bards — bards who very probably owed all their talents 
 to native genius, yet have described the exploits of 
 lieroes, the pangs of disappointment, and the meltings 
 of love, with such fine strokes of nature — that theu' 
 very names (oh how moi'tifymg to a bard's vanity ! ) 
 are now " bui'ied among the AVTeck of things which 
 were." 
 
 Oh ye illustrious names unknown ! who could feel so 
 strongly and describe so well : the last, the meanest of 
 the muse's train — one who, though far inferior to your 
 flights, yet eyes your path, and with trembling wing 
 would sometimes soar after you — a poor rustic bard 
 unknown, pays this sj-mpathetic pang to your memory ! 
 Some of you tell us, Avith all the charms of verse, that 
 you have been unfortunate in the world — unfortunate 
 in love : he, too, has felt the loss of liis little fortune, 
 the loss of friends, and, worse than all, the loss of the 
 woman he adored. Like you, all his consolation was 
 his muse : she taught him in rustic measures to com- 
 plain. Happy could he have done it wiih your strength 
 of imagination and flow of verse! May the turf lie 
 lightly on your bones ! — and may you now enjoy that 
 solace and rest which this world rarely gives to the 
 heart tuned to all the feelings of poesy and love ! 
 
 Sept. 
 
 The folloAving fragment is done something in huita- 
 tion of the manner of a noble old Scottish piece called 
 " jM'AIillan's Peggy," and sings to the tune of " Gala 
 Water." My Montgomerie's Peggy was my deity for 
 six or eight months. She had been bred (though, as 
 the woi'ld says, without any just pretence for it) in a 
 style of life rather elegant ; but as Vauburgh sajs, m 
 
 one of his comedies, " My ■ star found me out" 
 
 there too ; for though I began the affair merely in a 
 gaiete de coeur, or to tell the truth, which will scarcely 
 be believed, a vanity of showing my parts in courtship, 
 particularly my abilities at a billet-doux, which I always 
 piqued myself upon, made me lay siege to her ; and 
 when, as I always do in my foolish gallantries, I had 
 battered myself into a very warm affection for her, she 
 told me one day, in a flag of truce, that her fortress 
 had been for some time before the rightful property of 
 another ; but, with the greatest friendship and polite- 
 ness, she offered me every alliance except actual pos- 
 session. I found out afterwards that what she told me 
 of a pre-engagement was really true ; but it cost me 
 some heart-aches to get rid of the affau*. 
 
 1 have even tried to imitate, in this extempore thing, 
 that u'regulax'ity in the rhyme, which, when judiciously 
 done, has such a fine effect on the ear. 
 
 PRAGMEXT. 
 
 ** Although my bed were in yon rauir," &c.* 
 * [See Poetioal Works, p. W.] 
 
 September. 
 There is a fragment in imitation of an old Scotcli 
 song, well known among the country ingle sides. I 
 camiot tell the name, neither of the song nor the tune, 
 but they are in fine unison with one another. By the 
 way, these old Scottish airs are so nobly sentimental, 
 that when one would compose to them, to " south the 
 tune," as our Scotch phrase is, over and over, is the 
 readiest way to catch the inspiration, and raise the bard 
 into that glorious enthusiasm so strongly characteristic 
 of our old Scotch poetry. I shall here set down one 
 vex'se of the piece mentioned above, both to mark the 
 song and tune I mean, and likewise as a debt I owe to 
 the author, as the repeating of that verse has lighted 
 up my flame a thousand times : — 
 
 When clouds in skies do come together 
 
 To hide the brightness of the weather. 
 There will surely be some pleasant weather 
 
 When a' their storms are past and gone.* 
 Though fickle fortune has deceived me, 
 
 She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill ; 
 Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me. 
 
 Yet I bear a heart shall support me stilU 
 I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able. 
 
 But u. success I must never find, 
 Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
 
 I'll meet thee -with an undaunted mind. 
 
 The above was an extempore, under the pressure of 
 a heavy train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened 
 to undo me altogether. It was just at the close of that 
 dreadful period mentioned p. viii. ;f and though the 
 weather has brightened up a little with me, yet there 
 has always been since a tempest brewing round me in 
 the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty plainly see will 
 some time or other, perhaps ere long, overwhelm me, 
 and drive me into some doleful dell, to pine in solitary, 
 squahd wretchedness. However, as I hope my poor 
 country muse, who, all rustic, awkward, and unpolished 
 I as she is, has more charms for me than any other of 
 I the pleasures of life beside — as I hope she will not then 
 desert me, I may even then learn to be, if not happy, 
 at least easy, and south a sang to soothe my misery. 
 
 'Twas at the same time I set about composing an air 
 in the old Scotch style. I am not musical scholar 
 enough to prick down my tune properly, so it can never 
 see the light, and perhaps 'tis no great matter, but the 
 following were the verses I composed to suit it : — 
 
 Oh raging fortune's withering blast 
 
 Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
 Oh ragmg fortune's withering blast 
 
 Has laid my leaf full low, ! 
 My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
 
 My blossom sweet did blow, ; 
 The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 
 
 And made my bi^anches grow, 0. 
 
 But luckless fortune's northern storms 
 
 Laid a' my blossoms low, 0, 
 But luckless fortune's northern storms 
 
 Laid a' my blossoms low, 0. 
 
 The tune consisted of three parts, so that the above 
 verses just went tlirough the whole air. 
 
 October, 1785. 
 If ever any young man, in the vestibule of the 
 world, chance to throw his eye over these pages, let 
 him pay a wai'm attention to the following observations, 
 as I assure him they are the fruit of a poor devil's 
 dear-bought experience. I have literally, like that 
 great poet and great gallant, and, by consequence, that 
 great fool Solomon, " turned my eyes to behold madness 
 and folly." Nay, I have, with all the ardour of lively, 
 fanciful, and whimsical imagination, accompanied with 
 
 * Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments before this 
 verse. (This is the author's note.) 
 I t [Reference is here made to that part of the poet's manuscript 
 1 dated .March 1734.] 
 
122 
 
 BURNS^S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 » warm, feeling, poetic heart, shaken hands with their 
 intoxicating friendship. 
 
 In the first place, let my pupU, as he tenders his own 
 peace, keep up a regular, warm intercourse with the 
 Deity. * -^ * 
 
 [Here the MS. closes abruptly.'] 
 
 SECOND COMMON-PLACE BOOK, 
 
 BEGUN IN EDINBURGH, APRIL 1787. 
 
 As I 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 " haK a word fixed upon 
 or near the spot, is worth a cart-load of recollection." 
 I don't know how it is -n-ith the world in general, but 
 with me, making my remarks is by no means a solitary 
 pleasure. I want some one to laugh with me, some one 
 to be grave with me, some one to please me and help 
 my discrimination with his or her own. remark ; and 
 at times, no doubt, to admire my aeuteness and pene- 
 tration. 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 observa- 
 tion 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 
 philosophy of moraUsts, whether we are capable of so 
 intimate and cordial a coalition of friendship, as that 
 one man may pour out his bosom, liis every thought 
 and floating fancy, his very inmost soul, with unreserved 
 confidence to another, without hazard of losing part of 
 that respect 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. I will sketch every character that 
 any way strikes me, to the best of my power, with un- 
 shrinking justice. I will insert anecdotes, and take 
 down remarks, in the old law phrase, zoithout feiid or 
 favour. Where I hit on any thing clever, ray own 
 applause will in some measure feast my vanity ; and, 
 begging Patroclus' and Achates' pardon, I think a lock 
 and key a security at least equal to the bosom of any 
 friend whatever. 
 
 My owTi private story likewise, my love-adventures, 
 my rambles ; the frowns and smiles of fortune on my 
 hardship ; my poems and fragments that must never 
 see the hght, shaU be occasionally inserted. In short, 
 never did four shillings pui'chase so much friendship, 
 since confidence went first to market, or honesty was 
 set up to sale. 
 
 is dm; he meets at a great man's table a Squire Some- 
 thmg, or a Sir Somebody; he knows the noble landlord, 
 at heai-t, 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 fellow, whose abilities 
 would scarcely have made an eightpenny ta ilor, and whose 
 heart is not worth three farthmgs, 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 attention, one 
 day, to the only blockhead 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 I 
 though I should never see him more, I shall love him 
 until my d;ying day ! I am pleased to think I am so 
 capable of the throes of gratitude, as I am miserably 
 deficient in some other virtues. 
 
 With Dr Blair I am more at ease. I never respect 
 him with humble veneration; but when he kindly 
 interests himself in my welfare, or still more, when he 
 descends from liis pinnacle, and meets me on equal 
 groimd 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 
 difference of our points of elevation, I say to myself, 
 with scarcely any emotion, what do I care for him, or 
 his pomp eilJier? 
 
 It is not easy forming an exact judgment of any one ; 
 but, in my opinion, Dr Blair is merely an astonishing 
 proof of what industry and appheation can do. Natural 
 parts like his are frequently to be met with ; his vanity 
 is proverbially knowm among his acquaintance : but he 
 is justly at the head of what may be called fine writmg ; 
 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 respectable 
 character. 
 
 To these seemingly invidious, but too just ideas of 
 human friendship, I would cheei'fully make one excep- 
 tion — the connection between two persons of different 
 sexes, when their interests are united and absorbed by 
 the tie of love — 
 
 "VSTien thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 
 And each warm wish springs mutual from the heai-t. 
 There, confidence, confidence that exalts them the more 
 in one another's opinion, that endears them the more 
 to each other's hearts, imreservedly "reigns and revels." 
 But this is not my lot, and in my situation, if I am wise 
 (which, by the bye, I have no great chance of being), my 
 fate should be cast with the Psalmist's sparrow, " to 
 watch alone on the house-tops"— Oh, the pity ! 
 
 I never spent an afternoon among great folks with 
 half that pleasure as when I had the honour of paying 
 my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, the pro- 
 fessor (Dugald Stewart). I would be dehghted to see 
 him perform acts of kindness and friendship, though I 
 were not the object — he does it with such a grace. I 
 think his character, divided into ten parts, stands thus : 
 four parts Socrates, four parts Nathaniel, and two parts 
 Shakspeare's Brutus. 
 
 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 
 ever)- where, with the reception w^hich a mere ordinary 
 character, decorated with the trappings and futUe dis- 
 tinctions of fortune, meets. I imagine a man of abiUties, 
 his breast glowing with honest pride, conscious that 
 men are born equ'al, still giving honour to ivhom honour 
 
 The whining cant of love, except in real passion, and 
 by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as the 
 preaching cant of old father Smeaton, whig-minister at 
 Kilmaurs. Darts, flames, Cupids, loves, graces, and all 
 that farrago, are just a Mauchline . . . . — a senseless 
 rabble. 
 
 I glory in being a poet, and I want to be thought a 
 wise man. I would fondly be generous, and I wish to 
 be rich. After all, I am afraid I am a lost subject. 
 " Some folk hae a hantle o' fauts, and I'm but a ne'er- 
 do-weel." To close this melancholy reflection, I shall 
 just add a piece of devotion conmaonly known in Garrick 
 by the title of the « Wabster's Grace"— 
 
 Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we ! 
 
 Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we ! 
 
 Gude forgie us ! and I hope sae will he ! 
 Up .'—and to your looms, lads ! 
 
 I have this moment got a hint « ♦ * * ♦ 
 I fear I am something hke undone ; but I hope for 
 the best. Come, stubborn pride and unshrinking re- 
 solution ! accompany me through this, to me, miserable 
 world ! You innst Sint r|p<;ert me. Your friendship, 
 
SECOND COMMON-PLACE BOOK. 
 
 123 
 
 I tliink, I can count on, though I should date my letters | 
 from a marching regiment. Early in life, and all my 
 life, I reckoned on a recruiting drum as my forlorn 
 hope. Life at present pre^nts me with but a melan- 
 choly path. 
 
 I have lately been much mortified with contemplating 
 an unlucky imperfection in the very framing and con- 
 struction of my soul ; namely, a blundering inaccuracy 
 of her olfactory organs in hitting the scent of craft or 
 design in my fellow-creatures. I do not mean any 
 compliment to my ingenuousness, or to hint that the 
 defect is in consequence of the unsuspicious simpHcity 
 of conscious truth and honour. I take it to be, in some 
 way or other, an imperfection in the mental sight ; or, 
 metaphor apart, some modification of dulness. In two 
 or three small instances, lately, I have been most shame- 
 fully out. 
 
 An old man's dying, except he has been a very bene- 
 volent character, or in some particular situation of Hfe, 
 that the welfare of the poor or the helpless depended 
 on him, I think an event of the most ti'ifling moment 
 to the world. Man is naturally a kind, benevolent ani- 
 mal ; but he is dropt into such a needy situation here 
 in this vexatious world, and has such a whoreson, 
 hungry, growling, multiplying pack of necessities, ap- 
 petites, passions, and desires about him, ready to devour 
 him for want of other food, that, in fact, he must lay aside 
 Ms cares for others, tliat he may look properly to him- 
 self. 
 
 I am more and more pleased with the step I took 
 respecting my Jean. Two things, from my happy ex- 
 perience, I set down as apophthegms in life. A wife's 
 head is immaterial compared with her- heart;* and 
 virtue's (for wisdom, what poet pretends to it ?) " ways 
 are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." 
 
 brother-moi"tals should disturb the selfish apathy of our 
 
 souls ! 
 
 I have every possible reverence for the much-talked- 
 of world beyond the grave ; and I wish that which piety 
 believes, and virtue deserves, may be all matter of 
 fact. 
 
 Strong pride of reasoning, with a little aflfectation of 
 singularity, may naislead the best of hearts. I, likewise, 
 in the pride of despising old women's stories, ventured 
 in " the daring path Spinosa trod ;" but experience of 
 the weakness, not the strength, of human powers, made 
 me glad to grasp at revealed religion. 
 
 Poets, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers 
 of beauty. If they are really poets of Nature's making, 
 their feelings must be finer, and their taste more deli- 
 cate, than those of most of the world. In the cheerful 
 bloom of spring, or the pensive mildness of autumn, 
 the grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty of 
 winter, the poet feels a charm unknowTi to the rest of 
 his species. Even the sight of a fine flower, or the 
 company of a fine woman (by far the finest part of 
 God's works below), have sensations for the poetic heart 
 that the herd of mankind are strangers to. 
 
 I like to have quotations for every occasion : they 
 give one's ideas so pat, and save one the trouble of 
 finding expression adequate to one's feelings. I think 
 it is one of the greatest pleasures attending a poetic 
 genius, that we can give our woes, cares, joys, loves, 
 &c. an embodied form in verse ; which, to me, is ever 
 immediate ease. Goldsmith says finely of his muse— - 
 ThOTi soiirce of all my bliss and all my woe : 
 That found me poor at fibrst, and keep'st me so. 
 
 What pleasure is in the power of the fortunate and 
 happy, by their notice and patronage, to brighten the 
 countenance and glad the heart of depressed worth ! 
 I am not so angry >vith mankind for their deaf economy 
 of the purse. The goods of this world cannot be divided 
 %vithout being lessened ; but why be a niggard of that 
 which bestows bless on a fellow-creature, yet takes 
 nothing from our o\vn means of enjojTnent? We wrap 
 ourselves up in the cloak of our own better fortune, 
 and turn away our eyes, lest the wants and woes of our 
 
 * [It is really amusing to observe how anxious the poet has 
 been to reconcile himself and his friends to his marrjing a woman 
 of homely understanding and rustic manners. In a letter to Mrs 
 Dunlop, it drives him into a frantic tirade against all those 
 refinements which constitute the lady— refinements of which he 
 had practically expressed his admiration by his relish of the 
 society of Miss Chalmers, Mrs M'Lehose, Miss Hamilton, Mrs 
 Dimlop, and many others. His whole conduct on this point only 
 manifests, that when, after some experience of Edinburgh society, 
 he had to content himself vnth his village mistress, he did not 
 make up his mind to the union without some degree of soreness, 
 and that the cause of this soreness was his preference of those 
 very elegances in the female character which he affected to con- 
 demn. Under no other feeling, perhaps, could so sensible a man 
 as Bums have expressed disregard for so important a matter as 
 the intellect of the woman who was to be his wife and the mother 
 of his children.] 
 
 What a creature is man ! A little alarm last night, 
 and to-day, that I am mortal, has made such a revolu- 
 tion in my spirits ! There is no philosophy, no divinity, 
 that comes half so much home to the mind. I have no 
 idea of courage that braves Heaven : 'tis the wild ra\dng3 
 of an imaginary hero in Bedlam. 
 
 aiy favom'ite feature in ]\Iilton's Satan, is his manly 
 fortitude in supporting what cannot be remedied — iu 
 short, the wild, broken fragments of a noble, exalted 
 mind in ruins. I meant no more by saying he waa a 
 favourite hero of mine.* 
 
 I am just risen from a two-hours' bout after supper, 
 with sUly or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in 
 common with me — but the port. " One." — 'Tis now 
 " witching time of night ;" and whatever is out of joint 
 in the foregoing scrawl, impute it to enchantments 
 and spells ; for I can't look over it, but will seal it up 
 directly, as I don't care for to-morrow's criticisms on 
 it. 
 
 We ought, v.hen we wish to be economists in happi- 
 ness, we ought, in the first place, to fix the standard of 
 our own character; and when, on fuU examination, 
 we know where we stand, and how much groimd we 
 occupy, let us contend for it as property ; and those 
 who seem to doubt, or deny us what is justly ours, let 
 us either pity their prejudices, or despise their judg- 
 ment. 
 
 I know you will say this is self-conceit ; but I call it 
 self-knowledge : the one is the overweening opinion of 
 a fool who fancies himself to be what he wishes himself 
 to be thought ; the other is the honest justice that a 
 man of sense, who has thoroughly examined the subject, 
 owes to himself. Without this standard, this column, 
 in our mind, we are perpetually at the mercy of the 
 petulance, the mistakes, the prejudices, nay, the very 
 wealcness and wickedness, of our fellow-creatures. 
 
 Away, then with disquietudes! Let us pray with 
 the honest weaver of Kilbarchan, " L — d, send us a 
 guid conceit o' Qursel I" Or in the words of the auld 
 sang, 
 
 AVho does me disdain, I can scorn them again. 
 And I'll never mind any such foes. 
 
 Your thoughts on rehgion shall be welcome. You 
 may perhaps distrust me when I say 'tis also ?ny favourite 
 topic ; but mine is the reUgion of the bosom. I hate 
 
 * [This, and some of the ensuing paragraphs, appear to be the 
 first draughts of certain passages in the poet's letters to Clarinda 
 
 ' and others.] 
 
124 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 I 
 
 the very idea of a controversial divinity ; as I firmly 
 believe that every honest, upright man, of whatever 
 sect, will be accepted of the Deity. I despise the super- 
 stition of a fanatic, but I love the religion of a man. 
 
 Why have I not heard from you ? To-day I well ex- 
 pected it ; and before supper, when a letter to me was 
 announced, my heart danced with rapture : but behold ! 
 'twas some fool who had taken it into his head to turn 
 poet, and made me an offering of the first fruits of his 
 nonsense. 
 
 I believe there is no holding converse, or carrying on 
 correspondence, with an amiable fine woman, without 
 some mixture of that delicious passion, whose most de- 
 voted slave I have more than once had the honour of 
 being : but why be hurt or offended on that account ? 
 Can no honest man have a prepossession for a fine 
 woman, but he must run his head against an inti'igue? 
 Take a little of the tender witchcraft of love, and add 
 to it the generous, the honourable sentiments of manly 
 friendship ; and I know but one more delightful morsel, 
 which few, few in any rank ever taste. Such a compo- 
 sition is like adding cream to strawberries — it not only 
 gives the fruit a moi'e elegant richness, but has a 
 peculiar deliciousness of its own. 
 
 Nothing astonishes me more when a little sickness 
 clogs the wheel of life, than the thoughtless career we 
 run in the hour of health. " None saitli where is God, 
 my maker, that giveth songs in the night : who teacheth 
 us more knowledge than the beasts of the field, and 
 more understanding than the fowls of the air." 
 
 I had a letter from my old friend a long while ago, 
 but it was so dry, so distant, so like a card to one of his 
 clients, that I could scarce bear to read it. He is a 
 good, honest fellow ; and can write a friendly letter, 
 which would do equal honour to his head and his heart, 
 as a whole sheaf of his letters I have by me will witness ; 
 and though fame does not blow her ti'umpet at my ap- 
 proach now, as she did then, when he first honoured me 
 with his friendship,* yet I am as proud as ever ; and 
 when I am laid in my grave, I wish to be stetched at 
 my full length, that I may occupy every inch of ground 
 which I have a right to. 
 
 You would laugh, were you to see me where I am 
 just now: — Here am I set, a solitary hermit in the 
 solitary room of a solitai'y inn, with a solitary bottle of 
 wine by me — as grave and as stupid as an owl — but like 
 that owl, still faithful to my old song ; in confirmation 
 of which, my dear * * * *^f here is your good health ! 
 May the hand-wal'd benisons o' Heaven bless your 
 bonnie face ; and the wratch wha skellies at your weel- 
 fare, may the auld tinkler deil get him to clout his rotten 
 heart ! Amen ! 
 
 I mentioned to you my letter to Dr Moore, giving an 
 account of my life : it is truth, every word of it ; and 
 will give you the just idea of a man whom you have 
 honoured with your friendship. I wish you to see me 
 as I am. I am, as most people of my trade are, a strange 
 tvill o' wisp being, the victim, too frequently, of much 
 imprudence and many follies. My great constituent 
 elements are pride and passion. The first I have 
 endeavoured to humanise into integrity and honour; 
 the last makes me a devotee to the warmest degree of 
 enthusiasm, in love, religion, or friendship — either of 
 them, or all together, as I happen to be inspired. 
 
 What trifling silliness is the childish fondness of the 
 every-day children of the world ! 'Tis the unmeaning 
 toying of the younglings of the fields and forests ; but 
 where sentiment and fancy unite their sweets, where 
 
 * Alluding to the time of his first appearance in Edinburgh. 
 I [Mrs M'Lehose is here meant.] 
 
 taste and delicacy refine, where wit adds the flavour, 
 and good sense gives strength and spirit to all, what a 
 delicious draught is the hour of tender endearment !— 
 beauty and grace in the arms of truth and honour, in 
 all the luxury of mutual love ! 
 
 Innocence 
 
 Looks gaily-smiling on ; while rosy Pleasure 
 Hides young Desire amid her flowery wreath, 
 And pours her cup luxuriant ; mantling high 
 The sparkling heavenly vintage. Love and Bliss ! 
 
 Those of either sex, but particularly the female, 
 who are lukewarm in that most important of all things, 
 religion — " Oh my soul, come not thou into their secret !" 
 I will lay before you the outlines of my belief. He, who 
 is our author and preserver, and will one day be our 
 judge, must foe (not for his sake in the way of duty, but 
 from the native impulse of our hearts) the object of our 
 reverential awe and grateful adoration : He is almighty 
 and all-bounteous ; we are weak and dependent : hence 
 prayer, and every other sort of devotion. " He is not 
 willing that any should perish, but that all should come 
 to everlasting life ;" consequently it must be in evei'y 
 one's power to embrace his offer of " everlasting life ;" 
 otherwise he could not, in justice, condemn those who 
 did not. A mind pervaded, actuated, and governed by 
 purity, truth, and charity, though it does not merit 
 heaven, yet is an absolutely necessary prerequisite, 
 without which heaven can neither be obtained nor en- 
 joyed ; and, by divine promise, such a mind shall never 
 fail of attaining " everlasting life :" hence the impure, 
 the deceiving, and the uncharitable, exclude themselves 
 from eternal bliss, by their unfitness for enjoying it. 
 The Supreme Being has put the immediate administra- 
 tion of all this, for wise and good ends known to himself, 
 into the hands of Jesus Christ, whose relation to him 
 we cannot comprehend, but whose relation to us is a 
 Guide and Saviour ; and who, except for our own ob- 
 stinacy and misconduct, will bring us all, through various 
 ways, and by various means, to bliss at last. 
 
 These are my tenets, my friend. My creed is pretty 
 nearly expressed in the last clause of Jamie Dean's 
 grace, an honest weaver in Ayrshire : " Lord grant that 
 we may lead a guid life ! for a guid life makes a guid 
 end, at least it helps weel !" 
 
 I am an odd being : some yet unnamed feelings, 
 things, not principles, but better than whims, carry me 
 farther than boasted reason ever did a philosopher. 
 
 There's naething like the honest nappy ! 
 Whaur'U ye e'er see men sae happy, 
 Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy, 
 
 'Tween morn an' morn, 
 As tliem wha like to taste the drappie 
 
 In glass or horn ? 
 
 I've seen me daez't upon a time : 
 I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 
 Just ae hauf mutchkin does me prime, 
 
 Ought less is little, 
 Then back I rattle on the rhyme 
 
 As gleg's a whittle ! 
 
 Coarse minds are not aware how much they injure 
 the keenly-feeling tie of bosom -friendship, when in their 
 foolish officiousness they mention what nobody cares for 
 recollecting. People of nice sensibility and generous 
 minds have a certain intrinsic dignity, that fires at being 
 ti'ifled with, or lowered, or even too nearly approached. 
 
 Some days, some nights, nay some hours, like the 
 " ten righteous persons in Sodom," save the rest of the 
 vapid, tiresome, miserable months and years of life. 
 
 To be feelingly alive to kindness and to unkinduess, 
 is a charming female character. 
 
SKCOND COMMOxX-PLACE BOOK. 
 
 125 
 
 I have a Httlc infinnity in my disposition, that where 
 I fondly love or highly esteem, I cannot bear reproach. 
 
 If I have robbed you of a friend, God forgive me : 
 but be comforted : let us I'aise the tone of our feelings 
 a little higher and bolder. A fellow- creature who leaves 
 us, who spui'us us without just cause, though once our 
 bosom friend — up with a little honest pride — let him 
 
 A decent means of livelihood in the world, an ap- 
 proving God, a peaceful conscience, and one firm ti-usty 
 friend ; — can any body that has these be said to be 
 unhappy ? 
 
 The dignified and dignifying consciousness of an ho- 
 nest man, and the well-grounded trust in approving 
 Heaven, are tAvo most substantial sources of happiness. 
 
 Give me, my Maker, to remember Thee ! Give me 
 to feel *' another's woe ;" and continue with me that 
 dear-loved friend that feels with mine ! 
 
 Your religious sentiments I revere. If you have, 
 on some suspicious evidence, from some lying oracle, 
 learned that I despise or ridicule so sacredly important 
 a matter as real religion, you have much misconstrued 
 your friend. " I am not mad, most noble Festus !" 
 Have you ever met a perfect character ? Do we not 
 sometimes rather exchange faults than get rid of them ? 
 For instance ; I am pex-haps tired Avith and shocked at 
 a life, too much, the prey of giddy inconsistencies and 
 thoughtless follies ; by degrees I groAv sober, prudent, 
 and statedly pious — I say statedly, because the most 
 unaffected devotion is not at all inconsistent with my 
 first character. I join the world in congratulating 
 myself on the happy change. But let me pry more 
 narrowly into this affair ; have I, at bottom, any thing 
 of a secret pride in these endoAvments and emendations ? 
 have I nothing of a presbyterian sourness, a hypercri- 
 tical severity, when I survey my less regular neighbours % 
 In a Avord, have I missed all those nameless and num- 
 berless modifications of indistinct selfishness, Avhich are 
 so near our own eyes that Ave can scarce bring them 
 within our sphere of vision, and which the known spot- 
 less cambric of our character hides from the ordinary 
 observer ? 
 
 My definition of worth is short : truth and humanity 
 respecting our fellow-creatures ; reverence and humility 
 in the presence of that Being, my creator and pre- 
 server, and who, I have every reason to believe, Avill 
 one day be my judge. The first part of my definition 
 is the creature of unbiassed instinct; the last is the 
 child of after-reflection. Where I found these two 
 essentials, I would gently note, and sligh^ mention any 
 attendant flaws — flaws, the marks, the consequences of 
 human nature. 
 
 HoAv Avretehed is the condition of one Avho is haunted 
 with conscious guilt, and trembling under the idea of 
 dreaded vengeance ! And what a placid calm, Avhat a 
 chai'ming secret enjoyment, it gives, to bosom the kind 
 feelings of friendship, and the fond throes of love ! Out 
 upon the tempest of anger, the acrimonious gall of 
 fretful impatience, the sullen frost of loAvering resent- 
 ment, or the corroding poison of Avithered envy ! They 
 eat up the immortal part of man ! If they spent their 
 fury only on the unfortunate objects of them, it Avould 
 be something in their favour; but these miserable 
 
 passions, 
 master. 
 
 like traitor Iscuriofc, betray tli-jir lord and 
 
 Thou, Almighty Author of peace, and goodness, and 
 love ! do thou give me the social heart that kindly tastes 
 of every man's cup ! Is it a draught of joy ? — warm and 
 open my heart to share it Avith cordial, unen vying re- 
 joicing ! Is it the bitter potion of sorrow? — melt my 
 heart Avith sincerely sympathetic Avoe ! Above all, do 
 thou give me the manly mind, that resolutely exempli- 
 fies, in life and manners, those sentiments which I would 
 wish to be thought to possess ! The friend of my soul 
 — there may I never deviate from the firmest fidehty, 
 and most active kindness ! There may the most sacred, 
 inviolate honour, the most faithful, kindling constancy, 
 ever Avatch and animate my every thought and imagi- 
 nation ! 
 
 Did you ever meet with the folloAving lines spoken of 
 religion : — 
 
 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright ! 
 
 'Tis this that gilds the horror of our night ! 
 
 When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few ; 
 
 AVhen friends are faithless, or Avhen foes pursue ; 
 
 'Tis this that wards the bloAv, or stills the smart, 
 
 Disarms affliction, or repels its dart ; 
 
 Within the breast bids purest raptures rise, 
 
 Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies. 
 
 I met Avith these verses very early in life, and Avas 
 so delighted Avith them that I have them by me, copied 
 at school. 
 
 I have heard and read a good deal of philosophy, 
 benevolence, and greatness of soul : and Avhen rounded 
 Avith the flourish of declamatory periods, or poured in 
 the mellifluence of Parnassian measure, they have a 
 tolerable effect on amusicalear ; butAvhenall these high- 
 sounding professions are compared Avith the very act and 
 deed, as it is usually performed, I do not think there is 
 any thing in, or belonging to, human nature so badly 
 disproportionate. In fact, were it not for a very few of 
 our kind, among Avhom an honoured friend of mine — 
 Avhom to you. Sir, I Avill not name — is a distinguished 
 instance, the very existence of magnanimity, generosity, 
 and all their bindred virtues, Avould be as much a 
 question Avith metaphysicians as the existence of Avitch- 
 craft. 
 
 There is no time Avhen the conscious, thrilling chords 
 of love and friendship giA^e such delight, as in the pensive 
 hours of Avhat Thomson calls " philosophic melancholy." 
 The family of misfortune, a numerous group of brothers 
 and sisters ! They need a resting-place to their souls. 
 Unnoticed, often condemned by the Avorld, in some de- 
 gree, perhaps, condemned by themselves, they feel the 
 full enjoyment of ardent love, delicate tender endear- 
 ments, mutual esteem, and mutual reliance. 
 
 In this light I have often admired religion. In pro- 
 portion as we are Avrung Avith grief, or distracted Avith 
 anxiety, the ideas of a compassionate Deity, an Almighty 
 Protector, are doubly dear. 
 
 I have been, this morning, taking a peep through, as 
 Young finely says, " the dai'k postern of time long 
 elapsed ;" 'tA\'as a rueful prospect ! What a tissue of 
 thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly ! My life reminded 
 me of a ruined temple. What strength, what propor- 
 tion in some parts ! — what unsightly gaps, Avhat prostrate 
 ruins in others ! I kneeled down before the Father of 
 Mercies, and said, " Father, I have sinned against 
 Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to 
 be called thy son." I rose, eased and strengthened. 
 
126 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 MEMORANDA OF TOURS. 
 
 BORDER TOUR: May 6— JuxNE 1, 1787.* 
 
 Left Edinburgh (May 6, 1787) f — Lammermuir-hills 
 miserably dreary, but at times very picturesque. Lanton- 
 edge, a glorious view of the Merse — Reach Berry well J 
 
 old Mr AinsUe an uncommon character; — his hobbies, 
 
 agriculture, natural philosophy, and pohtics. In the 
 iirst he is unexceptionably the clearest-headed, best- 
 informed man I ever met with ; in the other two, very 
 intelligent : — as a man of business he has uncommon 
 merit, and by fairly deserving it has made a very decent 
 independence. Mrs Ainslie, an excellent, sensible, cheer- 
 ful, amiable old woman. Miss Ainslie — her person a 
 little embonpoint J but handsome ; her face, particularly 
 her eyes, fuU of sweetness and good humour — she unites 
 three qualities rarely to be found together ; keen, sohd 
 penetration; sly, witty observation and remark; and 
 the gentlest, most unaffected female modesty. Douglas, 
 a clever, fine, promising young fellow. The famUy- 
 meeting with their brother, my compagnon de voyage, 
 very charming; particularly the sister. The whole 
 fanuly remarkably attached to their menials — Mrs A. 
 fuU of stories of the sagacity and sense of the little girl 
 in the kitchen. Mr A. high in the praises of an African, 
 his house servant — all his people old in his service — 
 Douglas's old nurse came to Berrywell yesterday to 
 remmd them of its being his birth-day. 
 
 A Mr Dudgeon, a poet at times, § a worthy remarkable 
 character — natural penetration, a great deal of infor- 
 mation, some genius, and extreme modesty. 
 
 Sunday — Went to church at Dunseil — Dr Bowmaker 
 a man of strong lungs and pretty judicious remark, but 
 ill skilled in propriety, and altogether unconscious of 
 his want of it. 
 
 Monday, May 8. — Coldstream — went over to England 
 — CornhUl — glorious river Tweed — clear and majestic 
 • — fine bridge. Dine at Coldstream Avith Mr Ainslie and 
 Mr Foreman — beat Mr F in a dispute about Vol- 
 taire. Tea at Lennel House with Mr BrydoneU — Mr 
 Brydone a most excellent heart, kind, joyous, and bene- 
 volent, but a good deal of the French indiscriminate 
 complaisance — from his situation past and present, an 
 admirer of every thing that bears a splendid title, or 
 that possesses a large estate — Mrs Brydone a most 
 elegant woman in her person and manners ; the tones of 
 her voice remarkably sweet — my reception extremely 
 flattering — sleep at Coldstream. 
 
 Tuesday. — Brealcfast at Kelso — charming situation of 
 Kelso — fine bridge over the Tweed — enchanting views 
 and prospects on both sides of the river, particularly 
 
 * [Some extracts from the memoranda of this toiu" appear in 
 the life of the poet by Dr Currie.] 
 
 t [Bums was accompanied on this occasion by his young friend, 
 Mr Robert Ainslie. The pair journeyed on horseback.] 
 
 X [The residence of Sir Ainslie's father, a truly respectable 
 person, who acted as land-steward on the estates of Lord Douglas, 
 in Berwickshire.] 
 
 § The author of the song, " The maid that tends the goats." 
 
 II " During the discourse Bums produced a neat impromptu, 
 conveying an elegant compliment to Miss Ainslie. Dr Bow- 
 maker had selected a text of Scripture that contained a heavy 
 denunciation against obstinate sinners. In the course of the 
 sermon Bums observed the young lady turning over the leaves 
 of her Bible, with much earnestness, in search of the text. He 
 took out a slip of paper, and with a pencil wrote the following 
 lines on it, which he immediately presented to her :— 
 " Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 
 Nor idle texts pursue : 
 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant— 
 Not angels snch as yon \" Ceomek. 
 
 . ^ [Patrick Brydone, Esq., author of the well-known tour in 
 Sicily and Malta. His wife was a daughter of Principal Robert- 
 son.] 
 
 the Scotch side ; introduced to Mr Scott of the Royal 
 
 Bank, an excellent modest fellow — fine situation of it 
 
 ruins of Roxburgh Castle — a holly-bush growing where 
 James II. of Scotland was accidentally killed by the 
 burstmg of a cannon. A small old religious ruin and a 
 fine old garden planted by the reHgious, rooted out and 
 destroyed by an EngUsh Hottentot, a maitre d' hotel of 
 the duke's, a Mr Cole — climate and soil of Berwickshire, 
 
 and even Roxburghshire, superior to Ayrshire ^bad 
 
 roads. Tm-nip and sheep husbandry,' their great im- 
 provements — ]VIr M'Dowal, at Caverton Mill, a friend of 
 Mr Ainslie's, with whom I dined to-day, sold his sheep, 
 ewe and lamb together, at two guineas a-piece— wash 
 their sheep before shearing — 7 or 81b. of washing wool 
 in a fleece — low markets, consequently low rents — fine 
 lands not above sixteen shillings a Scotch acre— mag- 
 nificence of farmers and farm-houses — come up Teviot 
 and up Jed to Jedburgh to lie, and so wish myself a 
 good night. 
 
 Wednesday. — Breakfast with Mr in Jedburgh 
 
 a squabble between Mrs , a crazed, talkative slat- 
 tern, and a sister of hers, an old maid, respecting a 
 rehef minister — Miss gives Madam the lie ; and Madam, 
 by way of revenge, upbraids her that she laid snareslo 
 entangle the said minister, then a widower, in the net 
 of matrimony — go about two miles out of Jedburgh to 
 a roup of parks— -jneet a pohte soldier-like gentleman. 
 Captain Rutherford, who had been many years through 
 the wilds of America, a prisoner among the Indians- 
 charming, romantic situation of Jedburgh, with gar- 
 dens, orchards, &c. intermingled among the houses — 
 fine old ruins — a once magnificent cathedral, and strong 
 castle. All the towns here have the appearance of old, 
 rude grandeur, but the people extremely idle — Jed a 
 fine romantic little river. 
 
 Dine with Captain Rutherford — ^the captain a polite 
 fellow, fond of money in his farming way ; showed a 
 particular respect to my hardship — ^his lady exactly a 
 proper matrimonial second part for him. Miss Ru- 
 therford a beautiful girl, but too far gone woman to 
 expose so much of a fine swelling bosom — her face very 
 fine. 
 
 Return to Jedburgh — walk up Jed with some ladies 
 to be shown Love-lane and Blackburn,two fairy scenes. 
 Introduced to Mr Potts, writer, a very clever fellow ; 
 and Mr Somerville, the clergyman of the place, a man, 
 and a gentleman, but sadly addicted to punning. The 
 
 walking party of ladies, Mrs and Miss her 
 
 sister, before mentioned. N. B. — These two appear 
 still more comfortably ugly and stupid, and bore me 
 
 most shockineh^. Two Miss tolerably agreeable. 
 
 Miss Hope, aTolerably pretty girl, fond of laughing and 
 fun. Miss Lindsay, a good-humoured, amiable girl; 
 rather short et embonpoint, but handsome, and extremely 
 graceful — beautiful hazel eyes, full of spirit, and spark- 
 ling with deUcious moisture — an engaging face — un tout 
 ensemble that speaks her of the first order of female 
 minds — her sister, a bonnie, strappin, rosy, sonsie lass. 
 Shake myself loose, after several unsuccessful efforts, 
 
 of Mrs and Miss , and, somehow or other, get 
 
 hold of Miss Lindsay's arm. My heart is thawed into 
 melting pleasure after being so long frozen up in the 
 Greenland bay of indifierence, amid the noise and non- 
 sense of Edinburgh. Miss seems very well pleased 
 with my hardship's distinguishing her, and after some 
 slight qualms, which I could easily mark, she sets the 
 titter round at defiance, and kindly allows me to keep 
 my hold ; and when parted by the ceremony of my in- 
 troduction to Mr Somerville, she met me half, to resume 
 my situation. Nota Bene — The poet within a point 
 
 and a half of being in love — I am afraid my 
 
 bosom its still nearlv as much tinder as ever. 
 
MEMORANDA OF TOURS. 
 
 127 
 
 The old, cross-grained, wliigglsh, ugly, slanderous Miss 
 » , with all the poisonous spleen of a disappointed, 
 ancient maid, stops me very unseasonably to ease her 
 bursting breast, by falling abusively foul on the Miss 
 Lindsays, particularly on my Duleinea ; — I hardly re- 
 frain from cursing her to her face for daring to mouth 
 her calumnious slander on one of the finest pieces of 
 the workmanship of Almighty Excellence ! Sup at Mr 
 
 's ; vexed that the Miss Lindsays are not of the 
 
 supper pai'ty, as they only are wanting. Sirs and 
 
 Miss > still improve infernally on my hands. 
 
 Set out next morning for Wauchope, the seat of my 
 correspondent, Mrs Scott — breakfast by the way with 
 Dr Elliot, an agreeable, good-hearted, climate-beaten, 
 old veteran, in the medical line, now retired to a ro- 
 mantic, but rather moorish place, on the banks of the 
 ExDole — he accompanies us almost to Wauchope — we 
 traverse the country to the top of Bochester, the scene 
 of an old encampment, and Woolee Hill. 
 
 Wauchope — Mr Scott exactly the figure and face 
 commonly given to Sancho Panza — very shrewd in his 
 farming matters, and not unfrequently stumbles on what 
 may be called a strong thing rather than a good thing. 
 Mrs Scott all the sense, taste, intrepidity of face, and 
 bold, critical decision, which usually distinguish female 
 authors. Sup with Mr Potts — agreeable party. Break- 
 fast next morning with Mr SomervUle — the bruit of 
 Miss Lindsay and my hardship, by means of the inven- 
 tion and mahce of ]\Iiss . Mr Somerville sends to 
 
 Dr Lindsay, begging him and family to breakfast if 
 convenient, but at all events to send Miss Lindsay ; ac- 
 cordingly. Miss Lindsay only comes. I find JMiss Liud- 
 say would soon play the devil with me — I met ^vith some 
 little flattering attentions from her. Mrs Somerville 
 an excellent, motherly, agreeable woman, and a fine 
 
 family. Mr Ainslie and Mrs S , junrs., with Mr 
 
 , Miss Lindsay, and myself, go to see Esther, a very 
 
 remarkable woman for reciting poetry of all kinds, and 
 sometimes making Scotch doggerel herseK — she can 
 repeat by heart almost every thing she has ever read, 
 particularly Pope's Homer from end to end — has 
 studied EucHd by herself, and, in short, is a woman of 
 very extraordinary abilities. On conversing mth her, 
 T find her fully equal to the character given of her.* 
 She is very much flattered that I send for her, and that 
 she sees a poet who has put out a book, as she says. She 
 is, among other things, a great florist^ and is rather 
 past the meridian of once celebrated beauty. 
 
 I walk in Esther^s gai'deu with Miss Lindsay, and 
 after some httle chit-chat of the tender kind, I presented 
 her with a proof print of my nob, which she accepted 
 with something more tender than gratitude. She told 
 
 me many little stories which INIiss had retailed 
 
 concerning her and me, mth prolonging pleasure — God 
 bless her ! Was waited on by the magistrates, and 
 presented with the freedom of the burgh.* 
 
 Took farewell of Jedburgh, with some melancholy, 
 disagi'eeable sensations. Jed, pure be thy crystal 
 streams, and hallowed thy sylvan ban^! Sweet Isa- 
 bella Lindsay, may peace dwell in thy bosom, unin- 
 terrupted, except by the tumultuous throbbings of 
 rapturous love ! That love-kindling eye must beam on 
 another, not on me — that graceful form must bless 
 another's arms, not mine ! 
 
 Kelso. — Dine with the farmers' club — all gentlemen, 
 talking of high matters — each of them keeps a hunter 
 
 * This extraordinary woman then moved in a very humble 
 walk of life— the wife of a common working gardener. She is 
 still living ; and, if I am rightly informed, her time is principally 
 occupied in her attentions to a little day-school, which not being 
 sufficient for her subsistence, she is obliged to solicit the charity 
 of her benevolent neighbours. ' •' Afi, who would love the lyre !" 
 —Cromek, 1808. 
 
 t [On this occasion the usual burgal treat of a riddU of claret 
 was bestowed upon the bard, in the inn. Always jealous of his 
 independence, he left the room before the feast was over, and 
 endeavoured to induce the landlord to accept of pajTaent of the 
 bill from liim. It is scarcely necessary to say that mine host 
 knew too well what was befitting the dignity of the burgh, to 
 take Burns's money.] 
 
 from £30 to £50 value, and attends the fox-huntings 
 in the county — go out with Mr Ker, one of the club, 
 and a friend of Mr Ainslie's, to lie — Mr Ker, a most 
 gentlemanly, clevei', handsome fellow, a widower with 
 some fine children — his mind and manner astonishingly 
 like my dear old friend Robert Muir, in Kihnamoclc — 
 every thing in Mr Ker's most elegant — he ofiera to 
 accompany me in my English tour. Dine with Sir 
 Alexander Don — a pretty clever fellow, but far from 
 being a match for his divine lady.* A very wet day * * *. 
 Sleep at Stodrig again, and set out for Meh-ose — ^visit 
 Dryburgh, a fine old ruined abbey — still bad weather 
 
 — cross Leader, and come up Tweed to Melrose dine 
 
 there, and visit that far-famed, glorious ruin — come to 
 Selkirk, up Ettrick — the whole country hereabout, both 
 on Tweed and Ettrick, remarkably stony. 
 
 Monday. — Come to Inverleithing, a famous shaw, and 
 in the vicinity of the palace of Traquair, where, having 
 dined, and drunk some Gralloway-whey, I here remain 
 till to-morrow — saw Elibanks and Elibraes, on the other 
 side of the Tweed. 
 
 Tuesday — Drank tea yesternight at Pirn, mth Mr 
 Horsburgh. Breakfasted to-day ^vith Mr BaUantyne 
 of HoUowlee. Proposal for a four-horse team, to con- 
 sist of Mr Scott of "Wauchope, Fittieland ; Logan of 
 Logan, Fittiefur ; Ballant;)Tie of HoUowlee, Forewynd ; 
 Horsburgh of Horsburgh. Dine at a country inn, kept 
 by a miller, in Earlston, the birth-place and residence 
 of the celebrated Thomas a Rhymer — saw the ruins of 
 his castle — come to Berrywell. 
 
 Wednesday. — Dine at Dunse with the farmers' club 
 company — inapossible to do them justice— Rev. Mr 
 Smith a famous punster, and Mr Meikle a celebrated 
 mechanic, and inventor of the thrashing-mill. Thurs- 
 day, breakfast at BerryweU, and wallv into Dunse to 
 see a famous knife made by a cutler there, and to be 
 presented to an Itahan prince. A pleasant ride with 
 my friend Mr Robert AinsHe, and his sister, to Mr 
 Thomson's, a man who has newly commenced farmer, 
 and has married a Miss Patty Grieve, formerly a flame 
 of IMr Robert Ainslie's. Company — ]\Iiss Jacky Grieve, 
 an amiable sister of Mrs Thomson's, and Mr Hood, an 
 honest, worthy, facetious farmer in the neighbourhood. 
 Friday. — Ride to Berwick — an idle town, I'udely 
 picturesque. ]\Ieet Lord Errol in walking round the 
 walls — his Lordship's flattering notice of me. Dine 
 with Mr Clunzie, merchant — nothing particular in 
 company or conversation. Come up a bold shore, 
 and over a -wild country, to Eyemouth — sup and sleep 
 at Mr Grieve's. 
 
 Saturday. — Spend the day at Sir Grieve's — made a 
 royal arch mason of St Abb's Lodge.f Mr Wilham 
 Grieve, the eldest brother, a joyous, warm-hearted, 
 jolly, clever fellow — takes a heaity glass, and sings a 
 good song. Mr Robert, his brother, and partner in 
 trade, a good fellow, but says little. Take a sail after 
 diimer. Fishing of all kinds pays tythes at Eyemouth. 
 Sunday. — A Mr Robinson, brewer at Ednam, sets out 
 with us to Dunbar. 
 
 The Miss Grieves very good girls. My hardship's 
 heai-t got a brush from Miss Betsy. 
 
 Sir William Grieve's attachment to the family-circle ; 
 so fond, that when he is out, which by the bye is often 
 the case, he cannot go to bed till he see if all his sisters 
 are sleeping well. Pass the famous Abbey of Cold- 
 ingham, and Pease-bridge. Call at Mr Sherifi"'s, where 
 
 * [Lady Harriet Don, sister of the Eai-1 of Glencaim.] 
 t The entry made on this occasion in the Lodge books ia as 
 follows : — 
 
 '• Eyemouth, mh Blay, 1787- 
 At a general encampment held this day, the following brethren 
 were made Royal Arch Masons, viz.— Robert Burns, from thu 
 Lodge of St James's, Tarbolton, Ayrshire, and Robert AinsUe, 
 from the Lodge of St Luke's, Edinburgh, by James Carmichael, 
 Wm. Grieve, Daniel Dow, John Clay, Robert Grieve, &c. &c. 
 Robert Ainslie paid one guinea admission dues ; but on accoimt 
 of R. Burns's remarkable poetical genius, the encampment una- 
 nimously agreed to admit him gratis, and considered themselves 
 honoured by having a man of such shining abilities for one of 
 their companions." 
 
128 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Mr A. and I dine. Mr S. talkative and conceited. I 
 talic of love to Nancy the whole evening, while her 
 brother escorts home some companions like himself. 
 Sir James Hall of Dunglass, having heard of my being 
 in the neighboui'hood, comes to Mr Sheriff's to break- 
 fast — takes me to see his fine scenery on the stream of 
 Dunglass — Dunglass the most romantic sweet place I 
 ever saw — Sir James and his lady a pleasant happy 
 couple. He points out a walk for which he has an 
 uncommon respect, as it was made by an aunt of his, 
 to whom he owes much. 
 
 Miss will accompany me to Dunbar, by way of 
 
 making a parade of me as a sweetheart of hers, among 
 her relations. She mounts an old cart-horse, as huge 
 and as lean as a house ; a rusty old side-saddle without 
 girth, or stirrup, but fastened on with an old pillion- 
 girth — herself as fine as hands could make her, in 
 cream-coloured riding clothes, hat and feather, &c. I, 
 ashamed of my situation, ride like the devil, and almost 
 shake her to pieces on old Jolly — get rid of her by 
 refusing to call at her uncle's with her. 
 
 Passed through the most glorious corn country I ever 
 saw, till I reach Dunbar, a neat little town. Dine with 
 Provost Fall, an eminent merchant, and most respect- 
 able character, but undescribable, as he exhibits no 
 marked traits. Mrs Fall a genius in painting ; fully 
 more clever in the fine arts and sciences than my 
 friend Lady Wauchope, without her consummate as- 
 surance of her own abilities. Call with ]\Ir Robinson 
 (who, by the bye, I find to be a worthy, much respected 
 man, very modest ; warm, social heart, which with less 
 good sense than Ms would be, perhaps, with the children 
 of prim precision and pride, rather inimical to that 
 respect which is man's due from man) — with him I call 
 on Miss Clarke, a maiden, in the Scotch phrase, " guid 
 enough, but no brent new ;" a clever woman, with toler- 
 able pretensions to remark and wit ; while time had 
 blown the blushing bud of bashful modesty into the 
 flower of easy confidence. She wanted to see what sort 
 of raree shoiv an author was ; and to let him know, that 
 though Dunbar Avas but a little town, yet it was not 
 destitute of people of parts. 
 
 Breakfast next morning at Skateraw, at Mr Lee's, a 
 farmer of great note. Mr Lee an excellent, hospi- 
 table, social fellow, rather oldish — Avarm-hearted and 
 chatty — a most judicious, sensible farmer. Mr Lee 
 detains me till next morning. Company at dinner — 
 My rev. acquaintance Dr Bowmaker, a reverend, rat- 
 tling old fellow. Two sea lieutenants ; a cousin of the 
 landlord's, a fellow whose looks are of that kind which 
 deceived me in a gentleman at Kelso, and has often 
 deceived me : a goodly handsome figure and face, which 
 incline one to give them credit for parts which they 
 have not. Mr Clai'ke a much cleverer fellow, but 
 whose looks a little cloudy, and his appearance rather 
 ungainly, with an every-day observer may prejudice 
 the opinion against him. Dr Brown, a medical young 
 gentleman from Dunbar, a fellow whose face and man- 
 ners are open and engaging. Leave Skateraw for Dunse 
 
 next day, along with collector , a lad of slender 
 
 abilities, and bashfully diffident to an extreme. 
 
 Found Miss Ainslie, the amiable, the sensible, the 
 good-humoured, the sweet Miss Ainslie, all alone at 
 Berrywell. Heavenly powers, who know the weakness 
 of human hearts, support mine ! What happiness must 
 I see, only to remind me that I cannot enjoy it ! 
 
 Lammer-muir hills, from East Lothian to Dunse, very 
 wild. Dine with the farmers' club at Kelso. Sir John 
 Hume and Mr Lumsden there, but nothing worth re- 
 membrance- when the following circumstance is con- 
 sidered — I walk into Dunse before dinner, and out to 
 Berrywell in the evening with Miss Ainslie — how well- 
 bred, how frank, how good she is ! Charming Rachael ! 
 may thy bosom never be wrung by the evils of this life 
 of sorrows, or by the villany of this world's sons ! 
 
 Thursday. — IMr Ker and I set out to dinner at Mr 
 Hood's, on our way to England. 
 
 I am taken extremely ill with strong feverish symp- 
 toms, and take a servant of JMr Hood's to watch me 
 all night — embittering remorse kicares my fancy at the 
 
 gloomy forebodings of deatli. I am determined to live 
 for the future in such a manner as not to be scared at 
 the approach of death — I am sure I could meet him 
 with indifference, but for " the something beyond the 
 grave." Mr Hood agrees to accompany us to England 
 if we will wait till Sunday. 
 
 Friday — I go with Mr Hood to see a roup of an un- 
 fortunate farmer's stock — rigid economy, and decent 
 industry, do you preserve me from being the principal 
 dramatis persona in such a scene of horror ! 
 
 Meet my good old friend Mr Ainslie, who calls on 
 Mr Hood in the evening to take farewell of my bard- 
 ship. This day I feel myself warm with sentiments of 
 gratitude to the Great Preserver of men, who has kindly 
 restored me to health and strength once more. 
 
 A pleasant walk with my young fi-iend, Douglas 
 Ainslie, a sweet, modest, clever young fellow. 
 
 Sunday — Cross Tweedy and traverse the moors, 
 through a wild country, till I reach Alnwick — Alnwick 
 Castle, a seat of the Duke of Northumberland, fur- 
 nished in a most princely manner. A Mr Wilkin, agent 
 of his grace's, shows us the house and policies. Mr 
 Wilkin a discreet, sensible, ingenious man. 
 
 Monday. — Come, still through by-ways, to Wark- 
 worth, where we dine. Hermitage and old castle. 
 Warkworth situated very picturesque, with Coquet 
 Island, a small rocky spot, the seat of an old monas- 
 tery, facing it a little in the sea, and the small but 
 romantic river Coquet running through it. Sleep at 
 Morpeth, a pleasant enough little town, and on next 
 day to Newcastle. Meet with a very agreeable, sensible 
 fellow, a Mr Cha.ttox, who shows us a great many 
 civilities, and who dines and sups with us. 
 
 Wednesday — Left Newcastle early in the morning, 
 and rode over a fine country to Hexham to breakfast 
 — from Hexham to Wardrue, the celebrated Spa, where 
 we slept, Thursday— resich. Longtown to dine, and part 
 there Avith my good friends, Messrs Hood and Ker. A 
 hiring day in Longtown. I am uncommonly happy to 
 see so many young folks enjoying life. I come to Car- 
 lisle. (]\Ieet a strange enough romantic adventure by 
 the way, in failing in with a girl and her married sister 
 — the girl, after some overtures of gallantry on my side, 
 sees me a little cut with the bottle, and offers to take 
 me in for a Gretna-green affair. I, not being quite 
 such a gull as she imagines, make an appointment with 
 her, by way of vive la bagatelle, to hold a conference 
 on it when we reach town. I meet her in town, and 
 give her a brush of caressing, and a bottle of cider ; 
 but finding herself un pen trompe in her man, she sheers 
 off".) Next day I meet my good friend, Mr Mitchell, 
 and Avalk with him round the town and its environs, 
 and through his printing-woi'ks, &c, — four or five hun- 
 dred people employed, many of them women and chil- 
 dren. Dine with Mr Mitchell, and leave Carlisle. 
 Come by the coast to Annan. Overtaken on the wa}'^ 
 by a curious old fish of a shoemaker, and miner, from 
 Cumberland mines. 
 
 [Here the manuscript abruptly terminates. 1 
 
 HIGHLAND TOUR: Aug. 25— Sept. 16,1787. 
 
 25th August, 1787. 
 I LEAVE Edinburgh for a northern tour, in company 
 witl> my good friend, Mr Nicol, whose originality of 
 humour promises me much entertainment, Linlithgow 
 — a fertile improved country — West Lothian. The 
 more elegance and luxury among the farmers, I alway.s 
 observe, in equal proportion, the rudeness and stupidity 
 of the peasantry. This remark I have made all over 
 the Lothians, Merse, Roxburgh, &c. For this, among 
 other reasons, I think that a man of romantic taste, a 
 " Man of Feeling," will be better pleased with the 
 poverty, but intelligent minds of the peasantry in Ayi"- 
 shire (peasantry they are all below the justice of peace) 
 than the opulence of a club of Merse farmers, when at 
 the same time he considers the vandalism of their 
 plough-folks, &c, I carry this idea so far, that an 
 unenclosed, half-improven country is to me actually 
 
MEMORANDA OF TOURS. 
 
 129 
 
 more agreeable, and gives me more pleasure as a pro- 
 spect, than a country cultivated like a garden. Soil 
 about Linlithgow light and thin. The town carries the 
 appearance of rude, decayed grandeur — charmingly 
 rural, retii'ed situation. The old royal palace a toler- 
 ably fine, but melancholy ruin — sweetly situated on a 
 small elevation, by the brink of a loch. Shown the 
 room where the beautiful injured Mary Queen of Scots 
 was born — a pretty good old Gothic church. The infa- 
 mous stool of repentance standing, in the old Romish 
 way, on a lofty situation. 
 
 What a poor, pimping business, is a Presbyterian 
 place of worship ; dirty, narrow, and squalid ; stuck in 
 a corner of old popish grandeur such as Linlithgow, 
 and much more ^lelrose ! Ceremony and show, if judi- 
 ciously thrown in, absolutely necessary for the bulk 
 of mankind, both in religious and civil matters. Dine. 
 Go to my friend Smith's at Avon print-field — find 
 nobody but Mrs Miller, an agreeable, sensible, modest, 
 good body, as useful but not so ornamental as Fielding's 
 Miss Western — not rigidly polite a la Francais, but 
 easy, hospitable, and housewifely. 
 
 An old lady from Paisley, a Mrs Lawson, whom I 
 
 promise to call for in Paisley — like old lady W , and 
 
 still more like Mrs C , her conversation is pregnant 
 
 with strong sense and just remark, but like them, a 
 certain air of self-importance and a duresse in the 
 eye, seem to indicate, as the. Ayrshire wife observed of 
 her cow, that " she had a mind o' her ain." 
 
 Pleasant view of Dunfermline, and the rest of the 
 fertile coast of Fife, as we go down to that dirty, ugly 
 place, Borrowstoness — see a horse-race, and call on a 
 friend of Mr Nicol's, a Bailie Cowan, of whom I know 
 too little to attempt his portrait. Come through the 
 rich carse of Falkirk to pass the night. Falkirk nothing 
 remarkable except the tomb of Sir John the Graham, 
 over which, in the succession of time, four stones have 
 been placed. Camelon, the ancient metropolis of the 
 Picts, now a small village in the neighbourhood of 
 Falkirk. Cross the grand canal to Carron. Come 
 past Larbert, and admire a fine monument of cast-iron 
 erected by Mr Bruce, the African traveller, to his 
 wife. 
 
 Pass Dunipace, a place laid out with fine taste — a 
 charming amphitheatre bounded by Denny village, and 
 pleasant seats down the way to Dunipace. The Carron 
 running down the bosom of the whole, makes it one of 
 the most charming little prospects I have seen. 
 
 Dine at Auchinbowie — Mr Monro an excellent worthy 
 old man — Miss Monro an amiable, sensible, sweet young 
 woman, much resembling Mrs Grierson. Come to Ban- 
 nockburn. Shown the old house where James III. 
 finished so tragically his unfortunate life. The field of 
 Bannockburn — the hole where glorious Bruce set his 
 standard. Here no Scot can pass uninterested. I 
 fancy to myself that I see my gallant, heroic country- 
 men, coming o'er the hill and down upon the plunderers 
 of their country, the murderers of their fathers ; noble 
 revenge, and just hate, glowing in every vein, striding 
 more and more eagerly as they approach the oppressive, 
 insulting, blood-thirsty foe ! I see them meet in glori- 
 ously-triumpliant congratulation on the victorious field, 
 exulting in their heroic royal leader, and rescued liberty 
 and independence ! Come to Stirling. Monday. — Go to 
 Harvieston, Go to see Caudron Linn, and Rumbling 
 Brig, and Deil's Mill. Return in the evening. Supper 
 — Messrs Doig, the schoolmaster ; Bell ; and Captain 
 Forrester of the castle — Doig a queerish figure, and 
 something of a pedant— Bell a joyous fellow, who sings 
 a good song. Forrester a merry swearing kind of man, 
 with a dash of the sodger, 
 
 Tuesday morning Breakfast with Captain Forrester 
 
 — Ochil hills — Devon river — Forth and Teith — Allan 
 rivei' — Strathallan, a fine country, but little improved 
 — Cross Earn to Crieff" — Dine and go to Arbruchil — 
 cold reception at Arbruchil — a most romantically plea- 
 sant ride up Earn, by Auchtertyre and Comrie, to Ar- 
 bruchil — Sup at Crieff'. 
 
 Wednesday morning. — Leave Crieff" — Glen Amend — 
 Amond River — Ossian's grave — Loch Fruoeh — Glen- 
 I 
 
 quaich — Landlord and landlady remarkable characters 
 — Taymouth — described in rhyme — Meet the Hon. 
 Charles Townshend. 
 
 Thursday Come down Tay to Dunkeld — Glenlyon 
 
 House — Lyon river — Druid's Temple — three circles of 
 stones — the outermost sunk — the sec^md has thirteen 
 stones remaining — the innermost has eight — two large 
 detached ones like a gate, to the south-east — say prayers 
 in it — pass Taybi-idge — Aberfeldy — described in rhyme 
 — Castle Menzies — Inver — Dr Stewart — Sup. 
 
 Friday. — Walk with Mrs Stewart and Beard to Bir- 
 nam top — fine prospect down Tay — Craigieburn hills 
 — hermitage on the Branwater, with a picture of Ossian 
 — breakfast with Dr Stewart — Neil Gow plays — a short, 
 stout-built, honest Highland figure, with his greyish hair 
 shed on his honest social brow — an interesting face, 
 marking strong sense, kind openheartedness, mixed with 
 unmistrusting simplicity — visit his house — MargetGow. 
 
 Ride up Tummel river to Blair — Fascally a beauti- 
 ful romantic nest — wild grandeur of the pass of Killi- 
 crankie — visit the gallant Lord Dundee's stone. 
 
 Blair — Sup with the Duchess — easy and happy from 
 the manners of the family — confirmed in my good opi- 
 nion of my friend Walker. 
 
 Saturday. — Visit the scenes round Blair — fine, but 
 spoiled with bad taste — Tilt and Gaii'ie rivers — Falls 
 on the Tilt — heather seat — ride in company with Sir 
 William Murray, and Mr Walker, to Loch Tummel — 
 meanderings of the Rannach, which runs through quon- 
 dam Struan Robertson's estate from Loch Rannach to 
 Loch Tummel — dine at Blair. Company — General 
 
 Murray Captain Murray, an honest tar Sir 
 
 William Murray, an honest, worthy man, but tormented 
 with the hypochondria — Mrs Graham, belle et aimable 
 — Miss Cathcart — Mrs Murray, a painter — Mrs Kmg 
 — Duchess and fine family, the Marquis, Lords James, 
 Edward, and Robert — Ladies Charlotte, Emilia, and 
 children dance — sup — JMr Graham of Fin try. 
 
 Come up the Garrie — Falls of Bruar — Daldecairoch 
 
 — Dalwhinnie — dine — snow on the hills 17 feet deep 
 
 no corn from Loch-gairie to Dalwhinnie — cross the 
 Spey, and come down the stream to Pitnin— straths rich 
 — les environs picturesque — Ci-aigow hill — Ruthven of 
 Badenoch — barracks — wild and magnificent — Rothe- 
 murche on the other side, and Glenmore — Grant of 
 Rothemurche's poetry — told me by the Duke of Gordon 
 — Strathspey, rich and romantic — breakfast at Avie- 
 more, a wild spot — dine at Sir James Grant's — Lady 
 Grant, a sweet, pleasant body^^ome through mist and 
 darkness to Dulsie, to lie. 
 
 Tuesday. — Findhorn river — rocky banks — come on 
 to Castle Cawdor, where Macbeth murdered King Dun- 
 can — saw the bed in which King Duncan was stabbed 
 — dine at Kilravock — Mrs Rose, sen., a true chieftain's 
 wife — Fort George- — Inverness. 
 
 Wednesday. — Loch Ness — Braes of Ness — General's 
 hut — Fall of Fyers — Urquhart Castle and Strath. 
 
 Thursday. — Come over Culloden JMuir — reflections 
 on the field of battle — breakfast at Kilravock — old Mrs 
 Rose, sterling sense, warm heart, strong passions, and 
 honest pride, all in an uncommon degree — Mrs Rose, 
 jun., a little milder than the mother : this, perhaps, 
 owing to her being younger — Mr Grant, minister at 
 Calder, resembles Mr Scott at Inverleithing — Mrs Rose 
 and Mrs Grant accompany us to Kildrummie — two 
 young ladies — Miss Rose, who sang two Gaelic sqngs, 
 beautiful and lovely — Miss Sophia Brodie, most agree- 
 able and amiable — both of them gentle, mild ; the 
 sweetest creatures on earth, and happiness be with 
 them ! Dine at Nairn — fall in with a pleasant enough 
 gentleman, Dr Stewart, who had been long abroad with 
 his father in the forty-five ; and Mr Falconer, a spare, 
 irascible, warm-hearted Norland, and a nonjuror — 
 Brodie-house to lie. 
 
 Friday. — Forres — famous stone at Forres — Mr 
 Brodie tells me that the muir where Shakspeare lays 
 Macbeth's witch-meeting is still haunted — that the 
 country folks won't pass it by night. 
 
 * * * « • 
 
 Venerable ruins of Elgin Abbey — a grander effect 
 
130 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 at first glance, than Melrose, but not near so beautiful 
 — cross Spey to Fochabers — fine palace, worthy of the 
 generous proprietor — dine. Company — Duke and 
 Duchess, Ladies Charlotte and IMagdeline, Col. Aber- 
 
 crombie and Lady, Mr Gordon, and Mr , a cler- 
 
 gynaan, a venerable aged figure — the Duke makes me 
 happier than ever great nian did — noble, princely, yet 
 mild, condescending, and affable ; gay and kind — the 
 Duchess wttty and sensible — God bless them ! 
 
 Come to Cullen to lie — hitherto the country is sadly 
 poor and unimproven. 
 
 Come to Aberdeen — meet with Mr Chalmers, printer, 
 a facetious fellow — Mr Ross, a fine fellow, like Pro- 
 fessor Tytler — Mr Marshall, one oi the poetce minores — 
 Mr Sheriffs, author of " Jamie and Bess," a little 
 decrepid body, with some abilities— Bishop Skinner, a 
 nonjuror, son of the author of " Tullochgctrum," a man 
 whose mild, venerable manner, is the most marked of 
 any in so young a man — Professor Gordon, a good- 
 natured, jolly-looking professor — Aberdeen, a lazy 
 town — near Stonehive, the coast a good deal romantic — 
 meet my relations — Robert Burns, writer in Stonehive, 
 one of those who love fun, a gill, and a punning joke, 
 and have not a bad heart — his wife a sweet, hospitable 
 body, without any affectation of what is called town- 
 breeding. 
 
 Tuesday — Breakfast with Mv Burns— lie at Law- 
 fence-kirk — Album library — Mrs , a jolly, frank, 
 
 sensible, love-inspiring wid'ow — Howe of the Mearns, 
 a rich, cultivated, but still unenclosed country. 
 
 Wednesday. — Cross North Esk river and a rich 
 country to Craigow. 
 
 * ' * * * 
 
 Go to Montrose, that finely situated handsome town 
 — breakfast at Muthie, and sail along that wild, rocky 
 coast, and see the famous caverns, particularly the 
 Gairiepot — land and dine at Arbroath — stately ruins of 
 Arbroath Abbey — come to Dundee, through a fertile 
 country — Dundee a low-lying, but pleasant town — old 
 steeple — Tayfrith — Broughty Castle, a finely situated 
 ruin, jutting into the Tay. 
 
 Friday. — Breakfast with the INIissScotts — Miss Bess 
 Scott like Mrs Greenfield — my hardship almost in love 
 with her — come through the rich harvests and fine 
 hedge-rows of the Carse of Gowrie, along the romantic 
 margin of the Grampian hills, to Perth — fine, fruitful, 
 hilly, woody country round Perth. 
 
 Saturday morning. — Leave Perth — come up Strath- 
 earn to Endermay — fine, fruitful, cultivated Strath — 
 the scene of " Bessy Bell and Mary Gray" near Perth 
 — fine scenery on the banks of the May — Mi's Belches, 
 gawcie, frank, affable, fond of rural sports, hunting, 
 &c — Lie at Kinross — reflections in a fit of the colic. 
 
 Sunday [Sep. 16] Pass through a cold, barren 
 
 country to Queensferry — dine — cross the ferry, and on 
 to Edinburgh. 
 
 NOTES TO JOHNSON'S SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM, 
 
 1 
 
 [In the latter part of his life, Burns procured an interleaved 
 copy of Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, for the purpose of con- 
 centrating in that place his remarks on Scottish songs and airs, 
 and all that he knew of their authors. The copy thus annotated 
 he presented to Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, whose niece, Eliza 
 Bayley, of Manchester, now possesses it. Most of the notes are 
 merely indications of an author's name, or of a simple fact re- 
 specting the locality or origin of the song. Such of them as 
 possess any general interest, are here presented.] 
 
 OH OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY. 
 
 It is somewhat singular, that, in Lanark, Renfrew, 
 Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dumfries shires, there 
 is scarcely an old song or tune, which, from the title, 
 &c., can be guessed to belong to, or be the production 
 of, these counties. This, I conjecture, is one of these 
 very few ; as the ballad, which is a long one, is called, 
 both by tradition and in printed collections, " The Lass 
 of Lochryan," which I take to be Lochryan, in Gal- 
 loway. 
 
 CLOUT THE CALDRON. 
 
 A tradition is mentioned in the " Bee," that the second 
 Bishop Chisholm, of Dunblane, used to say, that if he 
 were going to be hanged, nothing would soothe his mind 
 90 much by the way, as to hear " Clout the Caldron" 
 played. 
 
 I have met with another tradition, tliat the old song 
 to this tune 
 
 Hae ye ony pots or pans. 
 Or ony broken chanlers? 
 
 was composed on one of the Kennmre family, in the 
 cavalier times ; and alluded to an amour he had, while 
 under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant tijiker. 
 The air is also known by the name of " The Blacksmith 
 and his Apron," which, from the rhythm, seems to 
 have been a line of some old song to the tune. 
 
 SAW YE MY PEGGY? 
 
 This chaiining song is much older, and, indeed, supe- 
 rior to Ramsay's verses, " The Toast," as he calls them. 
 There is another set of the words, much older still, and 
 which I take to be the original one ; but though it has 
 a very great deal of merit, it is not quite ladies' reading. 
 
 The original words, for they can scarcely be called 
 verses, seem to be as follow ; a song familiar from the 
 cradle to every Scottish ear : — 
 
 Saw ye my Maggie, 
 Saw ye my Maggie, 
 Saw ye my Maggie 
 
 Liukiu' o'er the 1 
 High kilted was she, 
 High kilted was she, 
 High kilted was she, 
 
 Her coat aboon her knee. 
 
 What mark has your Maggie, 
 What mark has your Maggie, 
 What mark has your Maggie, 
 That ane may ken her be ? 
 
 Though it by no means follows that the silliest verse.*? 
 to an air must, for that reason, be the original song, 
 yet I take this ballad, of which I have quoted part, to 
 be old verses. The two songs in Ramsay, one of them 
 evidently his own, are never to be met with in the fire- 
 side circle of our peasanti'y ; while that which I take 
 to be the old song is in every shepherd's mouth. Ram- 
 say, I suppose, had thought the old verses unworthy of 
 a place in his collection. 
 
 I 
 
 THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 This song is one of the many effusions of Scots 
 Jacobitism. The title, '- Flowers of Edinburgh," hiis 
 no manner of connection with the present verses, so I 
 suspect there has been an older set of words, of which 
 the title is all that remains. 
 
NOTES TO JOHNSON'S MUSEUM. 
 
 131 
 
 By the bye, it is singular enough that tlie Scottish 
 Muses were all Jacobites. I have paid more attention 
 to every description of Scots songs than perhaps any 
 body living has done, and I do not recollect one single 
 stanza, or even the title, of the most triHing Scots air, 
 which has the least panegyrical reference to the families 
 of Nassau or Brunswick, while there ai'e hundreds 
 satirising them. This may be thought no panegyric on 
 the Scots poets, but I mean it as such. For myself, 
 I would always take it as a compliment to have it said 
 that my heart ran before my head — and surely the 
 gallant though unfortunate house of Stuart, the kings 
 of our fathers for so many heroic ages, is a theme * *•' * 
 
 FYE, GAE RUB HER O'ER WI' STRAE. 
 
 It is self-evident that the first four lines of this song 
 are part of a song more ancient than Ramsay's beauti- 
 ful verses which are annexed to them. As music is 
 the language of nature ; and poetry, particularly songs, 
 are always less or more localised (if I may be allowed 
 the verb) by some of the modifications of time and 
 place, this is the reason why so many of our Scots airs 
 have outlived their original, and perhaps many subse- 
 quent sets of verses, except a single name, or phrase, 
 or sometimes one or two lines, simply to distinguish 
 the tunes by. 
 
 To this day, among people who know nothing of 
 Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, and all the 
 song that ever I heard : — 
 
 Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, 
 
 Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 
 But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
 
 Fye, gae rnb her o'er wi' strae. 
 Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 
 
 Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae : 
 And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
 
 Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 
 
 THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR. 
 [The last time I cam o'er the muir, 
 
 I left my love behind me ; 
 Ye gods, what pains do I endure, 
 When saft ideas mind me, &c.] 
 
 Ramsay found the fii'st line of this song, which had 
 been preserved as the title of the charming air,^' and 
 then composed the rest of the verses to suit that line. 
 This has always a finer effect than composing' English 
 words, or words with an idea foreign to the spirit of 
 the old title. Where old titles of songs convey any 
 idea at all, it will generally be found to be quite in the 
 spirit of the air. 
 
 HIGHLAND LADDIE. 
 
 As this was a favourite theme with our later Scot- 
 tish muses, there are several airs and songs of that 
 name. That which I take to be the oldest, is to be 
 found in the " Musical Museum," beginning, " I hae 
 been at Crookie-den." One reason for my thinking so 
 is, that Oswald has it in his collection by the name of 
 " The auld Highland Laddie." It is also known by the 
 name of " Jinglan Johnnie," which is a well-known song 
 of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song 
 than Jacobite times. As a, proof of this, it is little 
 known to the peasantry by the name of " Highland 
 Laddie," while every body knovvs " Jinglan Johnnie." 
 The song begins, 
 
 Jinglan John, the meickle man, 
 
 He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonnie. 
 
 Another " Highland Laddie" is also in the " Museum," 
 vol. v., which I take to be Ramsay's original, as he has 
 borrowed the chorus, " Oh my bonnie Highland lad," 
 &c. It consists of three stanzas, besides the chorus, 
 
 * [The title of this air in the Skene manuscript, circa 1620, is 
 " Alace that I cam o'er the muir, and left my love behind me "] 
 
 and has humour in its composition — it is an excellent, 
 but somewhat licentious song. It begins, 
 
 As I cam o'er Cairney-Jlount, 
 
 And down amang the blooming heather. 
 
 This air, and the common " Highland Laddie," seem 
 only to be different sets. 
 
 Another " Highland Laddie," also in the " Museum," 
 vol. v., is the tune of several Jacobite fragments. One 
 of these old songs to it, only exists, as far as 1 know, in 
 these foiir lines — 
 
 Whare hae ye been a' day, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ? 
 Down the back o' Bell's brae, 
 
 Courtin' Maggie, courtin' Maggie. 
 
 Another of this name is Dr Arne's beautiful air, called 
 the new " Highland Laddie." 
 
 FAIREST OF THE FAIR. 
 
 It is too barefaced to take Dr Percy's charming song, 
 and, by means of transposing a few English words into 
 Scots, to offer to pass it for a Scots song. I was not 
 acquainted with the editor until the first volume was 
 nearly finished, else, had I known in time, I would have 
 prevented such an impudent absurdity. 
 
 THE BLAITHRIE O'T.* 
 
 The following is a set of this song, which was the 
 earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When 
 a child, an old woman sang it to me, and I picked it up, 
 every word, at first hearing : — 
 Oh Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand 
 To sing you a song which you did me command ; 
 But my memory's so bad, I had almost fni-got 
 That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride, 
 I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride ; 
 For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot. 
 And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on, 
 We env}' not the greatest that sits upon the throne; 
 I wad rather hae my lassie, tho* she cam in her smock. 
 Than a princess wi" the gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 Tho' we hae nae horses or menzie at command. 
 We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand ; 
 And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot, 
 And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent; 
 Hae we less, hae we mair, we will aye be content ; 
 For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins but a groat, 
 Thf.n the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 I'll not meddle wi' th' aifairs o' the kirk or the queen ; 
 They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink let them swim ; 
 On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still remote, 
 Sae tak this for tSfe gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 
 MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN. 
 
 '- Kate of Aberdeen" is, I believe, the work of poor 
 Cunningham the player, of whom the following anec- 
 dote, though told before, deserves a recital: — A fat 
 dignitary of the church coming past Cunningham one 
 Sunday, as the poor poet was busy plying a fishing-rod 
 in some stream near Durham, his native county, his 
 reverence reprimanded Cunningham very severely for 
 such an occupation on such a day. The poor poet, with 
 that inoffensive gentleness of manners which was his 
 peculiar characteristic, replied, that he hoped God and 
 his reverence would forgive his seeming profanity of 
 that sacred day, " as he had no dinner to eat, but what 
 lay at the bottom of that poolP^ This, Mr Woods, the 
 player, who knew Cunningham well, and esteemed him 
 much, assured me was true. 
 
 * [" Shame fall the gear and the blad'rj' o't," is the turn of an 
 old Scottish song, spoken when a young handsome girl marries an 
 old man, upon the account of his ^wealth.— Kelly' s Scots Proverbs, 
 p. 296.] 
 
132 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 TWEED-SIDE. 
 
 [What beauties doth Flora disclose ! 
 
 How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ! 
 Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, 
 
 Both nature and fancy exceed. 
 Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose. 
 
 Nor all the gay flowers of the field. 
 Nor Tweed gliding gently through those, 
 
 Such beauty and pleasure does yield— &:c.] 
 
 In Ramsay's " Tea-table Miscellany," he tells us that 
 about thirty of the songs m that publication were the 
 works of some young gentlemen of his acquaintance, 
 which songs ai'e marked with the letters D, C, &c. 
 Old Mr Tytler, of Woodhouselee, the worthy and able 
 defender of the beauteous Queen of Scots, told me that 
 the songs marked C, in the " Tea-table," were the com- 
 position of a Mr Crawford, of the house of Aclinames, 
 who was afterwards unfortunately drowned coming from 
 France. As Tytler was most intimately acquamted 
 with Allan Ramsay, I think the anecdote may be 
 depended on. Of consequence, the beautiful song of 
 Tweed-side is Mr Crawford's, and, indeed, does great 
 honour to his poetical talents. He was a Robert Craw- 
 ford ; the Mary he celebrates was a Mary Stewart, of 
 the Castle-Milk family, afterwards married to a Mr 
 John Ritchie. 
 
 I have seen a song, calling itself the original Tweed- 
 side, and said to have been composed by a Lord Yester. 
 It consisted of two stanzas, of which I still recollect the 
 first. 
 
 When Maggie and I was acquaint, 
 
 I cai-ried my noddle f u' hie ; 
 Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain. 
 Nor gowdspink sue happy as me: 
 But I saw her sae fair, and I loed : 
 
 I woo'd, but I cam nae great speed; 
 So now I maun wander abroad, 
 And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 
 
 THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. 
 
 This is one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots, 
 or any other language. The two lines, 
 
 And will I see his face again ! 
 And will I hear him speak ! 
 
 as well as the two preceding ones, are unequalled 
 almost by any thing I ever heard or read; and the 
 lines, 
 
 The present moment is our ain. 
 
 The neist we never saw, 
 
 are worthy of the first poet. It is long posteinor to 
 Ramsay's days. About the year 1771, or 72, it came 
 first on the streets as a ballad, and, I suppose, the com- 
 position of the song was not much anterior to that 
 period. 
 
 MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF YARROW. 
 
 Mr Robertson, in his statistical account of the parish 
 of Selkirk, says, that Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow, 
 was descended from the Dryhope, and married into the 
 Harden family. Her daughter was married to a pre- 
 decessor of the present Sir Francis Elliot of Stobs, and 
 of the late Lord Heathfield. 
 
 There is a circumstance in their contract of marriage 
 that merits attention, and it strongly marks the pre- 
 datory spirit of the times. The father-in-law agrees 
 to keep his daughter for some time after the marriage, 
 for which the son-in-law binds himself to give him the 
 profits of the first Michaelmas moon ! 
 
 THE BONNIE BRUCKET LASSIE. 
 
 [The bonnie brucket lassie. 
 She's blue beneath the een ; 
 
 She was the fairest lassie 
 That danced on the green: 
 
 A lad he loed her dearly, 
 She did his love return ; 
 
 But he his vows has broken, 
 And left her for to uiouin- 
 
 &C.1 
 
 The two first lines of this song are all of it that is 
 old. The rest of the song, as well as those songs in the 
 " Museum" marked T, are the works of an obscure, 
 tippling, but extraordinary body of the name of Tytler, 
 commonly known by the name of Balloon Tytler, from 
 his having projected a balloon — a mortal who, though 
 he drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, with 
 leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee-buckles as 
 unlike as George-by-the-grace-of-God, and Solomon-the- 
 son-of-David, yet that same unknown drunken moi'tal 
 is author and compiler of three-fourths of Elliot's pom- 
 pous Encyclopaedia Britannica, which he composed at 
 half-a-ffuinea a- week ! 
 
 CROMLET'S LILT. 
 
 [Since all thy vows, false maid. 
 
 Are blown to air, 
 And my poor heart betray'd 
 
 To sad despair. 
 Into some wilderness. 
 My grief I will express, 
 And thy hard-heartedness. 
 
 Oh cruel fair !] 
 
 The following interesting account of this plaintive 
 dirge was communicated to Mr Riddel by Alexander 
 Eraser Tytler, Esq., of Woodhouselee : — 
 
 " In the latter end of the sixteenth century, the 
 Chisholms were proprietors of the estate of Cromlecks 
 (now possessed by the Drummonds). The eldest son of 
 that family was very much attached to a daughter of 
 Sterling of Ardoch, commonly known by the name of 
 Fair Helen of Ardoch. 
 
 At that time the opportunities of meeting betwixt the 
 sexes were more rare, consequently more sought after, 
 than now; and the Scottish ladies, far from priding 
 themselves on extensive literature, were thought suffi- 
 ciently book-learned if they could make out the Scrip- 
 tures in their mother tongue. Writing was entirely out 
 of the line of female education. At that period, the most 
 of our young men of family sought a fortune, or found 
 a grave, in France. Cromlus, when he went abroad to 
 the war, was obliged to leave the management of his 
 correspondence with his mistiness to a lay-brother of 
 the monastery of Dumblain, in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. This man, 
 unfortunately, was deeply sensible of Helen's charms. 
 He artfully prepossessed her with stories to the disad- 
 vantage of Cromlus, and, by misinterpreting or keeping 
 up the letters and messages entrusted to his care, he 
 entirely irritated both. All connection was broken off 
 betwixt them : Helen was inconsolable, and Cromlus 
 has left behind him, in the ballad called ' Cronilet's 
 Lilt,' a proof of the elegance of his genius, as well as 
 the steadiness of his love. 
 
 When the artful monk thought time had sufficiently 
 softened Helen's sorrow, he proposed himself as a lover. 
 Helen was obdurate : but at last, overcome by the per- 
 suasions of her brother, with whom she Uved, and who, 
 having a family of thirty-one children, was probably 
 very well pleased to get her off" his hands, she sub- 
 mitted, rather than consented, to the 9eremony ; but 
 there her compliance ended : and, when forcibly put 
 into bed, she started quite frantic from it, screaming 
 out, that after three gentle taps on the wainscot, at the 
 bed-head, she heard Cromlus's voice, crying, ' Helen, 
 Helen, mind me !' Cromlus soon after coming home, 
 the treachery of the confidant was discovered — her 
 marriage annulled — and Helen became Lady Crom- 
 lecks." 
 
 N. B. — Marg. Murray, mother to these thirty-one 
 children, was daughter to Murray of Strewn, one of the 
 seventeen sons of TuUybardine, and whose youngest 
 son, commonly called the Tutor of Ardoch, died in the 
 year 1715, aged HI years. 
 
NOTES TO JOHNSON'S MUSEUM. 
 
 133 
 
 LEWIS GORDON. 
 
 [Oh ! send Lewie Gordon hame. 
 And the lad I maunna name ; 
 Tho* his back be at the \va'. 
 Here's to him that's far awa ! 
 
 Oh hon ! my Ilighlandman, 
 
 Oh my bonnie Ilighlandman ! 
 
 Weel would I my true-love ken, 
 
 Amaiig ten thousand Ilighlandmen— &:c.] 
 
 This air is a proof how one of our Scots tunes comes 
 to be composed out of another. I have one of the 
 earliest copies of the song, and it has prefixed, 
 
 Tune of Tarry Woo. 
 Of which tune a different set has insensibly varied into 
 a different air. To a Scots critic, the pathos of the 
 line, 
 
 Tho' his back be at the wa', 
 must be very striking. It needs not a Jacobite pre- 
 judice to be affected with this song. 
 
 The supposed author of " Lewis Gordon " was a Mr 
 Geddes, priest, at Shenval, in the Ainzie. 
 
 TRANENT-MUIR. 
 
 [The Chevalier, being void of fear, 
 Did march up Birsley Brae, man, 
 
 And through Tranent, ere he did stent. 
 As fast as he could gae, man — &c.*] 
 
 " Tranent-Muir " was composed by a Mr Skirving, a 
 very worthy respectable farmer near Haddington. I 
 have heard the anecdote often, that Lieut. Smith, whom 
 he mentions in the ninth stanza, came to Haddington 
 after the publication of the song, and sent a challenge 
 to Skirving to meet him at Haddington, and answer for 
 the unwoi-thy manner in which he had noticed him in 
 his song. " Gang away back," said the honest farmer, 
 " and tell Mr Smith that I hae nae leisure to come to 
 Haddington ; but tell him to come here, and I'll tak a 
 look o' him, and if I think I'm fit to fecht him, I'll 
 fecht him ; and*f no, I'll do as he did — Pll rin aiva." 
 
 STREPHON AND LYDIA. 
 
 [AH lonely on the sultry beach, 
 
 Expiring Strephon lay, 
 No hand the cordial draught to reach, 
 
 Nor cheer the gloomy way. 
 Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh, 
 
 To catch thy fleeting breath, 
 No bride to fix thy swimming eye. 
 
 Or smooth the face of death. 
 Far distant from the mournful scene, 
 
 Thy parents sit at ease. 
 Thy Lydia rifles all the plain. 
 
 And all the spring to please. 
 Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend. 
 
 Not force of foe depress'd, 
 Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind. 
 
 Thy country, unredress'd !] 
 
 The following account of this song I had from Dr 
 Blucklock. 
 
 The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the song were 
 perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. The gentle- 
 man was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. 
 The lady was the " Gentle Jean " celebrated somewhere 
 in Hamilton of Bangour's poems. Having frequently 
 met at pubhc places, they had formed a reciprocal 
 attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as 
 their resources were by no means adequate to their 
 tastes and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences 
 of such a connection, Strephon was sent abroad with a 
 commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedi- 
 tion to Carthagena. 
 
 The author of the song was William Wallace, Esq. 
 of Cairnhill, in Ayrshire. 
 
 * [The subject of this song is the battle of Preston, fought Sep- 
 tember 174.5, between the government forces under General Cope, 
 and the Highland army under Prince Charles Stuart.] 
 
 DUMBARTON DRUMS. 
 
 [Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie, O, 
 When they mind me o' my dear Johnnie, O. 
 
 How happy am I, 
 
 With my soldier sitting by, 
 When he kisses and blesses his Annie, O— &c.] 
 
 This is the last of the West Highland airs ; and from 
 it over the whole tract of country to the confines of 
 Tweed-side, there is hardly a tune or song that one can 
 say has taken its origin from any place or transaction 
 in that part of Scotland. The oldest Ayrshire reel is 
 " Stewarton Lasses," which was made by the father of 
 the present Sir Walter Montgomery Cunningham, alias 
 Lord Lysle ; since which period there has indeed been 
 local music in that county in great plenty. " Johnnie 
 Faa " is the only old song which I could ever trace as 
 belonging to the extensive county of Ayr. 
 
 KIRK WAD LET ME BE. 
 
 [I am a puir silly auld man, 
 
 And hirpling o'er a tree. 
 Yet fain, fain kiss wad I, 
 
 An the kirk wad let me be — &c.] 
 
 Tradition in the Avestern parts of Scotland tells that 
 this old song, of which there are still three stanzas 
 extant, once saved a covenanting clergyman out of a 
 scrape. It was a little prior to the revolution, a period 
 when being a Scots covenanter was being a felon, that 
 one of their clergy, who Avas at that very time hunted 
 by the merciless soldiery, fell in by accident with a 
 party of the military. The soldiers were not exactly 
 acquainted with the person of the reverend gentleman 
 of whom they were in search ; but, from suspicious 
 circumstances, they fancied that they had got one of 
 that cloth and opprobrious persuasion among them in 
 the person of this stranger. '• Mass John," to extricate 
 himself, assumed a freedom of manners very unlike the 
 gloomy strictness of his sect ; and among other convivial 
 exhibitions, sang (and some traditions say, composed on 
 the spur of the occasion), " Kix-k wad let me be," with 
 
 such effect, that the soldiers swore he was a d 
 
 honest fellow, and that it was impossible he could 
 belong to those hellish conventicles, and so ga-ve him 
 his liberty. 
 
 The first stanza of this song, a little altered, is a 
 favourite kind of dramatic interlude acted at country 
 weddings, in the south-west parts of the kingdom. A 
 young fellow is dressed up like an old beggar ; a peruke, 
 commonly made of carded tow, represents hoary locks ; 
 an old bonnet ; a ragged plaid, or surtout, bound with 
 a straw rope for a girdle ; a pair of old shoes, with straw 
 ropes twisted round his ancles, as is done by shepherds 
 in snowy weather : his face they disguise as like wretched 
 old age as they can. In this plight he is brought into 
 the wedding house, frequently to the astonishment of 
 strangers, who are not in the secret, and begins to 
 sing— 
 
 Oh, I am a silly auld man, 
 My name it is auld Glenae,* &c. 
 
 He is asked to drink, and by and bye to dance, which, 
 after some uncouth excuses, he is prevailed on to do, 
 the fiddler playing the tune which here is commonly 
 called " Auld Glenae ;" in short, he is all the time so 
 plied with hquor that he is understood to get intoxi- 
 cated, and, with all the ridiculous gesticulations of an 
 old drunken beggar, he dances and staggefs imtil he 
 falls on the floor ; yet still in all his riot, nay, in his 
 rolling and tumbling on the floor, with some other 
 drunken motions of his body, he beats time to the music, 
 till at last he is supposed to be carried out dead drunk. 
 
 * Glenae, on the~ small river Ae, in Annandale; the seat and 
 designation of an ancient branch, and the present representative, 
 of the gallant and unfortunate Dalzels of Carnwath. (This is the 
 Author's note.) 
 
134 
 
 BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 TUNE YOUR FIDDLES. 
 
 ~ [Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, 
 Play the Marquis' reel discreetly, 
 Here are we a band completely. 
 
 Fitted to be jolly. 
 Come, my boys, be blythe andgaucy, 
 Every youngster choose his lassie, 
 Dance wi' life, and be not saucy. 
 
 Shy nor melancholy— &c.] 
 
 This song was composed by the Rev. .John Skinner, 
 Nonjuror Clergyman at Linshart, near Peterhead. He 
 is likewise author of " Tulloehgorum," " Ewie wi' the 
 Crooked Horn," " John o' Badenyond," &c., and what is 
 of still more consequence, he is one of the worthiest of 
 mankind. He is the author of an ecclesiastical history of 
 Scotland. The air is by Mr Marshall, butler to the Duke 
 of Gordon, the first composer of strathspeys of the age. 
 I have been told by somebody, who had it of ]\Iarshall 
 himself, that he took the idea of his three most cele- 
 brated pieces, " The Marquis of Huntley's Reel," his 
 " Farewell," and " Miss Admiral Gordon's Reel," from 
 the old air, " The German Lairdie." 
 
 GIL MORICE. 
 
 This plaintive ballad ought to have been called Child 
 Maurice, and not Gil Morice. In its present dress, it 
 has gained immortal honour from Mr Home's taking 
 from it the ground- work of his fine tragedy of Douglas. 
 But I am of opinion that the present ballad is a modern 
 composition ; perhaps not much above the age of the 
 middle of the last century : at least I should be glad to 
 see or hear of a copy of the present words prior to 
 1650. That it was taken from &^ old ballad, called 
 " Child Maurice," now lost, I am inclined to believe ; 
 but the present one may be classed with " Hardyknute," 
 "Kenneth," "Duncan, the Laird of Woodhouselie," 
 " Lord Livingston," " Binnorie," " The Death of Mon- 
 teith," and many other modern productions, which have 
 been swallowed by many readers as ancient fragments 
 of old poems. This beautiful plaintive tune was com- 
 posed by Mr M'Gibbon, the selector of a collection of 
 Scots tunes. R. B. 
 
 In addition to the observations on Gil INIorice, I add, 
 that of the songs which Capt. Riddel mentions, " Ken- 
 neth" and "Duncan" are juvenile compositions of Mr 
 M'Kenzie, " The IMan of Feeling." M'Kenzie's father 
 showed them in MS. to Dr Blacklock, as the produc- 
 tions of his sonj from which the doctor rightly prog- 
 nosticated that the young poet would make, in his more 
 advanced years, a respectable figure in the world of 
 letters. 
 
 This I had from Blacklock. 
 
 TULLOCHGORUM. 
 
 [" Come, gis's a sang," Montgomery cried, 
 " And lay your disputes all aside ; 
 AVhat signifies't for folks to chide 
 
 For what was done before them ; 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree, 
 
 Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, 
 Whig and Tory all agree, 
 
 To drop their V/hig-mig-morum. 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree 
 To spend the night wi' mirth and glee. 
 And cheerful sing alang wi' me, 
 
 The reel o' Tulloehgorum "— &c.] 
 This first of songs is the masterpiece of my old friend 
 Skinner. He was passing the day, at the town of Cullen, 
 
 I think it was,* in a friend's house, whose name was 
 Montgomery. Mi's Montgomery observing, en passant, 
 that the beautiful reel of" Tulloehgorum " wanted words, 
 she begged them of Mr Skinner, who gratified her 
 wishes, and the wishes of every lover of Scottish song, 
 in this most excellent ballad. 
 
 These particulars I had from the author's son, Bishop 
 Skinner, at Aberdeen. 
 
 A SOUTHLAND JENNY. 
 
 [A Southland .Jenny that was right bonnie, 
 
 She had for a suitor a Norlan' Johnnie ; 
 
 But he was sicken a bashfu' wooer, 
 
 That he could scarcely speak unto her. 
 
 But blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her siller, 
 
 Forc'd him at last to tell his mind till 'er ; 
 
 " My dear," quo' he, " we'll nae longer tarry. 
 
 Gin ye can love me, let's o'er the muir and marry"— fee] 
 This is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes 
 were never taken down before. It, as well as many of 
 the ballad tunes in this collection, was written from 
 Mrs Burns's voice. 
 
 O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER, 
 
 [Comin' thro' the craigs o' Kyle, 
 Amang the bonnie blooming heather, 
 There I met a bonnie lassie. 
 Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 
 
 O'er the moor amang the heather. 
 
 O'er the moor amang the heather. 
 
 There I met a bonnie lassie, 
 
 Keeping a' her yowes thegither— &c.] 
 
 This song is the composition of a Jean Glover, a girl 
 
 who was not only a , but also a thief ; and, in one 
 
 or other character, has visited most of the correction 
 houses in the West. She was born, I believe, in Kil- 
 marnock — I took the song down from her singing, as 
 she was strolling through the country, with a sleight-of- 
 hand blackguard. 
 
 THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL. 
 This song of genius was composed by ^ Miss Ci-an- 
 ston.f It wanted four lines to make all the stanzas 
 suit the music, which I added, and are the four first of 
 the last stanza. 
 
 No cold approach, no alter'd mien, 
 
 Just what would make suspicion start ; 
 No pause the dire extremes between. 
 He made me blest— and broke my heart ! 
 
 BOB 0' DUMBLANE. ^ 
 
 Ramsay, as usual, has modernised this song. The 
 original, which I learned on the spot, from my old 
 hostess, in the principal inn there, is — 
 Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle. 
 And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame ; 
 My heckle is brokejj, it canna be gotten. 
 
 And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane, &c. 
 I insert this song to introduce the following anecdote, 
 which I have heard well authenticated. In the even- 
 ing of the day of the battle of Dumblane (Sheriff- muir) 
 when the action was over, a Scots officer in Argyle's 
 army observed to his Grace, that he was afraid the 
 rebels would give out to the world that they had gotten 
 the victory. " Weel, weel," returned his Grace, allud- 
 ing to the foregoing ballad, " if they think it be na 
 weel bobbit, we'll bob it again." 
 
 * [hi reality, the town of Ellon, in Aberdeenshire.] 
 t [Afterwards Mrs Dugald Stewart.] 
 
 END OF BURNS'S PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Edinburgh; 
 rrinte^i by W. & R. Chambers, Id, Waterloo Place. 
 
 L^^' 
 
I 
 
L. C. Bindery 
 1904 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 iiliill 
 014 154 884 
 
 
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