No More Learning

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 169: From Othello. ]

[Footnote 170: Adam Smith. ]

* * * * *




LIV.


TO MR. SIBBALD,

BOOKSELLER IN EDINBURGH.

[This letter first appeared in that very valuable work, Nicholl's
Illustrations of Literature. ]

_Lawn Market. _

SIR,

So little am I acquainted with the words and manners of the more
public and polished walks of life, that I often feel myself much
embarrassed how to express the feelings of my heart, particularly
gratitude:--

"Rude am I in my speech,
And little therefore shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself--"

The warmth with which you have befriended an obscure man and a young
author in the last three magazines--I can only say, Sir, I feel the
weight of the obligation, I wish I could express my sense of it. In
the mean time accept of the conscious acknowledgment from,

Sir,

Your obliged servant,

R. B.

* * * * *




LV.


TO DR. MOORE.

[The book to which the poet alludes, was the well-known View of
Society by Dr. Moore, a work of spirit and observation. ]

_Edinburgh, 23d April, 1787. _

I received the books, and sent the one you mentioned to Mrs. Dunlop. I
am ill skilled in beating the coverts of imagination for metaphors of
gratitude. I thank you, Sir, for the honour you have done me; and to
my latest hour will warmly remember it. To be highly pleased with your
book is what I have in common with the world; but to regard these
volumes as a mark of the author's friendly esteem, is a still more
supreme gratification.

I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight, and after
a few pilgrimages over some of the classic ground of Caledonia, Cowden
Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, &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 compliments to Miss Williams. If once this tangent
flight of mine were over, and I were returned to my wonted leisurely
motion in my old circle, I may probably endeavour to return her poetic
compliment in kind.

R. B.

* * * * *




LVI.


TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[This letter was in answer to one of criticism and remonstrance, from
Mrs. Dunlop, respecting "The Dream," which she had begged the poet to
omit, lest it should harm his fortunes with the world. ]

_Edinburgh, 30th April, 1787. _

---- Your criticisms, Madam, I understand very well, and could have
wished to have pleased you better. You are right in your guess that I
am not very amenable to counsel. Poets, much my superiors, have so
flattered those who possessed the adventitious qualities of wealth and
power, that I am determined to flatter no created being, either in
prose or verse.

I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics, &c. , as all these
respective gentry do by my bardship. I know what I may expect from the
word, by and by--illiberal abuse, and perhaps contemptuous neglect.

I am happy, Madam, that some of my own 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 person.

R. B.

* * * * *




LVII.


TO THE REV. DR. HUGH BLAIR.

[The answer of Dr. Blair to this letter contains the following
passage: "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 you have stood it so well, and, as far as I
have known or heard, though in the midst of many temptations, without
reproach to your character or behaviour. "]

_Lawn-market, Edinburgh, 3d May, 1787. _

REVEREND AND MUCH-RESPECTED SIR,

I leave Edinburgh to-morrow morning, but could not go without
troubling you with half a line, sincerely to thank you for the
kindness, 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 remark; and honoured by the
notice of those illustrious names of my country whose works, while
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 literature, those who are truly
benefactors 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[171] for me, done on
Indian paper, as a trifling but sincere testimony with what heart-warm
gratitude I am, &c.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 171: The portrait of the poet after Nasmyth. ]

* * * * *




LVIII.


TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

[The poet addressed the following letter to the Earl of Glencairn,
when he commenced his journey to the Border. It was first printed in
the third edition of Lockhart's Life of Burns; an eloquent and manly
work. ]

MY LORD,

I go away to-morrow morning early, and allow me to vent the fulness of
my heart, in thanking your lordship for all that patronage, that
benevolence and that friendship with which you have honoured me. With
brimful eyes, I pray that you may find in that great Being, whose
image you so nobly bear, that friend which I have found in you. My
gratitude is not selfish design--that I disdain--it is not dodging
after the heels of greatness--that is an offering you disdain. It is a
feeling of the same kind with my devotion.

R. B.

* * * * *




LIX.


TO MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR.

[William Dunbar, Colonel of the Crochallan Fencibles. The name has a
martial sound, but the corps which he commanded was club of wits,
whose courage was exercised on "paitricks, teals, moorpowts, and
plovers. "]

_Lawn-market, Monday morning. _

DEAR SIR,

In justice to Spenser, I must acknowledge that there is scarcely a
poet in the language could have been a more 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 herewith present you, and the handsome
volumes of Spenser 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 friendships 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 astronomy is yet acquainted, you and I, among the harum
scarum sons of imagination and whim, with a hearty shake of a hand, a
metaphor and a laugh, shall recognise old acquaintance:

"Where wit may sparkle all its rays,
Uncurs'd 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.

* * * * *




LX.


TO JAMES JOHNSON.

[James Johnson was an engraver in Edinburgh, and proprietor of the
Musical Museum; a truly national work, for which Burns wrote or
amended many songs. ]

_Lawn-market, Friday noon, 3 May, 1787. _

DEAR 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. Blacklock.

Farewell, my dear Sir! I wished to have seen you, but I have been
dreadfully throng, as I march to-morrow. Had my acquaintance with you
been a little older, I would have asked the favour of your
correspondence, as I have met with few people whose company and
conversation gives 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 the song till we meet again, whenever that may
be.

R. B.

* * * * *




LXI.


TO WILLIAM CREECH, ESQ.

EDINBURGH.

[This characteristic letter was written during the poet's border tour:
he narrowly escaped a soaking with whiskey, as well as with water; for
according to the Ettrick Shepherd, "a couple of Yarrow lads, lovers of
poesy and punch, awaited his coming to Selkirk, but would not believe
that the parson-looking, black-avised man, who rode up to the inn,
more like a drouket craw than a poet, could be Burns, and so went
disappointed away. "]

_Selkirk, 13th May, 1787. _

MY HONOURED FRIEND,

The enclosed I have just wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary inn in
Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's riding. I have been over most of
East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, and Selkirk-shires; and next week I
begin a tour through the north of England. Yesterday I dined with Lady
Harriet, sister to my noble patron,[172] _Quem Deus conservet_! I would
write till I would tire you as much with dull prose, as I dare say by
this 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.

Auld chuckie Reekie's sair distrest,
Down drops her ance weel burnish'd crest,
Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest
Can yield ava;
Her darling bird that she loves best,
Willie's awa. [173]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 172: James, Earl of Glencairn. ]

[Footnote 173: See Poem LXXXIII. ]

* * * * *




LXII.


TO MR. PATISON,

BOOKSELLER, PAISLEY.

[This letter has a business air about it: the name of Patison is
nowhere else to be found in the poet's correspondence. ]

_Berrywell, near Dunse, May 17th, 1787. _

DEAR SIR,

I am sorry I was out of Edinburgh, making 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 company on the
royal bank, for twenty-two pounds seven shillings sterling, payment in
full, after carriage deducted, for ninety copies of my book I sent
you. According to your motions, I see you will have left Scotland
before this reaches you, otherwise 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-subscribers pay six shillings, this is Creech's
profit; but those who have subscribed, though their names have been
neglected in the printed list, which is very incorrect, are supplied
at subscription price. I was not at Glasgow, nor do I intend for
London; and I think Mrs. Fame is very idle to tell so many lies on a
poor poet. When you or Mr. Cowan write for copies, if you should want
any direct to Mr. Hill, at Mr. Creech's shop, and I write to Mr. Hill
by this post, to answer either of your orders. Hill is Mr. Creech's
first clerk, and Creech himself is presently in London. I suppose I
shall have the pleasure, against your return to Paisley, of assuring
you how much I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant,

R. B.

* * * * *




LXIII.


TO W. NICOL, ESQ. ,

MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH.

[Jenny Geddes was a zealous old woman, who threw the stool on which
she sat, at the Dean of Edinburgh's head, when, in 1637, he attempted
to introduce a Scottish Liturgy, and cried as she threw, "Villain,
wilt thou say the mass at my lug! " The poet named his mare after this
virago. ]

_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 forfoughten cock, to gie you some notion
o' my land lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' hour that I sheuk
hands and parted wi' auld Reekie.

My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huch-yall'd up hill and down brae,
in Scotland and England, as teugh and birnie as a vera devil wi' me.
It's true, she's as poor's a sang-maker and as hard's a kirk, and
tipper-taipers when she taks the gate, first like a lady's gentlewoman
in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle; but she's a yauld, poutherie
Girran for a' that, and has a stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that
wad hae disgeested tumbler-wheels, for she'll whip me aff her five
stimparts o' the best aits at a down-sittin and ne'er fash her thumb.
When ance her ringbanes and spavies, her crucks and cramps, and fairly
soupl'd, she beets to, beets to, and ay the hindmost hour the
tightest. I could wager her price to a thretty pennies, that for twa
or three wooks ridin at fifty miles a day, the deil-stricket a five
gallopers acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut on her tail.

I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dumbar to Selcraig, and hae
forgather'd wi' monie a guid fallow, and monie a weelfar'd huzzie. I
met wi' twa dink quines in particular, ane o' them a sonsie, fine,
fodgel lass, baith braw and bonnie; the tither was clean-shankit,
straught, tight, weelfar'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a
flowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new-blawn plumrose in a
hazle shaw. They were baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and onie ane
o' them had as muckle smeddum and rumblegumtion as the half o' some
presbytries that you and I baith ken. They play'd me sik a deevil o' a
shavie that I daur say if my harigals were turn'd out, ye wad see twa
nicks i' the heart o' me like the mark o' a kail-whittle in a castock.

I was gaun to write you a lang pystle, but, Gude forgie me, I gat
mysel sae noutouriously bitchify'd the day after kail-time, that I can
hardly stoiter but and ben.

My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our common friens, especiall
Mr. and Mrs. Cruikshank, and the honest guidman o' Jock's Lodge.

I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the fore, and the
branks bide hale.

Gude be wi' you, Willie! Amen!

R. B.

* * * * *




LXIV.


TO MR. JAMES SMITH,

AT MILLER AND SMITH'S OFFICE, LINLITHGOW.

[Burns, it seems by this letter, had still a belief that he would be
obliged to try his fortune in the West Indies: he soon saw how hollow
all the hopes were, which had been formed by his friends of "pension,
post or place," in his native land. ]

_Mauchline, 11th June, 1787. _

MY EVER DEAR SIR,

I date this from Mauchline, where I arrived on Friday even last. I
slept at John Dow's, and called for my daughter. Mr. Hamilton and your
family; your mother, sister, and brother; my quondam Eliza, &c. , all
well. If anything had been wanting to disgust me completely at
Armour's family, their mean, servile compliance would have done it.

Give me a spirit like my favourite hero, Milton's Satan:

Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou proufoundest hell,
Receive thy new possessor! he who brings
A mind not be chang'd by _place_ or _time_!

I cannot settle to my mind. --Farming, the only thing of which I know
anything, and heaven above knows but little do I understand of that, I
cannot, dare not risk on farms as they are. If I do not fix I will go
for Jamaica. Should I stay in an unsettled state at home, I would
only dissipate my little fortune, and ruin what I intend shall
compensate my little ones, for the stigma I have brought on their
names.

I shall write you more at large soon; as this letter costs you no
postage, if it be worth reading you cannot complain of your
pennyworth.

I am ever, my dear Sir,

Yours,

R. B.

P. S. The cloot has unfortunately broke, but I have provided a fine
buffalo-horn, on which I am going to affix the same cipher which you
will remember was on the lid of the cloot.

* * * * *




LXV.


TO WILLIAM NICOL, ESQ.

[The charm which Dumfries threw over the poet, seems to have dissolved
like a spell, when he sat down in Ellisland: he spoke, for a time,
with little respect of either place or people. ]

_Mauchline, June 18, 1787. _

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I am now arrived safe in my native country, after a very agreeable
jaunt, and have the pleasure to find all my friends well. I
breakfasted with your gray-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 bardship,
my hopes in that business are rather mended; but still they are but
slender.

I am quite charmed with Dumfries folks--Mr. Burnside, the clergyman,
in particular, is a man whom I shall ever gratefully remember; and his
wife, Gude forgie me! I had almost broke the tenth commandment on her
account. Simplicity, elegance, good sense, sweetness of disposition,
good humour, kind hospitality are the constituents of her manner and
heart; in short--but if I say one word more about her, I shall be
directly in love with her.

I never, my friend, thought mankind very capable of anything generous;
but the stateliness of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the servility
of my plebeian brethren (who perhaps formerly eyed me askance) since I
returned home, have nearly put me out of conceit altogether with my
species. I have bought a pocket Milton, which I carry perpetually
about with me, in order to study the sentiments--the dauntless
magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding independence, the desperate
daring, and noble defiance of hardship, in that great personage,
SATAN.
'Tis true, I have just now a little cash; but I am
afraid the star that hitherto has shed its malignant, purpose-blasting
rays full in my zenith; that noxious planet so baneful in its
influences to the rhyming tribe, I much dread it is not yet beneath my
horizon. --Misfortune dodges the path of human life; the poetic mind
finds itself miserably deranged in, and unfit for the walks of
business; add to all, that thoughtless follies and hare-brained whims,
like so many _ignes fatui_, eternally diverging from the right line of
sober discretion, sparkle with step-bewitching blaze in the
idly-gazing eyes of the poor heedless bard, till, pop, "he falls like
Lucifer, never to hope again. " God grant this may be an unreal picture
with respect to me! but should it not, I have very little dependence
on mankind. I will close my letter with this tribute my heart bids me
pay you--the many ties of acquaintance and friendship which I have, or
think I have in life, I have felt along the lines, and, damn them,
they are almost all of them of such frail contexture, that I am sure
they would not stand the breath of the least adverse breeze of
fortune; but from you, my ever dear Sir, I look with confidence for
the apostolic love that shall wait on me "through good report and bad
report"--the love which Solomon emphatically says "is strong as
death. " My compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and all the circle of our common
friends.

P. S. I shall be in Edinburgh about the latter end of July.

R. B.

* * * * *




LXVI.


TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH.

[Candlish was a classic scholar, but had a love for the songs of
Scotland, as well as for the poetry of Greece and Rome. ]

_Edinburgh, 1787. _

MY DEAR FRIEND,

If once I were gone from this scene of hurry and dissipation, I
promise myself the pleasure of that correspondence being renewed
which has been so long broken. At present I have time for nothing.
Dissipation and business engross every moment. I am engaged in
assisting an honest Scotch enthusiast,[174] 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 will 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
published. I shall show you the first number when I see you in
Glasgow, which will 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
oblige me.

Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruikshank's, St. James's Square, New Town,
Edinburgh.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 174: Johnson, the publisher and proprietor of the Musical
Museum. ]

* * * * *




LXVII.


TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.

["Burns had a memory stored with the finest poetical passages, which
he was in the habit of quoting most aptly in his correspondence with
his friends: and he delighted also in repeating them in the company of
those friends who enjoyed them. " These are the words of Ainslie, of
Berrywell, to whom this letter in addressed. ]

_Arracher_, 28_th June_, 1787.

MY DEAR SIR,

I write on my tour through a country where savage streams tumble over
savage mountains, thinly overspread with savage flocks, which
sparingly support as savage inhabitants. My last stage was
Inverary--to-morrow night's stage Dumbarton. I ought sooner to have
answered your kind letter, but you know I am a man of many sins.

R. B.

* * * * *




LXVIII.


TO WILLIAM NICOL, ESQ.

[This visit to Auchtertyre produced that sweet lyric, beginning
"Blythe, blythe and merry was she;" and the lady who inspired it was
at his side, when he wrote this letter. ]

_Auchtertyre, Monday, June, 1787. _

MY DEAR SIR,

I find myself very comfortable here, neither oppressed by ceremony nor
mortified by neglect. Lady Augusta is a most engaging woman, and very
happy in her family, which makes one's outgoings and incomings very
agreeable. I called at Mr. Ramsay'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. Cruikshank and Mrs. Nicol, if
she is returned.

I am ever, dear Sir,

Your deeply indebted,

R. B.

* * * * *




LXIX.


TO WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK, ESQ.

ST. JAMES'S SQUARE, EDINBURGH.

[At the house of William Cruikshank, one of the masters of the High
School, in Edinburgh, Burns passed many agreeable hours. ]

_Auchtertyre, Monday morning. _

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 Ochillhills, with Mr. Trait of Herveyston 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 Mr. Ramsay at
Auchtertyre, near Stirling: a man to whose worth I cannot do justice.
My respectful kind compliments to 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.

* * * * *




LXX.


TO MR. JAMES SMITH.

LINLITHGOW.

[The young lady to whom the poet alludes in this letter, was very
beautiful, and very proud: it is said she gave him a specimen of both
her temper and her pride, when he touched on the subject of love. ]

_June 30, 1787. _

MY DEAR FRIEND,

On our return, at a Highland gentleman's hospitable mansion, we fell
in with a merry party, and danced till the ladies left us, at three in
the morning. Our dancing was none of the French or English insipid
formal movements; the ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at
intervals; then we flew at Bab at the Bowster, Tullochgorum, Loch
Erroch Side, &c. , like midges sporting in the mottie sun, or craws
prognosticating a storm in a hairst day. --When the dear lasses left
us, we ranged round the bowl till the good-fellow hour of six; except
a few minutes that we went out to pay our devotions to the glorious
lamp of day peering over the towering top of Benlomond. We all
kneeled; our worthy landlord's son held the bowl; each man a full
glass in his hand; and I, as priest, repeated some rhyming nonsense,
like Thomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies I suppose. --After a small
refreshment of the gifts of Somnus, we proceeded to spend the day on
Lochlomond, and reach Dumbarton in the evening. We dined at another
good fellow's house, and consequently, pushed the bottle; when we went
out to mount our horses, we found ourselves "No vera fou but gaylie
yet. " My two friends and I rode soberly down the Loch side, till by
came a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but which
had never known the ornaments of iron or leather. We scorned to be
out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we started, whip and spur. My
companions, though seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly astern; but my
old mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante family, she strained past
the Highlandman in spite of all his efforts with the hair halter; just
as I was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as if to cross before
me to mar my progress, when down came his horse, and threw his rider's
breekless a----e in a clipt hedge; and down came Jenny Geddes over
all, and my bardship between her and the Highlandman's horse. Jenny
Geddes trode over me with such cautious reverence, that matters were
not so bad as might well have been expected; so I came off with a few
cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolution to be a pattern of
sobriety for the future.

I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to the serious business of
life. I am, just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless,
idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a farm soon. I was going
to say, a wife too; but that must never be my blessed lot. I am but a
younger son of the house of Parnassus, and like other younger sons of
great families, I may intrigue, if I choose to run all risks, but must
not marry.

I am afraid I have almost ruined one source, the principal one,
indeed, of my former happiness; that eternal propensity I always had
to fall in love. My heart no more glows with feverish rapture. I have
no paradisaical evening interviews, stolen from the restless cares and
prying inhabitants of this weary world. I have only * * * *. This last
is one of your distant acquaintances, has a fine figure, and elegant
manners; and in the train of some great folks whom you know, has seen,
the politest quarters in Europe. I do like her a good deal; but what
piques me is her conduct at the commencement of our acquaintance. I
frequently visited her when I was in ----, and after passing regularly
the intermediate degrees between the distant formal bow and the
familiar grasp round the waist, I ventured, in my careless way, to
talk of friendship in rather ambiguous terms; and after her return
to ----, I wrote to her in the same style. Miss, construing my words
farther I suppose than even I intended, flew off in a tangent of
female dignity and reserve, like a mounting lark in an April morning;
and wrote me an answer which measured me out very completely what an
immense way I had to travel before I could reach the climate of her
favour. But I am an old hawk at the sport, and wrote her such a cool,
deliberate, prudent reply, as brought my bird from her aerial
towerings, pop, down at my foot, like Corporal Trim's hat.

As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, and all my wise sayings, and
why my mare was called Jenny Geddes, they shall be recorded in a few
weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the chronicles of your memory, by

R. B.

* * * * *




LXXI.


TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND.

[Mr. John Richmond, writer, was one of the poet's earliest and firmest
friends; he shared his room with him when they met in Edinburgh, and
did him many little offices of kindness and regard. ]

_Mossgiel, 7th July, 1787. _

MY DEAR RICHMOND,

I am all impatience to hear of your fate since the old confounder of
right and wrong has turned you out of place, by his journey to answer
his indictment at the bar of the other world. He will find the
practice of the court so different from the practice in which he has
for so many years been thoroughly hackneyed, that his friends, if he
had any connexions truly of that kind, which I rather doubt, may well
tremble for his sake. His chicane, his left-handed wisdom, which stood
so firmly by him, to such good purpose, here, like other accomplices
in robbery and plunder, will, now the piratical business is blown, in
all probability turn the king's evidences, and then the devil's
bagpiper will touch him off "Bundle and go! "

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 down
came Jenny and my bardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises
and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare venture
on my journey to Edinburgh.

Not one new thing under the sun has happened in Mauchline since you
left it. I hope this will find you as comfortably situated as
formerly, or, if heaven pleases, more so; but, at all events, I trust
you will let me know of course how matters stand with you, well or
ill. 'Tis but poor consolation to tell the world when matters go
wrong; but you know very well your connexion and mine stands on a
different footing.

I am ever, my dear friend, yours,

R. B.

* * * * *




LXXII.


TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.

[This letter, were proof wanting, shows the friendly and familiar
footing on which Burns stood with the Ainslies, and more particularly
with the author of that popular work, the "Reasons for the Hope that
is in us. "]

_Mauchline, 23d July, 1787. _

MY DEAR AINSLIE,

There is one thing for which I set great store by you as a friend, and
it is this, that I have not a friend upon earth, besides yourself, to
whom I can talk nonsense without forfeiting some degree of his esteem.
Now, to one like me, who never cares for speaking anything else but
nonsense, such a friend as you is an invaluable treasure. I was never
a rogue, but have been a fool all my life; and, in spite of all my
endeavours, I see now plainly that I shall never be wise. Now it
rejoices my heart to have met with such a fellow as you, who, though
you are not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust you will never
listen so much to the temptations of the devil as to grow so very wise
that you will in the least disrespect an honest follow 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 morn 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 lines just to tell me how that good
sagacious man your father is--that kind dainty body your mother--that
strapping chiel your brother Douglas--and my friend Rachel, who is as
far before Rachel of old, as she was before her blear-eyed sister
Leah.

R. B.

* * * * *




LXXIII.


TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.

[The "savage hospitality," of which Burns complains in this letter,
was at that time an evil fashion in Scotland: the bottle was made to
circulate rapidly, and every glass was drunk "clean caup out. "]

_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 country; one in
particular, in Nithsdale, pleased me so well, that if my offer to the
proprietor is accepted, I shall commence farmer at Whit-Sunday. If
farming do not appear eligible, I shall have recourse to 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 sincerely,

R. B.

* * * * *




LXXIV.


TO DR. MOORE.

[Dr. Moore was one of the first to point out the beauty of the lyric
compositions of Burns. "'Green grow the Rashes,' and of the two
songs," says he, "which follow, beginning 'Again rejoicing nature
sees,' and 'The gloomy night is gathering fast;' the latter 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. " On this letter to Moore all the
biographies of Burns are founded. ]

_Mauchline, 2d August, 1787. _

SIR,

For some months past I have been rambling over the country, but I am
now confined with some lingering complaints, originating, as I take
it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this miserable
fog of ennui, I have taken a whim to give you a history of myself. My
name has made some little noise in this country; you have done me the
honour to interest yourself very warmly in my behalf; and I think a
faithful account of what character of a man I am, and how I came by
that character, may perhaps amuse you in an idle moment. I will give
you an honest narrative, though I know it will be often at my own
expense; for I assure you, Sir, I have, like Solomon, whose character,
excepting in the trifling affair of wisdom, I sometimes think I
resemble,--I have, I say, like him turned my eyes to behold madness
and folly, and like him, too, frequently shaken hands with their
intoxicating friendship. --After you have perused these pages, should
you think them trifling and impertinent, I only beg leave to tell you,
that the poor author wrote them under some twitching qualms of
conscience, arising from a suspicion that he was doing what he ought
not to do; a predicament he has more than once been in before.

I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that character which
the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a gentleman. When at
Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in the herald's office; and,
looking through that granary of honours, I there found almost every
name in the kingdom; but for me,

"My ancient but ignoble blood
Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood. "

POPE.

Gules, purpure, argent, &c. , quite disowned me.

My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer, and was
thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large; where, after many
years' wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large
quantity of observation and experience, to which I am indebted for
most of my little pretensions to wisdom--I have met with few who
understood men, their manners, and their ways, equal to him; but
stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovernable irascibility,
are disqualifying circumstances; consequently, I was born a very poor
man's son. For the first six or seven years of my life, my father was
gardener to a worthy gentleman of small estate in the neighbourhood of
Ayr. Had he continued in that station I must have marched off to be
one of the little underlings about a farm-house; but it was his
dearest wish and prayer to have it in his power to keep his children
under his own eye, till they could discern between good and evil; so,
with the assistance of his generous master, my father ventured on a
small farm on his estate. At those years, I was by no means a
favourite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a retentive
memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my disposition, and an
enthusiastic idiot[175] piety. I say idiot piety, because I was then
but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made
an excellent English, scholar; and by the time I was ten or eleven
years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In
my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an old woman who
resided in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and
superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the
country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies,
brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles,
dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted towers,
dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of
poetry; but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to this
hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look out in
suspicions places; and though nobody can be more sceptical than I am
in such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake
off these idle terrors. The earliest composition that I recollect
taking pleasure in, was The Vision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's
beginning, "How are thy servants blest, O Lord! " I particularly
remember one half-stanza which was music to my boyish ear--

"For though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave--"

I met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my
school-books. The first two books I ever read in private, and which
gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, were The
Life of Hannibal, and The History of Sir William Wallace. Hannibal
gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in raptures up
and down after the recruiting drum and bag-pipe, and wish myself tall
enough to be a soldier; while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish
prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there till the
flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest.

Polemical divinity about this time was putting the country half mad,
and I, ambitious of shining in conversation parties on Sundays,
between sermons, at funerals, &c. , used a few years afterwards to
puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a
hue and cry of heresy against me, which has not ceased to this hour.

My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social disposition,
when not checked by some modifications of spirited pride, was like our
catechism definition of infinitude, without bounds or limits. I formed
several connexions with other younkers, who possessed superior
advantages; the youngling actors who were busy in the rehearsal of
parts, in which they were shortly to appear on the stage of life,
where, alas! I was destined to drudge behind the scenes. It is not
commonly at this green age, that our young gentry have a just sense of
the immense distance between them and their ragged playfellows. It
takes a few dashes into the world, to give the young great man that
proper, decent, unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant
stupid devils, the mechanics and peasantry around him, who were,
perhaps, born in the same village. My young superiors never insulted
the clouterly appearance of my plough-boy carcase, the two extremes
of which were often exposed to all the inclemencies of all the
seasons. They would give me stray volumes of books; among them, even
then, I could pick up some observations, and one, whose heart, I am
sure, not even the "Munny Begum" scenes have tainted, helped me to a
little French. Parting with these my young friends and benefactors, as
they occasionally went off for the East or West Indies, was often to
me a sore affliction; but I was soon called to more serious evils. My
father's generous master died! the farm proved a ruinous bargain; and
to clench the misfortune, we fell into the hands of a factor, who sat
for the picture I have drawn of one in my tale of "The Twa Dogs. " My
father was advanced in life when he married; I was the eldest of seven
children, and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit for labour.
My father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily broken. There
was a freedom in his lease in two years more, and to weather these two
years, we retrenched our expenses.