No More Learning

* * * * *




XXXV.


TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. ,

MAUCHLINE.

[From Gavin Hamilton Burns and his brother took the farm of Mossgiel:
the landlord was not slow in perceiving the genius of Robert: he had
him frequently at his table, and the poet repaid this notice by verse
not likely soon to die. ]

Edinburgh, Dec. 7th, 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 Muirkirklands
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 Adamhill 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 you may expect henceforth to see
my birth-day inserted among the wonderful events, in the Poor Robin's
and Aberdeen Almanacks, along with the Black Monday, and the battle of
Bothwell bridge. --My Lord Glencairn and the Dean of Faculty, Mr. H.
Erskine, have taken me under their wing; and by all probability I
shall soon be the tenth worthy, and the eighth wise man in the world.
Through my lord's influence it is inserted in the records of the
Caledonian Hunt, that they universally, one and all, subscribe for the
second edition. --My subscription bills come out to-morrow, and you
shall have some of them next post. --I have met, in Mr. Dalrymple, of
Orangefield, what Solomon emphatically calls "a friend that sticketh
closer than a brother. "--The warmth with which he interests himself in
my affairs is of the same enthusiastic kind which you, Mr. 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. Hamilton and Miss Kennedy in my poetic prayers,
but you both in prose and verse.

May cauld ne'er catch you but a hap,
Nor hunger but in plenty's lap!
Amen!

R. B.

* * * * *




XXXVI.


TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ. ,

BANKER, AYR.

[This is the second letter which Burns wrote, after his arrival in
Edinburgh, and it is remarkable because it distinctly imputes his
introduction to the Earl of Glencairn, to Dalrymple, of Orangefield;
though he elsewhere says this was done by Mr. Dalzell;--perhaps both
those gentlemen had a hand in this good deed. ]

_Edinburgh, 13th 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 by, is often no
easy task. --I arrived here on Tuesday was se'ennight, and have
suffered ever since I came to town with a miserable headache and
stomach complaint, but am now a good deal better. --I have found a
worthy warm friend in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, who introduced me
to Lord Glencairn, a man whose worth and brotherly kindness to me, I
shall remember when time shall be no more. --By his interest it is
passed in the "Caledonian Hunt," and entered in their books, that they
are to take each a copy of the second edition, for which they are to
pay one guinea. --I have been introduced to a good many of the
noblesse, but my avowed patrons and patronesses are the Duchess of
Gordon--the Countess of Glencairn, with my Lord, and Lady
Betty[163]--the Dean of Faculty--Sir John Whitefoord--I have likewise
warm friends among the literati; Professors Stewart, Blair, and Mr.
Mackenzie--the Man of Feeling. --An unknown hand left ten guineas for
the Ayrshire bard with Mr. Sibbald, which I got. --I since have
discovered my generous unknown friend to be Patrick Miller, Esq. ,
brother to the Justice Clerk; and drank a glass of claret with him, by
invitation, at his own house, yesternight. I am nearly agreed with
Creech to print my book, and I suppose I will begin on Monday. I will
send a subscription bill or two, next post; when I intend writing my
first kind patron, Mr. Aiken. I saw his son to-day, and he is very
well.

Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned friends, put me in the
periodical paper, called The Lounger,[164] a copy of which I here
enclose you. --I was, Sir, when I was first honoured with your notice,
too obscure; now I tremble lest I should be ruined by being dragged
too suddenly into the glare of polite and learned observation.

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 163: Lady Betty Cunningham. ]

[Footnote 164: The paper here alluded to, was written by Mr. Mackenzie,
the celebrated author of "The Man of Feeling. "]

* * * * *




XXXVII.


TO MR. ROBERT MUIR.

["Muir, thy weaknesses," says Burns, writing of this gentleman to Mrs.
Dunlop, "thy weaknesses were the aberrations of human nature; but thy
heart glowed with everything generous, manly, and noble: and if ever
emanation from the All-good Being animated a human form, it was
thine. "]

_Edinburgh, Dec. 20th, 1786. _

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I have just time for the carrier, to tell you that I received your
letter; of which I shall say no more but what a lass of my
acquaintance said of her bastard wean; she said she "did na ken wha
was the father exactly, but she suspected it was some o' the bonny
blackguard smugglers, for it was like them. " So I only say your
obliging epistle was like you. I enclose you a parcel of subscription
bills. Your affair of sixty copies is also like you; but it would not
be like me to comply.

Your friend's notion of my life has put a crotchet in my head of
sketching it in some future epistle to you. My compliments to Charles
and Mr. Parker.

R. B.

* * * * *




XXXVIII.


TO MR. WILLIAM CHALMERS,

WRITER, AYR.

[William Chalmers drew out the assignment of the copyright of Burns's
Poems, in favour of his brother Gilbert, and for the maintenance of
his natural child, when engaged to go to the West Indies, in the
autumn of 1786. ]

_Edinburgh, Dec. 27, 1786. _

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I confess I have sinned the sin for which there is hardly any
forgiveness--ingratitude to friendship--in not writing you sooner; but
of all men living, I had intended to have sent you an entertaining
letter; and by all the plodding, stupid powers, that in nodding,
conceited majesty, preside over the dull routine of business--a
heavily solemn oath this! --I am, and have been, ever since I came to
Edinburgh, as unfit to write a letter of humour, as to write a
commentary on the Revelation of St. John the Divine, who was banished
to the Isle of Patmos, by the cruel and bloody Domitian, son to
Vespasian and brother to Titus, both emperors of Rome, and who was
himself an emperor, and raised the second or third persecution, I
forget which, against the Christians, and after throwing the said
Apostle John, brother to the Apostle James, commonly called James the
Greater, to distinguish him from another James, who was, on some
account or other, known by the name of James the Less--after throwing
him into a cauldron of boiling oil, from which he was miraculously
preserved, he banished the poor son of Zebedee to a desert island in
the Archipelago, where he was gifted with the second sight, and saw as
many wild beasts as I have seen since I came to Edinburgh; which, a
circumstance not 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 past Glenbuck.

One blank in the address to Edinburgh--"Fair B----," is heavenly Miss
Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have had the
honour to be more than once. There has not been anything nearly like
her in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness the great
Creator has formed since Milton's Eve on the first day of her
existence.

My direction is--care of Andrew Bruce, merchant, Bridge-street.

R. B.

* * * * *




XXXIX.


TO THE EARL OF EGLINTOUN.

[Archibald Montgomery, eleventh Earl of Eglinton, and Colonel Hugh
Montgomery, of Coilsfield, who succeeded his brother in his titles and
estates, were patrons, and kind ones, of Burns. ]

_Edinburgh, January_ 1787.

MY LORD,

As I have but slender pretensions to philosophy, I cannot rise to the
exalted ideas of a citizen of the world, but have all those national
prejudices, which I believe glow peculiarly strong in the breast of a
Scotchman. There is scarcely anything to which I am so feelingly alive
as the honour and welfare of my country: and, as a poet, I have no
higher enjoyment than singing her sons and daughters. Fate had cast my
station in the veriest shades of life; but never did a heart pant more
ardently than mine to be distinguished; though, till very lately, I
looked in vain on every side for a ray of light. It is easy then to
guess how much I was gratified with the countenance and approbation of
one of my country's most illustrious sons, when Mr. Wauchope called on
me yesterday on the part of your lordship. Your munificence, my lord,
certainly deserves my very grateful acknowledgments; but your
patronage is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings. I am not
master enough of the etiquette of life to know, whether there be not
some impropriety in troubling your lordship with my thanks, but my
heart whispered me to do it. From the emotions of my inmost soul I do
it. Selfish ingratitude I hope I am incapable of; and mercenary
servility, I trust, I shall ever have so much honest pride as to
detest.

R. B.

* * * * *




XL.


TO MR. GAVIN HAMILTON.

[This letter was first published by Hubert Chambers, who considered it
as closing the enquiry, "was Burns a married man? " No doubt Burns
thought himself unmarried, and the Rev. Mr. Auld was of the same
opinion, since he offered him a certificate that he was single: but no
opinion of priest or lawyer, including the disclamation of Jean
Armour, and the belief of Burns, could have, in my opinion, barred the
claim of the children to full legitimacy, according to the law of
Scotland. ]

_Edinburgh, Jan. _ 7, 1787.

To tell the truth among friends, I feel a miserable blank in my heart,
with the want of her, and I don't think I shall ever meet with so
delicious an armful again. She has her faults; and so have you and I;
and so has everybody:

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft;
They've ta'en me in and a' that;
But clear your decks, and here's the sex,
I like the jads for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that.

* * * * *

I have met with a very pretty girl, a Lothian farmer's daughter, whom
I have almost persuaded to accompany me to the west country, should I
ever return to settle there. By the bye, a Lothian farmer is about an
Ayrshire squire of the lower kind; and I had a most delicious ride
from Leith to her house yesternight, in a hackney-coach with her
brother and two sisters, and brother's wife. We had dined altogether
at a common friend's house in Leith, and danced, drank, and sang till
late enough. The night was dark, the claret had been good, and I
thirsty. * * * * *

R. B.

* * * * *




XLI.


TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ.

[This letter contains the first intimation that the poet desired to
resume the labours of the farmer. The old saw of "Willie Gaw's
Skate," he picked up from his mother, who had a vast collection of
such sayings. ]

_Edinburgh, Jan. 14, 1787. _

MY HONOURED FRIEND,

It gives me a secret comfort to observe in myself that I am not yet so
far gone as Willie Gaw's Skate, "past redemption;" for I have still
this favourable symptom of grace, that when my conscience, as in the
case of this letter, tells me I am leaving something undone that I
ought to do, it teases me eternally till I do it.

I am still "dark as was Chaos"[165] in respect to futurity. My generous
friend, Mr. Patrick Miller, has been talking with me about a lease of
some farm or other in an estate called Dalswinton, which he has lately
bought, near Dumfries. Some life-rented embittering recollections
whisper me that I will be happier anywhere than in my old
neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller is no judge of land; and though I 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 Charters, and all the Grand Lodge of Scotland visited. The
meeting was numerous and elegant; all the different lodges about town
were present, in all their pomp. The Grand Master, who presided with
great solemnity and honour to himself as a gentleman and mason, among
other general toasts, gave "Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, Brother
Burns," which rung through the whole assembly with multiplied honours
and repeated acclamations. As I had no idea such a thing would happen,
I was downright thunderstruck, and, trembling in every nerve, made the
best return in my power. Just as I had finished, some of the grand
officers said, so loud that I could hear, with a most comforting
accent, "Very well indeed! " which set me something to rights again.

I have to-day corrected my 152d page. My best good wishes to Mr.
Aiken.

I am ever,

Dear Sir,

Your much indebted humble servant,

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 165: See Blair's Grave. This was a favourite quotation with
Burns. ]

* * * * *




XLII.


TO JOHN BALLANTYNE.

[I have not hesitated to insert all letters which show what Burns was
musing on as a poet, or planning as a man. ]

_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
sodger, and tells me he is going to Ayr. 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 sent my last song to Mr. Ballantyne. Here
it is--

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care! [166]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 166: Song CXXXI. ]

* * * * *




XLIII.


TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[The friendship of Mrs. Dunlop purified, while it strengthened the
national prejudices of Burns. ]

_Edinburgh, 15th January_, 1787.

MADAM,

Yours of the 9th current, which I am this moment honoured with, is a
deep reproach to me for ungrateful neglect. I will tell you the real
truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib--I wished to have written
to Dr. Moore before I wrote to you; but though every day since I
received yours of December 30th, the idea, the wish to write to him
has constantly pressed on my thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set
about it. I know his fame and character, and I am one of "the sons of
little men. " To write him a mere matter-of-fact affair, like a
merchant's order, would be disgracing the little character I have; and
to write the author of "The View of Society and Manners" a letter of
sentiment--I declare every artery runs cold at the thought. I shall
try, however, to write to him to-morrow or next day. His kind
interposition in my behalf I have already experienced, as a gentleman
waited on me the other day, on the part of Lord Eglintoun, with ten
guineas, by way of subscription for two copies of my next edition.

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 us an improper epithet. I
distrusted my own judgment on your finding fault with it, and applied
for the opinion of some of the literati here, who honour me with their
critical strictures, and they all allow it to be proper. The song you
ask I cannot recollect, and I have not a copy of it. I have not
composed anything on the great Wallace, except what you have, seen in
print; and the enclosed, which I will print in this edition. You will
see I have mentioned some others of the name. When I composed my
"Vision" long ago, I had attempted a description of Koyle, of which
the additional stanzas are a part, as it originally stood. My heart
glows with a wish to be able to do justice to the merits of the
"Saviour of his Country," which sooner or later I shall at least
attempt.

You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet;
alas! Madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do not mean any
airs of affected modesty; I am willing to believe that my abilities
deserve some notice; but in a most enlightened, informed age and
nation, when poetry is and has been the study of man of the first
natural genius, aided with all the powers of polite learning, polite
books, and polite company--to be dragged forth to the full glare of
learned and polite observation, with all my imperfections of awkward
rusticity and crude unpolished ideas on my head--I assure you, Madam,
I do not dissemble when I tell you I tremble for the consequences. The
novelty of a poet in my obscure situation, without any of those
advantages which are reckoned necessary for that character, at least
at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of public notice which
has borne me to a height, where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my
abilities are inadequate to support me; and too surely do I see that
time when the same tide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far
below the mark of truth. I do not say this in the ridiculous
affectation of self-abasement and modesty. I have studied myself, and
know what ground I occupy; and, however a friend or the world may
differ from me in that particular, I stand for my own opinion, in
silent resolve, with all the tenaciousness of property. I mention this
to you once for all to disburthen my mind, and I do not wish to hear
or say more about it--But,

"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 inebriating cup in my hand,
looking forward with rueful resolve to the hastening time, when the
blow of Calumny should dash it to the ground with all the eagerness of
vengeful triumph.

Your patronizing me and interesting yourself in my fame and character
as a poet, I rejoice in; it exalts me in my own idea; and whether you
can or cannot aid me in my subscription is a trifle. Has a paltry
subscription-bill any charms to the heart of a bard, compared with the
patronage of the descendant of the immortal Wallace?

R. B.

* * * * *




XLIV.


TO DR. MOORE.

[Dr. Moore, the accomplished author of Zeluco and father of Sir John
Moore, interested himself in the fame and fortune of Burns, as soon as
the publication of his Poems made his name known to the world. ]

_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.
Those who have felt the anxieties and solicitudes of
authorship, can only know what pleasure it gives to be noticed in such
a manner, by judges of the first character. Your criticism, 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 compeers, the rustic inmates of the hamlet, while ever-changing
language and manners shall allow me to be relished and understood. I
am very willing to admit that I have some poetical abilities; and as
few, if any, writers, either moral or poetical, are intimately
acquainted with the classes of mankind among whom I have chiefly
mingled, I may have seen men and manners in a different phasis from
what is common, which may assist originality of thought. Still I know
very well the novelty of my character has by far the greatest share in
the learned and polite notice I have lately had; and in a language
where Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh, and Shenstone and Gray
drawn the tear; where Thomson and Beattie have painted the landscape,
and Lyttelton and Collins described the heart, I am not vain enough to
hope for distinguished poetic fame.

R. B.

* * * * *




XLV.


TO THE REV. G. LAURIE,

NEWMILLS, NEAR KILMARNOCK.

[It has been said in the Life of Burns, that for some time after he
went to Edinburgh, he did not visit Dr. Blacklock, whose high opinion
of his genius induced him to try his fortune in that city: it will be
seen by this letter that he had neglected also, for a time, at least,
to write to Dr. Laurie, who introduced him to the Doctor. ]

_Edinburgh, Feb. 5th, 1787. _

REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,

When I look at the date of your kind letter, my heart reproaches me
severely with ingratitude in neglecting so long to answer it. I will
not trouble you with any account, by way of apology, of my hurried
life and distracted attention: do me the justice to believe that my
delay by no means proceeded from want of respect. I feel, and ever
shall feel for you the mingled sentiments of esteem for a friend and
reverence for a father.

I thank you, Sir, with all my soul for your friendly hints, though I
do not need them so much as my friends are apt to imagine. You are
dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant reports; but, in reality,
I have no great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of
prosperity. Novelty may attract the attention of mankind awhile; to it
I owe my present 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 estimate of my intellectual powers
before I came here; I have not added, since I came to Edinburgh,
anything to the account; and I trust I shall take every atom of it
back to my shades, the coverts of my unnoticed, early years.

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 Edinburgh must be placed to
the account of Miss Laurie and her piano-forte. I cannot help
repeating to you and Mrs. Laurie a compliment that Mr. Mackenzie, the
celebrated "Man of Feeling," paid to Miss Laurie, the other night, at
the concert. I had come in at the interlude, and sat down by him till
I saw Miss Laurie in 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 reverend friend of mine in the
west country. He returned, there was something very striking, to his
idea, in her appearance. On my desiring to know what it was, he was
pleased to say, "She has a great deal of the elegance of a well-bred
lady about her, with all the sweet simplicity of a country girl. "

My compliments to all the happy inmates of St. Margaret's.

R. B.

* * * * *




XLVI.


TO DR. MOORE.

[In the answer to this letter, Dr. Moore says that the poet was a
great favourite in his family, and that his youngest son, at
Winchester school, had translated part of "Halloween" into Latin
verse, for the benefit of his comrades. ]

_Edinburgh, 15th February, 1787. _

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 anything higher than a distant acquaintance 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 affectation of seeming modesty to cover
self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see with
frequent wringings 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
paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless
despondency. 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
characteristic features in her poetry--the unfettered wild flight of
native genius, and the querulous sombre tenderness of "time-settled
sorrow. "

I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why.

R. B.

* * * * *




XLVII.


TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ.

[The picture from which Beugo engraved the portrait alluded to in this
letter, was painted by the now venerable Alexander Nasmyth--the eldest
of living British artists:--it is, with the exception of a profile by
Miers, the only portrait for which we are quite sure that the poet
sat. ]

_Edinburgh, Feb. 24th, 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 friends have subscription
bills, they must be sent in to Creech directly. I am getting my phiz
done by an eminent engraver, and if it can be ready in time, I will
appear in my book, looking like all other _fools_ to my title-page.

R. B.

* * * * *




XLVIII.


TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

[The Earl of Glencairn seems to have refused, from motives of
delicacy, the request of the poet: the verses, long lost, were at last
found, and are now, through the kindness of my friend, Major James
Glencairn Burns, printed with the rest of his eminent father's works. ]

_Edinburgh, 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 picture or profile of your lordship,
could I have been so happy as to procure one with anything 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 me, my lord, to publish these verses. I conjure your lordship,
by the honest throe of gratitude, by the generous 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
independent as your lordship's, than which 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 supporting that
character, are flattering to my pride; and I would be jealous of the
purity of my grateful attachment, where I was under the patronage of
one of the much favoured sons of fortune.

Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, particularly when they
were names dear to fame, and illustrious in their country; allow me,
then, my lord, if you think the verses have intrinsic merit, to tell
the world how much I have the honour to be,

Your lordship's highly indebted,

And ever grateful humble servant,

R. B.

* * * * *




XLIX.


TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.

[The Earl of Buchan, a man of talent, but more than tolerably vain,
advised Burns to visit the battle-fields and scenes celebrated in song
on the Scottish border, with the hope, perhaps, that he would drop a
few of his happy verses in Dryburgh Abbey, the residence of his
lordship. ]

MY LORD,

The honour your lordship has done me, by your notice and advice in
yours of the 1st instant, I shall ever gratefully remember:--

"Praise from thy lips, 'tis mine with joy to boast,
They best can give it who deserve it most. "[167]

Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart when you advise me
to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scotch scenes. I wish for
nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through my native
country; to sit and muse on those once hard-contended fields, where
Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through broken ranks
to victory and fame; and, catching the inspiration, to pour the
deathless names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of these
enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry, moral-looking phantom
strides across my imagination, and pronounces these emphatic words:--

"I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not come to open the
ill-closed wounds of your follies and misfortunes, merely to give you
pain: I wish through these wounds to imprint a lasting lesson on your
heart. I will not mention how many of my salutary advices you have
despised: I have given you line upon line and precept upon precept;
and while I was chalking out to you the straight way to wealth and
character, with audacious effrontery you have zigzagged across the
path, contemning me to my face: you know the consequences. It is not
yet three months since home was so hot for you that you were on the
wing for the western shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, but
to hide your misfortune.

"Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power to return to
the situation of your forefathers, will you follow these will-o'-wisp
meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring you once more to the brink
of ruin? I grant that the utmost ground you can occupy is but half a
step from the veriest poverty; but still it is half a step from it. If
all that I can urge be ineffectual, let her who seldom calls to you in
vain, let the call of pride prevail with you. You know how you feel at
the iron gripe of ruthless oppression: you know how you bear the
galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I hold you out the
conveniences, the comforts of life, independence, and character, on
the one hand; I tender you civility, 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 167: Imitated from Pope's Eloisa to Abelard. ]

* * * * *




L.


TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH.

[James Candlish, a student of medicine, was well acquainted with the
poetry of Lowe, author of that sublime lyric, "Mary's Dream," and at
the request of Burns sent Lowe's classic song of "Pompey's Ghost," to
the Musical Museum. ]

_Edinburgh, March 21, 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 as to be indifferent to
old, and once dear connexions. The truth is, I was determined to write
a good letter, full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as
Bayes says, _all that. _ I thought of it, and thought of it, and, by my
soul, I could not; and, lest you should mistake the cause of my
silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't give yourself credit,
though, that the strength of your logic scares me: the truth is, I
never mean to meet you on that ground at all. You have shown me one
thing which was to be demonstrated: that strong pride of reasoning,
with a little affectation of singularity, may mislead the best of
hearts. I likewise, since you and I were first acquainted, in the
pride of despising old woman'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.

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.

* * * * *




LI.


TO ----.

[The name of the friend to whom this letter was addressed is still
unknown, though known to Dr. Currie. The Esculapian Club of Edinburgh
have, since the death of Burns, added some iron-work, with an
inscription in honour of the Ayrshire poet to the original headstone.
The cost to the poet was ? 5 10s. ]

_Edinburgh, March, 1787. _

MY DEAR SIR,

You may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish, ungrateful fellow,
having received so many repeated instances of kindness from you, and
yet never putting pen to paper to say thank you; but if you knew what
a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that account, your good
heart would think yourself too much avenged. By the bye, there is
nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to be so unaccountable
as that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelping cur
powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of use; but at the
beginning of the business, his feeble efforts are to the workings of
passion as the infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the unclouded
fervour of the rising sun: and no sooner are the tumultuous doings of
the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter native consequences of
folly, in the very vortex of our horrors, up starts conscience, and
harrows us with the feelings of the damned.

I have enclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose, that,
if they merit a place in your truly entertaining miscellany, you are
welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr. Sprott sent it me.

The inscription on the stone is as follows:--

"HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET.

Born, September 5th, 1751--Died, 16th October 1774.

"No scuptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay,
'No storied urn or 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 Burns, who erected this
stone, this burial place is to remain for ever sacred to the memory of
Robert Fergusson. "

* * * * *

_Session-house, within the Kirk of Canongate, the
twenty-second day of February, one thousand seven hundred
eighty-seven years. _

Sederunt of the Managers of the Kirk and Kirk-Yard funds of Canongate.

Which day, the treasurer to the said funds produced a letter from Mr.
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 baillies 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, lie in your church-yard among the ignoble
dead, unnoticed and unknown.

"Some memorial to direct the 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, is surely a tribute due to Fergusson'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 unalienable property to his
deathless fame. I have the honour to be, gentlemen, your very humble
servant (_sic subscribitur_),

ROBERT BURNS. "

Thereafter the said managers, in consideration of the laudable and
disinterested motion of Mr. Burns, and the propriety of his request,
did, and hereby do, unanimously, grant power and liberty 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.

* * * * *




LII.


TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[The poet alludes in this letter to the profits of the Edinburgh
edition of his Poems: the exact sum is no where stated, but it could
not have been less than seven hundred pounds. ]

_Edinburgh, March 22d, 1787. _

MADAM,

I read your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago,
I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom: now I am
distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Your friendly advices, I
will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with
reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had
printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the
literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim
the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble Karl of Glencairn, to
whom I owe more than to any man, does me the honor of giving me his
strictures: his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I
follow implicitly.

You kindly interest yourself in my future views 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 profound. "[168]

The appellation of a Scottish bard, is by far my highest pride; to
continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes
and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no
dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of
business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely
pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to
wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately
towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes.

But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have dallied long enough with
life; 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care
for: and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender. Where the
individual only suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtlessness,
indolence, or folly, he may be excusable; nay, shining abilities, and
some of the nobler virtues, may half sanctify a heedless character; but
where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care;
where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must be far
gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom these
connexions will not rouse to exertion.

I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my
authorship; with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to have
any intention, to return to my old acquaintance, the plough, and if I
can meet with a lease by which I can live, to commence farmer. I do
not intend to give up poetry; being bred to labour, secures me
independence, and the muses are my chief, sometimes have been my only
enjoyment. If my practice second my resolution, I shall have
principally at heart the serious business of life; but while following
my plough, or building up my shocks, I shall cast a leisure glance to
that dear, that only feature of my character, which gave me the notice
of my country, and the patronage of a Wallace.

Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you the bard, his situation, and
his views, native as they are in his own bosom.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 168: Blair's Grave. ]

* * * * *




LIII.


TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[This seems to be a letter acknowledging the payment of Mrs. Dunlop's
subscription for his poems. ]

_Edinburgh_, 15 _April, 1787. _

MADAM,

There is an affectation of gratitude which I dislike. The periods of
Johnson and the pause 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--"[169]

so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and hunted figures.
I shall just lay my hand on my heart and say, I hope I shall ever have
the truest, the warmest sense of your goodness.

I come abroad in print, for certain on Wednesday. Your orders I shall
punctually attend to; only, by the way, I must tell you that I was
paid before for Dr. Moore's and Miss Williams's copies, through the
medium of Commissioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can settle
when I have the honour of waiting on you.

Dr. Smith[170] was just gone to London the morning before I received
your letter to him.

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.