["Muir, thy weaknesses," says Burns, writing of this
gentleman
to Mrs.
Robert Burns-
MADAM,
I am truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when I was so much
honoured with your order for my copies, and incomparably more by the
handsome compliments you are pleased to pay my poetic abilities. I am
fully persuaded that there is not any class of mankind 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! "[160]
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 safe retreat. "
I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life 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 explored 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. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 160: Thomson. ]
* * * * *
XXVIII.
TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.
[It is a curious chapter in the life of Burns to count the number of
letters which he wrote, the number of fine poems he composed, and the
number of places which he visited in the unhappy summer and autumn of
1786. ]
_Kilmarnock, August_, 1786.
MY DEAR SIR,
Your truly facetious epistle of the 3d inst. gave me much
entertainment. I was sorry I had not the pleasure of seeing you as I
passed your way, but we shall bring up all our lee way on Wednesday,
the 16th current, when I hope to have it in my power to call on you
and take a kind, very probably a last adieu, before I go for Jamaica;
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, my 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 de'il that thinks to get you,
Good Lord deceive him.
R. B.
* * * * *
XXIX.
TO MR. JAMES BURNESS,
MONTROSE.
[The good and generous James Burness, of Montrose, was ever ready to
rejoice with his cousin's success or sympathize with his sorrows, but
he did not like the change which came over the old northern surname of
Burness, when the bard modified it into Burns: the name now a rising
one in India, is spelt Burnes. ]
_Mossgiel, Tuesday noon, Sept. 26, 1786. _
MY DEAR SIR,
I this moment receive yours--receive it with the honest hospitable
warmth of a friend's welcome. 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 friendship. With the ordinary
phrase--perhaps rather more than the ordinary sincerity,
I am, dear Sir,
Ever yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXX.
TO MISS ALEXANDER.
[This letter, Robert Chambers says, concluded with requesting Miss
Alexander to allow the poet to print the song which it enclosed, in a
second edition of his Poems. Her neglect in not replying to this
request is a very good poetic reason for his wrath. Many of Burns's
letters have been printed, it is right to say, from the rough drafts
found among the poet's papers at his death. This is one. ]
_Mossgiel, 18th Nov. 1786. _
MADAM,
Poets are such outre beings, so much the children of wayward fancy and
capricious whim, that I believe the world generally allows them a
larger latitude in the laws of propriety, than the sober sons of
judgment and prudence. I mention this as an apology for the liberties
that a nameless stranger has taken with you in the enclosed poem,
which he begs leave to present you with. Whether it has poetical merit
any way worthy of the theme, I am not the proper judge; but it is the
best my abilities can produce; and what to a good heart will, perhaps,
be a superior grace, it is equally sincere as fervent.
The scenery was nearly taken from real life, though I dare say, Madam,
you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the poetic
reveur as he wandered by you. I had roved out as chance directed, in
the favourite haunts of my muse on the banks of the Ayr, to view
nature in all the gayety of the vernal year. The evening sun was
flaming over the distant western hills; not a breath stirred the
crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It was a
golden moment for a poetic heart. I listened to the feathered
warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand, with a congenial
kindred regard, and frequently turned out of my path, lest I should
disturb their little songs, or frighten them to another station.
Surely, said I to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who, regardless
of your harmonious endeavour to please him, can eye your elusive
flights to discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all the
property nature gives you--your dearest comforts, your helpless
nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, what
heart at such a time but must have been interested in its welfare, and
wished it preserved from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering
eastern blast? Such was the scene,--and such the hour, when, in a
corner of my prospect, I spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's
workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape or met a poet's eye,
those visionary bards excepted, who hold commerce with aerial beings!
Had Calumny and Villany taken my walk, they had at that moment sworn
eternal peace with such an object.
What an hour of inspiration for a poet! It would have raised plain
dull historic prose into metaphor measure.
The enclosed song was the work of my return home: and perhaps it but
poorly answers what might have been expected from such a scene.
I have the honour to be,
Madam,
Your most obedient and very
humble Servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXXI.
TO MRS. STEWART,
OF STAIR AND AFTON.
[Mrs. Stewart, of Stair and Afton, was the first person of note in the
West who had the taste to see and feel the genius of Burns. He used to
relate how his heart fluttered when he first walked into the parlour
of the towers of Stair, to hear the lady's opinion of some of his
songs. ]
[1786]
MADAM,
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, except 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
Ballochmyle] 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 anything of, an amiable, beautiful young
woman;[161] but I have no common friend to procure me that permission,
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 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 godlike qualities and
actions, should be recounted with the most exaggerated description.
This, Madam, is a task for which I am altogether unfit. Besides a
certain disqualifying 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 grateful pleasure
remember;--the reception I got when I had the honour of waiting on you
at Stair. I am little acquainted 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 condescension and affability, they would never
stand so high, measuring out with every look the height of their
elevation, but condescend as sweetly as did Mrs. Stewart of Stair.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 161: Miss Alexander. ]
* * * * *
XXXII.
IN THE NAME OF THE NINE. AMEN.
[The song or ballad which one of the "Deil's yeld Nowte" was commanded
to burn, was "Holy Willie's Prayer," it is believed. Currie interprets
the "Deil's yeld Nowte," to mean old bachelors, which, if right,
points to some other of his compositions, for purgation by fire.
Gilbert Burns says it is a scoffing appellation sometimes given to
sheriff's officers and other executors of the law. ]
We, Robert Burns, by virtue of a warrant from Nature, bearing date the
twenty-fifth day of January, Anno Domini one thousand seven hundred
and fifty-nine,[162] Poet Laureat, and Bard in Chief, in and over the
districts and countries of Kyle, Cunningham, and Carrick, of old
extent, To our trusty and well-beloved William Chalmers and John
M'Adam, students and practitioners in the ancient and mysterious
science of confounding right and wrong.
RIGHT TRUSTY:
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
appellation, phrase, and nick-name of The Deil's Yeld Nowte: and after
having caused him to kindle a fire at the Cross of Ayr, ye shall, at
noontide 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 the presence of all beholders, in abhorrence of, and terrorem
to, all such compositions and composers. And this in nowise leave ye
undone, but have it executed in every point 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!
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 162: His birth-day. ]
* * * * *
XXXIII.
TO MR. ROBERT MUIR.
[The expedition to Edinburgh, to which this short letter alludes, was
undertaken, it is needless to say, in consequence of a warm and
generous commendation of the genius of Burns written by Dr. Blacklock,
to the Rev. Mr. Lawrie, and communicated by Gavin Hamilton to the
poet, when he was on the wing for the West Indies. ]
_Mossgiel, 18th Nov. , 1786. _
MY DEAR SIR,
Enclosed you have "Tam Samson," as I intend to print him. I am
thinking for my Edinburgh expedition on Monday or Tuesday, come
se'ennight, for pos. I will see you on Tuesday first.
I am ever,
Your much indebted,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXXIV.
TO DR. MACKENZIE,
MAUCHLINE;
ENCLOSING THE VERSES ON DINING WITH LORD DAER.
[To the kind and venerable Dr. Mackenzie, the poet was indebted for
some valuable friendships, and his biographers for some valuable
information respecting the early days of Burns. ]
_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
the plain, honest, worthy man, the professor. [Dugald Stewart. ] I
would be delighted 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.
The foregoing verses were really extempore, but a little 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.
* * * * *
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.
