It but poorly
expresses my feelings to say, that I am sensible of your kindness: it
may be said of hearts such as yours is, and such, I hope, mine is,
much more justly than Addison applies it,--
"Some souls by instinct to each other turn.
expresses my feelings to say, that I am sensible of your kindness: it
may be said of hearts such as yours is, and such, I hope, mine is,
much more justly than Addison applies it,--
"Some souls by instinct to each other turn.
Robert Burns
.
.
.
.
.
Sends from her unsullied source,
The gems of thought their purest force,"
is exceeding beautiful. The idea, from verse 81st to the 85th, that
the "blest decree" is like the beams of morning ushering in the
glorious day of liberty, ought not to pass unnoticed or unapplauded.
From verse 85th to verse 108th, is an animated contrast between the
unfeeling selfishness of the oppressor on the one hand, and the misery
of the captive on the other. Verse 88th might perhaps be amended thus:
"Nor ever _quit_ her narrow maze. " We are said to _pass_ a bound, but
we _quit_, a maze. Verse 100th is exquisitely beautiful:--
"They, whom wasted blessings tire. "
Verse 110th is I doubt a clashing of metaphors: "to load a span" is, I
am afraid, an unwarrantable expression. In verse 114th, "Cast the
universe in shade," is a fine idea. From the 115th verse to the 142d
is a striking description of the wrongs of the poor African. Verse
120th, "The load of unremitted pain," is a remarkable, strong
expression. The address to the advocates for abolishing the
slave-trade, from verse 143d to verse 208th, is animated with the true
life of genius. The picture of oppression:--
"While she links her impious chain,
And calculates the price of pain;
Weighs agony in sordid scales,
And marks if death or life prevails,"--
is nobly executed.
What a tender idea is in verse 108th! Indeed, that whole description
of home may vie with Thomson's description of home, somewhere in the
beginning of his Autumn. I do not remember to have seen a stronger
expression of misery than is contained in these verses:--
"Condemned, severe extreme, to live
When all is fled that life can give"
The comparison of our distant joys to distant objects is equally
original and striking.
The character and manners of the dealer in the infernal traffic is a
well done though a horrid picture. I am not sure how far introducing
the sailor was right; for though the sailor's common characteristic is
generosity, yet, in this case, he is certainly not only an unconcerned
witness, but, in some degree, an efficient agent in the business.
Verse 224th is a nervous . . . expressive--"The heart convulsive anguish
breaks. " The description of the captive wretch when he arrives in the
West Indies, is carried on with equal spirit. The thought that the
oppressor's sorrow on seeing the slave pine, is like the butcher's
regret when his destined lamb dies a natural death, is exceedingly
fine.
I am got so much into the cant of criticism, that I begin to be afraid
lest I have nothing except the cant of it; and instead of elucidating
my author, am only benighting myself. For this reason, I will not
pretend to go through the whole poem. Some few remaining beautiful
lines, however, I cannot pass over. Verse 280th is the strongest
description of selfishness I ever saw. The comparison of verses 285th
and 286th is new and fine; and the line, "Your arms to penury you
lend," is excellent. In verse 317th, "like" should certainly be "as"
or "so;" for instance--
"His sway the hardened bosom leads
To cruelty's remorseless deeds:
As (or, so) the blue lightning when it springs
With fury on its livid wings,
Darts on the goal with rapid force,
Nor heeds that ruin marks its course. "
If you insert the word "like" where I have placed "as," you must alter
"darts" to "darting," and "heeds" to "heeding" in order to make it
grammar. A tempest is a favourite subject with the poets, but I do not
remember anything even in Thomson's Winter superior to your verses
from the 347th to the 351st. Indeed, the last simile, beginning with
"Fancy may dress," &c. , and ending with the 350th verse, is, in my
opinion, the most beautiful passage in the poem; it would do honour to
the greatest names that ever graced our profession.
I will not beg your pardon, Madam, for these strictures, as my
conscience tells me, that for once in my life I have acted up to the
duties of a Christian, in doing as I would be done by.
R. B.
* * * * *
XCV.
TO MR. RICHARD BROWN,
IRVINE.
[Richard Brown was the "hapless son of misfortune," alluded to by
Burns in his biographical letter to Dr. Moore: by fortitude and
prudence he retrieved his fortunes, and lived much respected in
Greenock, to a good old age. He said Burns had little to learn in
matters of levity, when he became acquainted with him. ]
_Edinburgh, 30th Dec. _ 1787.
MY DEAR SIR,
I have met with few things in life which have given me more pleasure
than Fortune's kindness to you since those days in which we met in the
vale of misery; as I can honestly say, that I never knew a man who
more truly deserved it, or to whom my heart more truly wished it. I
have been much indebted since that time to your story and sentiments
for steeling my mind against evils, of which I have had a pretty
decent share. My will-o'wisp fate you know: do you recollect a Sunday
we spent together in Eglinton woods! You told me, on my repeating some
verses to you, that you wondered I could resist the temptation of
sending verses of such merit to a magazine. It was from this remark I
derived that idea of my own pieces, which encouraged me to endeavour
at the character of a poet. I am happy to hear that you will be two or
three months at home. As soon as a bruised limb will permit me, I
shall return to Ayrshire, and we shall meet; "and faith, I hope we'll
not sit dumb, nor yet cast out! "
I have much to tell you "of men, their manners, and their ways,"
perhaps a little of the other sex. Apropos, I beg to be remembered to
Mrs. Brown. There I doubt not, my dear friend, but you have found
substantial happiness. I expect to find you something of an altered
but not a different man; the wild, bold, generous young fellow
composed into the steady affectionate husband, and the fond careful
parent. For me, I am just the same will-o'-wisp being I used to be.
About the first and fourth quarters of the moon, I generally set in
for the trade wind of wisdom: but about the full and change, I am the
luckless victim of mad tornadoes, which blow me into chaos. Almighty
love still reigns and revels in my bosom; and I am at this moment
ready to hang myself for a young Edinburgh widow, who has wit and
wisdom more murderously fatal than the assassinating stiletto of the
Sicilian banditti, or the poisoned arrow of the savage African. My
highland dirk, that used to hang beside my crutches, I have gravely
removed into a neighbouring closet, the key of which I cannot command
in case of spring-tide paroxysms. You may guess of her wit by
the following verses, which she sent me the other day:--
Talk not of love, it gives me pain,
For love has been my foe;
He bound me with an iron chain,
And plunged me deep in woe!
But friendship's pure and lasting joys.
My heart was formed to prove,--
There, welcome, win, and wear the prize,
But never talk of love!
Your friendship much can make me blest--
O why that bliss destroy?
Why urge the odious one request,
You know I must deny? [180]
My best compliments to our friend Allan.
Adieu!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 180: See song 186, in Johnson's Musical Museum. Burns altered
the two last lines, and added a stanza:
Why urge the only one request
You know I will deny!
Your thought if love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought. ]
* * * * *
XCVI.
TO GAVIN HAMILTON.
[The Hamiltons of the West continue to love the memory of Burns: the
old arm-chair in which the bard sat, when he visited Nanse Tinnocks,
was lately presented to the mason Lodge of Mauchline, by Dr. Hamilton,
the "wee curly Johnie" of the Dedication. ]
[_Edinburgh, Dec. _ 1787. ]
MY DEAR SIR,
It is indeed with the highest pleasure that I congratulate you on the
return of days of ease and nights of pleasure, after the horrid hours
of misery in which I saw you suffering existence when last in
Ayrshire; I seldom pray for any body, "I'm baith dead-sweer and
wretched ill o't;" but most fervently do I beseech the Power that
directs the world, that you may live long and be happy, but live no
longer than you are happy. It is needless for me to advise you to have
a reverend care of your health. I know you will make it a point never
at one time to drink more than a pint of wine (I mean an English
pint), and that you will never be witness to more than one bowl of
punch at a time, and that cold drams you will never more taste; and,
above all things, I am convinced, that after drinking perhaps boiling
punch, you will never mount your horse and gallop home in a chill late
hour. Above all things, as I understand you are in habits of intimacy
with that Boanerges of gospel powers, Father Auld, be earnest with him
that he will wrestle in prayer for you, that you may see the vanity of
vanities in trusting to, or even practising the casual moral works of
charity, humanity, generosity, and forgiveness of things, which you
practised so flagrantly that it was evident you delighted in them,
neglecting, or perhaps profanely despising, the wholesome doctrine of
faith without works, the only anchor of salvation. A hymn of
thanksgiving would, in my opinion, be highly becoming from you at
present, and in my zeal for your well-being, I earnestly press on you
to be diligent in chanting over the two enclosed pieces of sacred
poesy. My best compliments to Mrs. Hamilton and Miss Kennedy.
Yours in the L--d,
R. B.
* * * * *
XCVII.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[The blank which takes the place of the name of the "Gentleman in mind
and manners," of this letter, cannot now be filled up, nor is it much
matter: the acquaintance of such a man as the poet describes few or
none would desire. ]
_Edinburgh, Dec. _ 1787.
MY DEAR MADAM,
I just now have read yours. The poetic compliments I pay cannot be
misunderstood. They are neither of them so particular as to point you
out to the world at large; and the circle of your acquaintances will
allow all I have said. Besides, I have complimented you chiefly,
almost solely, on your mental charms. Shall I be plain with you? I
will; so look to it. Personal attractions, Madam, you have much above
par; wit, understanding, and worth, you possess in the first class.
This is a cursed flat way of telling you these truths, but let me hear
no more of your sheepish timidity. I know the world a little. I know
what they will say of my poems; by second sight I suppose; for I am
seldom out in my conjectures; and you may believe me, my dear Madam, I
would not run any risk of hurting you by any ill-judged compliment. I
wish to show to the world, the odds between a poet's friends and those
of simple prosemen. More for your information, both the pieces go in.
One of them, "Where braving angry winter's storms," is already
set--the tune is Neil Gow's Lamentation for _Abercarny_; the other is
to be set to an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's collection of ancient
Scots music; the name is "_Ha a Chaillich air mo Dheith. _" My
treacherous memory has forgot every circumstance about _Les Incas_,
only I think you mentioned them as being in Creech's possession. I
shall ask him about it. I am afraid the song of "Somebody" will come
too late--as I shall, for certain, leave town in a week for Ayrshire,
and from that to Dumfries, but there my hopes are slender. I leave my
direction in town, so anything, wherever I am, will reach me.
I saw yours to ----; it is not too severe, nor did he take it amiss. On
the contrary, like a whipt spaniel, he talks of being with you in the
Christmas days. Mr. ---- has given him the invitation, and he is
determined to accept of it. O selfishness! he owns, in his sober
moments, that from his own volatility of inclination, the
circumstances in which he is situated, and his knowledge of his
father's disposition;--the whole affair is chimerical--yet he _will_
gratify an idle _penchant_ at the enormous, cruel expense, of perhaps
ruining the peace of the very woman for whom he professes the generous
passion of love! He is a gentleman in his mind and manners--_tant
pis_! He is a volatile school-boy--the heir of a man's fortune who
well knows the value of two times two!
Perdition seize them and their fortunes, before they should make the
amiable, the lovely ----, the derided object of their purse-proud
contempt!
I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. ----'s recovery, because I really
thought all was over with her. There are days of pleasure yet awaiting
her:
"As I came in by Glenap,
I met with an aged woman:
She bad me cheer up my heart,
For the best o' my days was comin'. "
This day will decide my affairs with Creech. Things are, like myself,
not what they ought to be; yet better than what they appear to be.
"Heaven's sovereign saves all beings but himself--
That hideous sight--a naked human heart. "
Farewell! remember me to Charlotte.
R. B.
* * * * *
XCVIII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[The poet alludes in this letter, as in some before, to a hurt which
he got in one of his excursions in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. ]
_Edinburgh, January 21, 1788. _
After six weeks' confinement, I am beginning to walk across the room.
They have been six horrible weeks; anguish and low spirits made me
unfit to read, write, or think.
I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an officer
resigns a commission: for I would not take in any poor, ignorant
wretch, by selling out. Lately I was a sixpenny private; and, God
knows, a miserable soldier enough; now I march to the campaign, a
starving cadet: a little more conspicuously wretched.
I am ashamed of all this; for though I do want bravery for the warfare
of life, I could wish, like some other soldiers, to have as much
fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or conceal my cowardice.
As soon as I can bear the journey, which will be, I suppose, about the
middle of next week, I leave Edinburgh: and soon after I shall pay my
grateful duty at Dunlop-House.
R. B.
* * * * *
XCIX.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[The levity with which Burns sometimes spoke of things sacred, had
been obliquely touched upon by his good and anxious friend Mrs.
Dunlop: he pleads guilty of folly, but not of irreligion. ]
_Edinburgh, February 12, 1788. _
Some things in your late letters hurt me: not that _you say them_, but
that _you mistake me. _ Religion, my honoured Madam, has not only been
all my life my chief dependence, but my dearest enjoyment. I have,
indeed, been the luckless victim of wayward follies; but, alas! I have
ever been "more fool than knave. " A mathematician without religion is
a probable character; an irreligious poet is a monster.
R. B.
* * * * *
C.
TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER.
[When Burns undertook to supply Johnson with songs for the Musical
Museum, he laid all the bards of Scotland under contribution, and
Skinner among the number, of whose talents, as well as those of Ross,
author of Helenore, he was a great admirer. ]
_Edinburgh, 14th February, 1788. _
REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,
I have been a cripple now near three months, though I am getting
vastly better, and have been very much hurried beside, or else I would
have wrote you sooner. I must beg your pardon for the epistle you sent
me appearing in the Magazine. I had given a copy or two to some of my
intimate friends, but did not know of the printing of it till the
publication of the Magazine. However, as it does great honour to us
both, you will forgive it.
The second volume of the songs I mentioned to you in my last is
published to-day. I send you a copy which I beg you will accept as a
mark of the veneration I have long had, and shall ever have, for your
character, and of the claim I make to your continued acquaintance.
Your songs appear in the third volume, with your name in the index;
as, I assure you, Sir, I have heard your "Tullochgorum," particularly
among our west-country folks, given to many different names, and most
commonly to the immortal author of "The Minstrel," who, indeed, never
wrote anything superior to "Gie's a sang, Montgomery cried. " Your
brother has promised me your verses to the Marquis of Huntley's reel,
which certainly deserve a place in the collection. My kind host, Mr.
Cruikshank, of the High-school here, and said to be one of the best
Latins in this age, begs me to make you his grateful acknowledgments
for the entertainment he has got in a Latin publication of yours, that
I borrowed for him from your acquaintance and much respected friend in
this place, the Reverend Dr. Webster. Mr. Cruikshank maintains that
you write the best Latin since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh to-morrow,
but shall return in three weeks. Your song you mentioned in your last,
to the tune of "Dumbarton Drums," and the other, which you say was
done by a brother by trade of mine, a ploughman, I shall thank you
much for a copy of each. I am ever, Reverend Sir, with the most
respectful esteem and sincere veneration, yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CI.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[The letters of Burns to Brown, and Smith, and Richmond, and others of
his west-country friends, written when he was in the first flush of
fame, show that he did not forget humble men, who anticipated the
public in perceiving his merit. ]
_Edinburgh, February 15th_, 1788.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I received yours with the greatest pleasure. I shall arrive at Glasgow
on Monday evening; and beg, if possible, you will meet me on Tuesday.
I shall wait you Tuesday all day. I shall be found at Davies', Black
Bull inn. I am hurried, as if hunted by fifty devils, else I should go
to Greenock: but if you cannot possibly come, write me, if possible,
to Glasgow, on Monday; or direct to me at Mossgiel by Mauchline; and
name a day and place in Ayrshire, within a fortnight from this date,
where I may meet you. I only stay a fortnight in Ayrshire, and return
to Edinburgh. I am ever, my dearest friend, yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CII.
TO MRS. ROSE, OF KILRAVOCK.
[Mrs. Rose of Kilravock, a lady distinguished by the elegance of her
manners, as well as by her talents, was long remembered by Burns: she
procured for him snatches of old songs, and copies of northern
melodies; to her we owe the preservation of some fine airs as well as
the inspiration of some fine lyrics. ]
_Edinburgh, February 17th, 1788. _
MADAM,
You are much indebted to some indispensable business I have had on my
hands, otherwise my gratitude threatened such a return for your
obliging favour as would have tired your patience.
It but poorly
expresses my feelings to say, that I am sensible of your kindness: it
may be said of hearts such as yours is, and such, I hope, mine is,
much more justly than Addison applies it,--
"Some souls by instinct to each other turn. "
There was something in my reception at Kilravock so different from the
cold, obsequious, dancing-school bow of politeness, that it almost got
into my head that friendship had occupied her ground without the
intermediate march of acquaintance. I wish I could transcribe, or
rather transfuse into language, the glow of my heart when I read your
letter. My ready fancy, with colours more mellow than life itself,
painted the beautifully wild scenery of Kilravock--the venerable
grandeur of the castle--the spreading woods--the winding river, gladly
leaving his unsightly, heathy source, and lingering with apparent
delight as he passes the fairy walk at the bottom of the garden;--your
late distressful anxieties--your present enjoyments--your dear little
angel, the pride of your hopes;--my aged friend, venerable in worth
and years, whose loyalty and other virtues will strongly entitle her
to the support of the Almighty Spirit here, and his peculiar favour in
a happier state of existence. You cannot imagine, Madam, how much such
feelings delight me; they are my dearest proofs of my own immortality.
Should I never revisit the north, as probably I never will, nor again
see your hospitable mansion, were I, some twenty years hence, to see
your little fellow's name making a proper figure in a newspaper
paragraph, my heart would bound with pleasure.
I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scottish songs, set to
their proper tunes; every air worth preserving is to be included:
among others I have given "Morag," and some few Highland airs which
pleased me most, a dress which will be more generally known, though
far, far inferior in real merit. As a small mark of my grateful
esteem, I beg leave to present you with a copy of the work, as far as
it is printed; the Man of Feeling, that first of men, has promised to
transmit it by the first opportunity.
I beg to be remembered most respectfully to my venerable friend, and
to your little Highland chieftain. When you see the "two fair spirits
of the hill," at Kildrummie,[181] tell them that I have done myself the
honour of setting myself down as one of their admirers for at least
twenty years to come, consequently they must look upon me as an
acquaintance for the same period; but, as the apostle Paul says, "this
I ask of grace, not of debt. "
I have the honour to be, Madam, &c. ,
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 181: Miss Sophia Brodie, of L----, and Miss Rose of Kilravock. ]
* * * * *
CIII.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[While Burns was confined to his lodgings by his maimed limb, he
beguiled the time and eased the pain by composing the Clarinda
epistles, writing songs for Johnson, and letters to his companions. ]
_Mossgiel, 24th February, 1788. _
MY DEAR SIR,
I cannot get the proper direction for my friend in Jamaica, but the
following will do:--To Mr. Jo. Hutchinson, at Jo. Brownrigg's, Esq. ,
care of Mr. Benjamin Henriquez, merchant, Orange-street, Kingston. I
arrived here, at my brother's, only yesterday, after fighting my way
through Paisley and Kilmarnock, against those old powerful foes of
mine, the devil, the world, and the flesh--so terrible in the fields
of dissipation. I have met with few incidents in my life which gave me
so much pleasure as meeting you in Glasgow. There is a time of life
beyond which we cannot form a tie worth the name of friendship. "O
youth! enchanting stage, profusely blest. " Life is a fairy scene:
almost all that deserves the name of enjoyment or pleasure is only a
charming delusion; and in comes repining age in all the gravity of
hoary wisdom, and wretchedly chases away the bewitching phantom. When
I think of life, I resolve to keep a strict look-out in the course of
economy, for the sake of worldly convenience and independence of mind;
to cultivate intimacy with a few of the companions of youth, that they
may be the friends of age; never to refuse my liquorish humour a
handful of the sweetmeats of life, when they come not too dear; and,
for futurity,--
"The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw! "[182]
How like you my philosophy? Give my best compliments to Mrs. B. , and
believe me to be,
My dear Sir,
Yours most truly,
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 182: Mickle. ]
* * * * *
CIV.
TO MR. WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK.
[The excise and farming alternately occupied the poet's thoughts in
Edinburgh: he studied books of husbandry and took lessons in gauging,
and in the latter he became expert. ]
_Mauchline, March 3d, 1788. _
MY DEAR SIR,
Apologies for not writing are frequently like apologies for not
singing--the apology better than the song. I have fought my way
severely through the savage hospitality of this country, to send every
guest drunk to bed if they can.
I executed your commission in Glasgow, and I hope the cocoa came safe.
'Twas the same price and the very same kind as your former parcel, for
the gentleman recollected your buying there perfectly well.
I should return my thanks for your hospitality (I
leave a blank for the epithet, as I know none can do it justice) to a
poor, wayfaring bard, who was spent and utmost overpowered fighting
with prosaic wickednesses in high places; but I am afraid lest you
should burn the letter whenever you come to the passage, so I pass
over it in silence. I am just returned from visiting Mr. Miller's
farm. The friend whom I told you I would take with me was highly
pleased with the farm; and as he is, without exception, the most
intelligent farmer in the country, he has staggered me a good deal. I
have the two plans of life before me; I shall balance them to the best
of my judgment, and fix on the most eligible. I have written Mr.
Miller, and shall wait on him when I come to town, which shall be the
beginning or middle of next week; I would be in sooner, but my unlucky
knee is rather worse, and I fear for some time will scarcely stand the
fatigue of my Excise instructions. I only mention these ideas to you;
and, indeed, except Mr. Ainslie, whom I intend writing to to-morrow, I
will not write at all to Edinburgh till I return to it. I would send
my compliments to Mr. Nicol, but he would be hurt if he knew I wrote
to anybody and not to him: so I shall only beg my best, kindest,
kindest compliments to my worthy hostess and the sweet little
rose-bud.
So soon as I am settled in the routine of life, either as an
Excise-officer, or as a farmer, I propose myself great pleasure from a
regular correspondence with the only man almost I ever saw who joined
the most attentive prudence with the warmest generosity.
I am much interested for that best of men, Mr. Wood; I hope he is in
better health and spirits than when I saw him last.
I am ever,
My dearest friend,
Your obliged, humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CV.
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[The sensible and intelligent farmer on whose judgment Burns depended
in the choice of his farm, was Mr. Tait, of Glenconner. ]
_Mauchline, 3d March, 1788. _
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I am just returned from Mr. Miller's farm. My old friend whom I took
with me was highly pleased with the bargain, and advised me to accept
of it. He is the most intelligent sensible farmer in the county, and
his advice has staggered me a good deal. I have the two plans before
me: I shall endeavour to balance them to the best of my judgement, and
fix on the most eligible. On the whole, if I find Mr. Miller in the
same favourable disposition as when I saw him last, I shall in all
probability turn farmer.
I have been through sore tribulation and under much buffeting of the
wicked one since I came to this country. Jean I found banished,
forlorn, destitute and friendless: I have reconciled her to her fate,
and I have reconciled her to her mother.
I shall be in Edinburgh middle of next week. My farming ideas I shall
keep private till I see. I got a letter from Clarinda yesterday, and
she tells me she has got no letter of mine but one. Tell her that I
wrote to her from Glasgow, from Kilmarnock, from Mauchline, and
yesterday from Cumnock as I returned from Dumfries. Indeed she is the
only person in Edinburgh I have written to till this day. How are your
soul and body putting up? --a little like man and wife, I suppose.
R. B.
* * * * *
CVI.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[Richard Brown, it is said, fell off in his liking for Burns when he
found that he had made free with his name in his epistle to Moore. ]
_Mauchline, 7th March_, 1788.
I have been out of the country, my dear friend, and have not had an
opportunity of writing till now, when I am afraid you will be gone out
of the country too. I have been looking at farms, and, after all,
perhaps I may settle in the character of a farmer. I have got so
vicious a bent to idleness, and have ever been so little a man of
business, that it will take no ordinary effort to bring my mind
properly into the routine: but you will save a "great effort is worthy
of you. " I say so myself; and butter up my vanity with all the
stimulating compliments I can think of. Men of grave, geometrical
minds, the sons of "which was to be demonstrated," may cry up reason
as much as they please; but I have always found an honest passion, or
native instinct, the truest auxiliary in the warfare of this world.
Reason almost always comes to me like an unlucky wife to a poor devil
of a husband, just in sufficient time to add her reproaches to his
other grievances.
I am gratified with your kind inquiries after Jean; as, after all, I
may say with Othello:--
--------------------"Excellent wretch!
Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee! "
I go for Edinburgh on Monday.
Yours,--R. B.
* * * * *
CVII.
TO MR. MUIR.
[The change which Burns says in this letter took place in his ideas,
refers, it is said, to his West India voyage, on which, it appears by
one of his letters to Smith, he meditated for some time after his
debut in Edinburgh. ]
_Mossgiel, 7th March_, 1788.
DEAR SIR,
I have partly changed my ideas, my dear friend, since I saw you. I
took old Glenconner with mo to Mr. Miller's farm, and he was so
pleased with it, that I have wrote an offer to Mr. Miller, which, if
he accepts, I shall sit down a plain farmer, the happiest of lives
when a man can live by it. In this case I shall not stay in Edinburgh
above a week. I set out on Monday, and would have come by Kilmarnock,
but there are several small sums owing me for my first edition about
Galston and Newmills, and I shall set off so early as to dispatch my
business, and reach Glasgow by night. When I return, I shall devote a
forenoon or two to make some kind of acknowledgment for all the
kindness I owe your friendship. Now that I hope to settle with some
credit and comfort at home, there was not any friendship or friendly
correspondence that promised me more pleasure than yours; I hope I
will not be disappointed. I trust the spring will renew your shattered
frame, and make your friends happy. You and I have often agreed that
life is no great blessing on the whole. The close of life, indeed, to
a reasoning eye, is,
"Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun
Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams
Athwart their gloom profound. "[183]
But an honest man has nothing to fear. If we lie down in the grave,
the whole man a piece of broken machinery, to moulder with the clods
of the valley, be it so: at least there is an end of pain, care, woes,
and wants: if that part of us called mind does survive the apparent
destruction of the man--away with old-wife prejudices and tales! Every
age and every nation has had a different set of stories; and as the
many are always weak, of consequence, they have often, perhaps always,
been deceived; a man conscious of having acted an honest part among
his fellow-creatures--even granting that he may have been the sport at
times of passions and instincts--he goes to a great unknown Being, who
could have no other end in giving him existence but to make him happy,
who gave him those passions and instincts, and well knows their force.
These, my worthy friend, are my ideas; and I know they are not far
different from yours. It becomes a man of sense to think for himself,
particularly in a case where all men are equally interested, and
where, indeed, all men are equally in the dark.
Adieu, my dear Sir; God send us a cheerful meeting!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 183: Blair's Grave. ]
* * * * *
CVIII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[One of the daughters of Mrs. Dunlop painted a sketch of Coila from
Burns's poem of the Vision: it is still in existence, and is said to
have merit. ]
_Mossgiel, 17th March, 1788. _
MADAM,
The last paragraph in yours of the 30th February affected me most, so
I shall begin my answer where you ended your letter. That I am often a
sinner with any little wit I have, I do confess: but I have taxed my
recollection to no purpose, to find out when it was employed against
you. I hate an ungenerous sarcasm a great deal worse than I do the
devil; at least as Milton described him; and though I may be rascally
enough to be sometimes guilty of it myself, I cannot endure it in
others. You, my honoured friend, who cannot appear in any light but
you are sure of being respectable--you can afford to pass by an
occasion to display your wit, because you may depend for fame on your
sense; or, if you choose to be silent, you know you can rely on the
gratitude of many, and the esteem of all; but, God help us, who are
wits or witlings by profession, if we stand for fame there, we sink
unsupported!
I am highly flattered by the news you tell me of Coila. I may say to
the fair painter who does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie says to
Ross the poet of his muse Scota, from which, by the bye, I took the
idea of Coila ('tis a poem of Beattie's in the Scottish dialect, which
perhaps you have never seen:)--
Ye shak your heads, but o' my fegs,
Ye've sat auld Scota on her legs:
Lang had she lien wi' beffs and flegs,
Bumbaz'd and dizzie,
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs.
Wae's me, poor hizzie. "
R. B.
* * * * *
CIX.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[The uncouth cares of which the poet complains in this letter were the
construction of a common farmhouse, with barn, byre, and stable to
suit. ]
_Edinburgh, March 14, 1788. _
I know, my ever dear friend, that you will be pleased with the news
when I tell you, I have at last taken a lease of a farm. Yesternight I
completed a bargain with Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton for the farm of
Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, between five and six miles above
Dumfries. I begin at Whit-Sunday to build a house, drive lime, &c. ;
and heaven be my help! for it will take a strong effort to bring my
mind into the routine of business. I have discharged all the army of
my former pursuits, fancies, and pleasures; a motley host! and have
literally and strictly retained only the ideas of a few friends, which
I have incorporated into a lifeguard. I trust in Dr. Johnson's
observation, "Where much is attempted, something is done. " Firmness,
both in sufferance and exertion, is a character I would wish to be
thought to possess: and have always despised the whining yelp of
complaint, and the cowardly, feeble resolve.
Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this winter, and begged me to
remember her to you the first time I wrote to you. Surely woman,
amiable woman, is often made in vain. Too delicately formed for the
rougher pursuits of ambition; too noble for the dirt of avarice, and
even too gentle for the rage of pleasure; formed indeed for, and
highly susceptible of enjoyment and rapture; but that enjoyment, alas!
almost wholly at the mercy of the caprice, malevolence, stupidity, or
wickedness of an animal at all times comparatively unfeeling, and
often brutal.
R. B.
* * * * *
CX.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[The excitement referred to in this letter arose from the dilatory and
reluctant movements of Creech, who was so slow in settling his
accounts that the poet suspected his solvency. ]
_Glasgow, 26th March, 1788. _
I am monstrously to blame, my dear Sir, in not writing to you, and
sending you the Directory. I have been getting my tack extended, as I
have taken a farm; and I have been racking shop accounts with Mr.
Creech, both of which, together with watching, fatigue, and a load of
care almost too heavy for my shoulders, have in some degree actually
fevered me. I really forgot the Directory yesterday, which vexed me;
but I was convulsed with rage a great part of the day. I have to thank
you for the ingenious, friendly, and elegant epistle from your friend
Mr. Crawford. I shall certainly write to him, but not now. This is
merely a card to you, as I am posting to Dumfries-shire, where many
perplexing arrangements await me. I am vexed about the Directory; but,
my dear Sir, forgive me: these eight days I have been positively
crazed. My compliments to Mrs. B. I shall write to you at Grenada. --I
am ever, my dearest friend,
Yours,--R. B.
* * * * *
CXI.
TO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN.
[Cleghorn was a farmer, a social man, and much of a musician. The poet
wrote the Chevalier's Lament to please the jacobitical taste of his
friend; and the musician gave him advice in farming which he neglected
to follow:--"Farmer Attention," says Cleghorn, "is a good farmer
everywhere. "]
_Mauchline, 31st March, 1788. _
Yesterday, my dear Sir, as I was riding through a track of melancholy,
joyless muirs, between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I
turned my thoughts to psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs; and your
favourite air, "Captain O'Kean," coming at length into my head, I
tried these words to it. You will see that the first part of the tune
must be repeated.
I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but as I have only a sketch
of the tune, I leave it with you to try if they suit the measure of
the music.
I am so harassed with care and anxiety, about this farming project of
mine, that my muse has degenerated into the veriest prose-wench that
ever picked cinders, or followed a tinker. When I am fairly got into
the routine of business, I shall trouble you with a longer epistle;
perhaps with some queries respecting farming; at present, the world
sits such a load on my mind, that it has effaced almost every trace of
the poet in me.
My very best compliments and good wishes to Mrs. Cleghorn.
R. B.
* * * * *
CXII.
TO MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR,
EDINBURGH.
[This letter was printed for the first time by Robert Chambers, in his
"People's Edition" of Burns. ]
_Mauchline, 7th April, 1788.
Sends from her unsullied source,
The gems of thought their purest force,"
is exceeding beautiful. The idea, from verse 81st to the 85th, that
the "blest decree" is like the beams of morning ushering in the
glorious day of liberty, ought not to pass unnoticed or unapplauded.
From verse 85th to verse 108th, is an animated contrast between the
unfeeling selfishness of the oppressor on the one hand, and the misery
of the captive on the other. Verse 88th might perhaps be amended thus:
"Nor ever _quit_ her narrow maze. " We are said to _pass_ a bound, but
we _quit_, a maze. Verse 100th is exquisitely beautiful:--
"They, whom wasted blessings tire. "
Verse 110th is I doubt a clashing of metaphors: "to load a span" is, I
am afraid, an unwarrantable expression. In verse 114th, "Cast the
universe in shade," is a fine idea. From the 115th verse to the 142d
is a striking description of the wrongs of the poor African. Verse
120th, "The load of unremitted pain," is a remarkable, strong
expression. The address to the advocates for abolishing the
slave-trade, from verse 143d to verse 208th, is animated with the true
life of genius. The picture of oppression:--
"While she links her impious chain,
And calculates the price of pain;
Weighs agony in sordid scales,
And marks if death or life prevails,"--
is nobly executed.
What a tender idea is in verse 108th! Indeed, that whole description
of home may vie with Thomson's description of home, somewhere in the
beginning of his Autumn. I do not remember to have seen a stronger
expression of misery than is contained in these verses:--
"Condemned, severe extreme, to live
When all is fled that life can give"
The comparison of our distant joys to distant objects is equally
original and striking.
The character and manners of the dealer in the infernal traffic is a
well done though a horrid picture. I am not sure how far introducing
the sailor was right; for though the sailor's common characteristic is
generosity, yet, in this case, he is certainly not only an unconcerned
witness, but, in some degree, an efficient agent in the business.
Verse 224th is a nervous . . . expressive--"The heart convulsive anguish
breaks. " The description of the captive wretch when he arrives in the
West Indies, is carried on with equal spirit. The thought that the
oppressor's sorrow on seeing the slave pine, is like the butcher's
regret when his destined lamb dies a natural death, is exceedingly
fine.
I am got so much into the cant of criticism, that I begin to be afraid
lest I have nothing except the cant of it; and instead of elucidating
my author, am only benighting myself. For this reason, I will not
pretend to go through the whole poem. Some few remaining beautiful
lines, however, I cannot pass over. Verse 280th is the strongest
description of selfishness I ever saw. The comparison of verses 285th
and 286th is new and fine; and the line, "Your arms to penury you
lend," is excellent. In verse 317th, "like" should certainly be "as"
or "so;" for instance--
"His sway the hardened bosom leads
To cruelty's remorseless deeds:
As (or, so) the blue lightning when it springs
With fury on its livid wings,
Darts on the goal with rapid force,
Nor heeds that ruin marks its course. "
If you insert the word "like" where I have placed "as," you must alter
"darts" to "darting," and "heeds" to "heeding" in order to make it
grammar. A tempest is a favourite subject with the poets, but I do not
remember anything even in Thomson's Winter superior to your verses
from the 347th to the 351st. Indeed, the last simile, beginning with
"Fancy may dress," &c. , and ending with the 350th verse, is, in my
opinion, the most beautiful passage in the poem; it would do honour to
the greatest names that ever graced our profession.
I will not beg your pardon, Madam, for these strictures, as my
conscience tells me, that for once in my life I have acted up to the
duties of a Christian, in doing as I would be done by.
R. B.
* * * * *
XCV.
TO MR. RICHARD BROWN,
IRVINE.
[Richard Brown was the "hapless son of misfortune," alluded to by
Burns in his biographical letter to Dr. Moore: by fortitude and
prudence he retrieved his fortunes, and lived much respected in
Greenock, to a good old age. He said Burns had little to learn in
matters of levity, when he became acquainted with him. ]
_Edinburgh, 30th Dec. _ 1787.
MY DEAR SIR,
I have met with few things in life which have given me more pleasure
than Fortune's kindness to you since those days in which we met in the
vale of misery; as I can honestly say, that I never knew a man who
more truly deserved it, or to whom my heart more truly wished it. I
have been much indebted since that time to your story and sentiments
for steeling my mind against evils, of which I have had a pretty
decent share. My will-o'wisp fate you know: do you recollect a Sunday
we spent together in Eglinton woods! You told me, on my repeating some
verses to you, that you wondered I could resist the temptation of
sending verses of such merit to a magazine. It was from this remark I
derived that idea of my own pieces, which encouraged me to endeavour
at the character of a poet. I am happy to hear that you will be two or
three months at home. As soon as a bruised limb will permit me, I
shall return to Ayrshire, and we shall meet; "and faith, I hope we'll
not sit dumb, nor yet cast out! "
I have much to tell you "of men, their manners, and their ways,"
perhaps a little of the other sex. Apropos, I beg to be remembered to
Mrs. Brown. There I doubt not, my dear friend, but you have found
substantial happiness. I expect to find you something of an altered
but not a different man; the wild, bold, generous young fellow
composed into the steady affectionate husband, and the fond careful
parent. For me, I am just the same will-o'-wisp being I used to be.
About the first and fourth quarters of the moon, I generally set in
for the trade wind of wisdom: but about the full and change, I am the
luckless victim of mad tornadoes, which blow me into chaos. Almighty
love still reigns and revels in my bosom; and I am at this moment
ready to hang myself for a young Edinburgh widow, who has wit and
wisdom more murderously fatal than the assassinating stiletto of the
Sicilian banditti, or the poisoned arrow of the savage African. My
highland dirk, that used to hang beside my crutches, I have gravely
removed into a neighbouring closet, the key of which I cannot command
in case of spring-tide paroxysms. You may guess of her wit by
the following verses, which she sent me the other day:--
Talk not of love, it gives me pain,
For love has been my foe;
He bound me with an iron chain,
And plunged me deep in woe!
But friendship's pure and lasting joys.
My heart was formed to prove,--
There, welcome, win, and wear the prize,
But never talk of love!
Your friendship much can make me blest--
O why that bliss destroy?
Why urge the odious one request,
You know I must deny? [180]
My best compliments to our friend Allan.
Adieu!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 180: See song 186, in Johnson's Musical Museum. Burns altered
the two last lines, and added a stanza:
Why urge the only one request
You know I will deny!
Your thought if love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought. ]
* * * * *
XCVI.
TO GAVIN HAMILTON.
[The Hamiltons of the West continue to love the memory of Burns: the
old arm-chair in which the bard sat, when he visited Nanse Tinnocks,
was lately presented to the mason Lodge of Mauchline, by Dr. Hamilton,
the "wee curly Johnie" of the Dedication. ]
[_Edinburgh, Dec. _ 1787. ]
MY DEAR SIR,
It is indeed with the highest pleasure that I congratulate you on the
return of days of ease and nights of pleasure, after the horrid hours
of misery in which I saw you suffering existence when last in
Ayrshire; I seldom pray for any body, "I'm baith dead-sweer and
wretched ill o't;" but most fervently do I beseech the Power that
directs the world, that you may live long and be happy, but live no
longer than you are happy. It is needless for me to advise you to have
a reverend care of your health. I know you will make it a point never
at one time to drink more than a pint of wine (I mean an English
pint), and that you will never be witness to more than one bowl of
punch at a time, and that cold drams you will never more taste; and,
above all things, I am convinced, that after drinking perhaps boiling
punch, you will never mount your horse and gallop home in a chill late
hour. Above all things, as I understand you are in habits of intimacy
with that Boanerges of gospel powers, Father Auld, be earnest with him
that he will wrestle in prayer for you, that you may see the vanity of
vanities in trusting to, or even practising the casual moral works of
charity, humanity, generosity, and forgiveness of things, which you
practised so flagrantly that it was evident you delighted in them,
neglecting, or perhaps profanely despising, the wholesome doctrine of
faith without works, the only anchor of salvation. A hymn of
thanksgiving would, in my opinion, be highly becoming from you at
present, and in my zeal for your well-being, I earnestly press on you
to be diligent in chanting over the two enclosed pieces of sacred
poesy. My best compliments to Mrs. Hamilton and Miss Kennedy.
Yours in the L--d,
R. B.
* * * * *
XCVII.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[The blank which takes the place of the name of the "Gentleman in mind
and manners," of this letter, cannot now be filled up, nor is it much
matter: the acquaintance of such a man as the poet describes few or
none would desire. ]
_Edinburgh, Dec. _ 1787.
MY DEAR MADAM,
I just now have read yours. The poetic compliments I pay cannot be
misunderstood. They are neither of them so particular as to point you
out to the world at large; and the circle of your acquaintances will
allow all I have said. Besides, I have complimented you chiefly,
almost solely, on your mental charms. Shall I be plain with you? I
will; so look to it. Personal attractions, Madam, you have much above
par; wit, understanding, and worth, you possess in the first class.
This is a cursed flat way of telling you these truths, but let me hear
no more of your sheepish timidity. I know the world a little. I know
what they will say of my poems; by second sight I suppose; for I am
seldom out in my conjectures; and you may believe me, my dear Madam, I
would not run any risk of hurting you by any ill-judged compliment. I
wish to show to the world, the odds between a poet's friends and those
of simple prosemen. More for your information, both the pieces go in.
One of them, "Where braving angry winter's storms," is already
set--the tune is Neil Gow's Lamentation for _Abercarny_; the other is
to be set to an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's collection of ancient
Scots music; the name is "_Ha a Chaillich air mo Dheith. _" My
treacherous memory has forgot every circumstance about _Les Incas_,
only I think you mentioned them as being in Creech's possession. I
shall ask him about it. I am afraid the song of "Somebody" will come
too late--as I shall, for certain, leave town in a week for Ayrshire,
and from that to Dumfries, but there my hopes are slender. I leave my
direction in town, so anything, wherever I am, will reach me.
I saw yours to ----; it is not too severe, nor did he take it amiss. On
the contrary, like a whipt spaniel, he talks of being with you in the
Christmas days. Mr. ---- has given him the invitation, and he is
determined to accept of it. O selfishness! he owns, in his sober
moments, that from his own volatility of inclination, the
circumstances in which he is situated, and his knowledge of his
father's disposition;--the whole affair is chimerical--yet he _will_
gratify an idle _penchant_ at the enormous, cruel expense, of perhaps
ruining the peace of the very woman for whom he professes the generous
passion of love! He is a gentleman in his mind and manners--_tant
pis_! He is a volatile school-boy--the heir of a man's fortune who
well knows the value of two times two!
Perdition seize them and their fortunes, before they should make the
amiable, the lovely ----, the derided object of their purse-proud
contempt!
I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. ----'s recovery, because I really
thought all was over with her. There are days of pleasure yet awaiting
her:
"As I came in by Glenap,
I met with an aged woman:
She bad me cheer up my heart,
For the best o' my days was comin'. "
This day will decide my affairs with Creech. Things are, like myself,
not what they ought to be; yet better than what they appear to be.
"Heaven's sovereign saves all beings but himself--
That hideous sight--a naked human heart. "
Farewell! remember me to Charlotte.
R. B.
* * * * *
XCVIII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[The poet alludes in this letter, as in some before, to a hurt which
he got in one of his excursions in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. ]
_Edinburgh, January 21, 1788. _
After six weeks' confinement, I am beginning to walk across the room.
They have been six horrible weeks; anguish and low spirits made me
unfit to read, write, or think.
I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an officer
resigns a commission: for I would not take in any poor, ignorant
wretch, by selling out. Lately I was a sixpenny private; and, God
knows, a miserable soldier enough; now I march to the campaign, a
starving cadet: a little more conspicuously wretched.
I am ashamed of all this; for though I do want bravery for the warfare
of life, I could wish, like some other soldiers, to have as much
fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or conceal my cowardice.
As soon as I can bear the journey, which will be, I suppose, about the
middle of next week, I leave Edinburgh: and soon after I shall pay my
grateful duty at Dunlop-House.
R. B.
* * * * *
XCIX.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[The levity with which Burns sometimes spoke of things sacred, had
been obliquely touched upon by his good and anxious friend Mrs.
Dunlop: he pleads guilty of folly, but not of irreligion. ]
_Edinburgh, February 12, 1788. _
Some things in your late letters hurt me: not that _you say them_, but
that _you mistake me. _ Religion, my honoured Madam, has not only been
all my life my chief dependence, but my dearest enjoyment. I have,
indeed, been the luckless victim of wayward follies; but, alas! I have
ever been "more fool than knave. " A mathematician without religion is
a probable character; an irreligious poet is a monster.
R. B.
* * * * *
C.
TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER.
[When Burns undertook to supply Johnson with songs for the Musical
Museum, he laid all the bards of Scotland under contribution, and
Skinner among the number, of whose talents, as well as those of Ross,
author of Helenore, he was a great admirer. ]
_Edinburgh, 14th February, 1788. _
REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,
I have been a cripple now near three months, though I am getting
vastly better, and have been very much hurried beside, or else I would
have wrote you sooner. I must beg your pardon for the epistle you sent
me appearing in the Magazine. I had given a copy or two to some of my
intimate friends, but did not know of the printing of it till the
publication of the Magazine. However, as it does great honour to us
both, you will forgive it.
The second volume of the songs I mentioned to you in my last is
published to-day. I send you a copy which I beg you will accept as a
mark of the veneration I have long had, and shall ever have, for your
character, and of the claim I make to your continued acquaintance.
Your songs appear in the third volume, with your name in the index;
as, I assure you, Sir, I have heard your "Tullochgorum," particularly
among our west-country folks, given to many different names, and most
commonly to the immortal author of "The Minstrel," who, indeed, never
wrote anything superior to "Gie's a sang, Montgomery cried. " Your
brother has promised me your verses to the Marquis of Huntley's reel,
which certainly deserve a place in the collection. My kind host, Mr.
Cruikshank, of the High-school here, and said to be one of the best
Latins in this age, begs me to make you his grateful acknowledgments
for the entertainment he has got in a Latin publication of yours, that
I borrowed for him from your acquaintance and much respected friend in
this place, the Reverend Dr. Webster. Mr. Cruikshank maintains that
you write the best Latin since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh to-morrow,
but shall return in three weeks. Your song you mentioned in your last,
to the tune of "Dumbarton Drums," and the other, which you say was
done by a brother by trade of mine, a ploughman, I shall thank you
much for a copy of each. I am ever, Reverend Sir, with the most
respectful esteem and sincere veneration, yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CI.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[The letters of Burns to Brown, and Smith, and Richmond, and others of
his west-country friends, written when he was in the first flush of
fame, show that he did not forget humble men, who anticipated the
public in perceiving his merit. ]
_Edinburgh, February 15th_, 1788.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I received yours with the greatest pleasure. I shall arrive at Glasgow
on Monday evening; and beg, if possible, you will meet me on Tuesday.
I shall wait you Tuesday all day. I shall be found at Davies', Black
Bull inn. I am hurried, as if hunted by fifty devils, else I should go
to Greenock: but if you cannot possibly come, write me, if possible,
to Glasgow, on Monday; or direct to me at Mossgiel by Mauchline; and
name a day and place in Ayrshire, within a fortnight from this date,
where I may meet you. I only stay a fortnight in Ayrshire, and return
to Edinburgh. I am ever, my dearest friend, yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CII.
TO MRS. ROSE, OF KILRAVOCK.
[Mrs. Rose of Kilravock, a lady distinguished by the elegance of her
manners, as well as by her talents, was long remembered by Burns: she
procured for him snatches of old songs, and copies of northern
melodies; to her we owe the preservation of some fine airs as well as
the inspiration of some fine lyrics. ]
_Edinburgh, February 17th, 1788. _
MADAM,
You are much indebted to some indispensable business I have had on my
hands, otherwise my gratitude threatened such a return for your
obliging favour as would have tired your patience.
It but poorly
expresses my feelings to say, that I am sensible of your kindness: it
may be said of hearts such as yours is, and such, I hope, mine is,
much more justly than Addison applies it,--
"Some souls by instinct to each other turn. "
There was something in my reception at Kilravock so different from the
cold, obsequious, dancing-school bow of politeness, that it almost got
into my head that friendship had occupied her ground without the
intermediate march of acquaintance. I wish I could transcribe, or
rather transfuse into language, the glow of my heart when I read your
letter. My ready fancy, with colours more mellow than life itself,
painted the beautifully wild scenery of Kilravock--the venerable
grandeur of the castle--the spreading woods--the winding river, gladly
leaving his unsightly, heathy source, and lingering with apparent
delight as he passes the fairy walk at the bottom of the garden;--your
late distressful anxieties--your present enjoyments--your dear little
angel, the pride of your hopes;--my aged friend, venerable in worth
and years, whose loyalty and other virtues will strongly entitle her
to the support of the Almighty Spirit here, and his peculiar favour in
a happier state of existence. You cannot imagine, Madam, how much such
feelings delight me; they are my dearest proofs of my own immortality.
Should I never revisit the north, as probably I never will, nor again
see your hospitable mansion, were I, some twenty years hence, to see
your little fellow's name making a proper figure in a newspaper
paragraph, my heart would bound with pleasure.
I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scottish songs, set to
their proper tunes; every air worth preserving is to be included:
among others I have given "Morag," and some few Highland airs which
pleased me most, a dress which will be more generally known, though
far, far inferior in real merit. As a small mark of my grateful
esteem, I beg leave to present you with a copy of the work, as far as
it is printed; the Man of Feeling, that first of men, has promised to
transmit it by the first opportunity.
I beg to be remembered most respectfully to my venerable friend, and
to your little Highland chieftain. When you see the "two fair spirits
of the hill," at Kildrummie,[181] tell them that I have done myself the
honour of setting myself down as one of their admirers for at least
twenty years to come, consequently they must look upon me as an
acquaintance for the same period; but, as the apostle Paul says, "this
I ask of grace, not of debt. "
I have the honour to be, Madam, &c. ,
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 181: Miss Sophia Brodie, of L----, and Miss Rose of Kilravock. ]
* * * * *
CIII.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[While Burns was confined to his lodgings by his maimed limb, he
beguiled the time and eased the pain by composing the Clarinda
epistles, writing songs for Johnson, and letters to his companions. ]
_Mossgiel, 24th February, 1788. _
MY DEAR SIR,
I cannot get the proper direction for my friend in Jamaica, but the
following will do:--To Mr. Jo. Hutchinson, at Jo. Brownrigg's, Esq. ,
care of Mr. Benjamin Henriquez, merchant, Orange-street, Kingston. I
arrived here, at my brother's, only yesterday, after fighting my way
through Paisley and Kilmarnock, against those old powerful foes of
mine, the devil, the world, and the flesh--so terrible in the fields
of dissipation. I have met with few incidents in my life which gave me
so much pleasure as meeting you in Glasgow. There is a time of life
beyond which we cannot form a tie worth the name of friendship. "O
youth! enchanting stage, profusely blest. " Life is a fairy scene:
almost all that deserves the name of enjoyment or pleasure is only a
charming delusion; and in comes repining age in all the gravity of
hoary wisdom, and wretchedly chases away the bewitching phantom. When
I think of life, I resolve to keep a strict look-out in the course of
economy, for the sake of worldly convenience and independence of mind;
to cultivate intimacy with a few of the companions of youth, that they
may be the friends of age; never to refuse my liquorish humour a
handful of the sweetmeats of life, when they come not too dear; and,
for futurity,--
"The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw! "[182]
How like you my philosophy? Give my best compliments to Mrs. B. , and
believe me to be,
My dear Sir,
Yours most truly,
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 182: Mickle. ]
* * * * *
CIV.
TO MR. WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK.
[The excise and farming alternately occupied the poet's thoughts in
Edinburgh: he studied books of husbandry and took lessons in gauging,
and in the latter he became expert. ]
_Mauchline, March 3d, 1788. _
MY DEAR SIR,
Apologies for not writing are frequently like apologies for not
singing--the apology better than the song. I have fought my way
severely through the savage hospitality of this country, to send every
guest drunk to bed if they can.
I executed your commission in Glasgow, and I hope the cocoa came safe.
'Twas the same price and the very same kind as your former parcel, for
the gentleman recollected your buying there perfectly well.
I should return my thanks for your hospitality (I
leave a blank for the epithet, as I know none can do it justice) to a
poor, wayfaring bard, who was spent and utmost overpowered fighting
with prosaic wickednesses in high places; but I am afraid lest you
should burn the letter whenever you come to the passage, so I pass
over it in silence. I am just returned from visiting Mr. Miller's
farm. The friend whom I told you I would take with me was highly
pleased with the farm; and as he is, without exception, the most
intelligent farmer in the country, he has staggered me a good deal. I
have the two plans of life before me; I shall balance them to the best
of my judgment, and fix on the most eligible. I have written Mr.
Miller, and shall wait on him when I come to town, which shall be the
beginning or middle of next week; I would be in sooner, but my unlucky
knee is rather worse, and I fear for some time will scarcely stand the
fatigue of my Excise instructions. I only mention these ideas to you;
and, indeed, except Mr. Ainslie, whom I intend writing to to-morrow, I
will not write at all to Edinburgh till I return to it. I would send
my compliments to Mr. Nicol, but he would be hurt if he knew I wrote
to anybody and not to him: so I shall only beg my best, kindest,
kindest compliments to my worthy hostess and the sweet little
rose-bud.
So soon as I am settled in the routine of life, either as an
Excise-officer, or as a farmer, I propose myself great pleasure from a
regular correspondence with the only man almost I ever saw who joined
the most attentive prudence with the warmest generosity.
I am much interested for that best of men, Mr. Wood; I hope he is in
better health and spirits than when I saw him last.
I am ever,
My dearest friend,
Your obliged, humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CV.
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[The sensible and intelligent farmer on whose judgment Burns depended
in the choice of his farm, was Mr. Tait, of Glenconner. ]
_Mauchline, 3d March, 1788. _
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I am just returned from Mr. Miller's farm. My old friend whom I took
with me was highly pleased with the bargain, and advised me to accept
of it. He is the most intelligent sensible farmer in the county, and
his advice has staggered me a good deal. I have the two plans before
me: I shall endeavour to balance them to the best of my judgement, and
fix on the most eligible. On the whole, if I find Mr. Miller in the
same favourable disposition as when I saw him last, I shall in all
probability turn farmer.
I have been through sore tribulation and under much buffeting of the
wicked one since I came to this country. Jean I found banished,
forlorn, destitute and friendless: I have reconciled her to her fate,
and I have reconciled her to her mother.
I shall be in Edinburgh middle of next week. My farming ideas I shall
keep private till I see. I got a letter from Clarinda yesterday, and
she tells me she has got no letter of mine but one. Tell her that I
wrote to her from Glasgow, from Kilmarnock, from Mauchline, and
yesterday from Cumnock as I returned from Dumfries. Indeed she is the
only person in Edinburgh I have written to till this day. How are your
soul and body putting up? --a little like man and wife, I suppose.
R. B.
* * * * *
CVI.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[Richard Brown, it is said, fell off in his liking for Burns when he
found that he had made free with his name in his epistle to Moore. ]
_Mauchline, 7th March_, 1788.
I have been out of the country, my dear friend, and have not had an
opportunity of writing till now, when I am afraid you will be gone out
of the country too. I have been looking at farms, and, after all,
perhaps I may settle in the character of a farmer. I have got so
vicious a bent to idleness, and have ever been so little a man of
business, that it will take no ordinary effort to bring my mind
properly into the routine: but you will save a "great effort is worthy
of you. " I say so myself; and butter up my vanity with all the
stimulating compliments I can think of. Men of grave, geometrical
minds, the sons of "which was to be demonstrated," may cry up reason
as much as they please; but I have always found an honest passion, or
native instinct, the truest auxiliary in the warfare of this world.
Reason almost always comes to me like an unlucky wife to a poor devil
of a husband, just in sufficient time to add her reproaches to his
other grievances.
I am gratified with your kind inquiries after Jean; as, after all, I
may say with Othello:--
--------------------"Excellent wretch!
Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee! "
I go for Edinburgh on Monday.
Yours,--R. B.
* * * * *
CVII.
TO MR. MUIR.
[The change which Burns says in this letter took place in his ideas,
refers, it is said, to his West India voyage, on which, it appears by
one of his letters to Smith, he meditated for some time after his
debut in Edinburgh. ]
_Mossgiel, 7th March_, 1788.
DEAR SIR,
I have partly changed my ideas, my dear friend, since I saw you. I
took old Glenconner with mo to Mr. Miller's farm, and he was so
pleased with it, that I have wrote an offer to Mr. Miller, which, if
he accepts, I shall sit down a plain farmer, the happiest of lives
when a man can live by it. In this case I shall not stay in Edinburgh
above a week. I set out on Monday, and would have come by Kilmarnock,
but there are several small sums owing me for my first edition about
Galston and Newmills, and I shall set off so early as to dispatch my
business, and reach Glasgow by night. When I return, I shall devote a
forenoon or two to make some kind of acknowledgment for all the
kindness I owe your friendship. Now that I hope to settle with some
credit and comfort at home, there was not any friendship or friendly
correspondence that promised me more pleasure than yours; I hope I
will not be disappointed. I trust the spring will renew your shattered
frame, and make your friends happy. You and I have often agreed that
life is no great blessing on the whole. The close of life, indeed, to
a reasoning eye, is,
"Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun
Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams
Athwart their gloom profound. "[183]
But an honest man has nothing to fear. If we lie down in the grave,
the whole man a piece of broken machinery, to moulder with the clods
of the valley, be it so: at least there is an end of pain, care, woes,
and wants: if that part of us called mind does survive the apparent
destruction of the man--away with old-wife prejudices and tales! Every
age and every nation has had a different set of stories; and as the
many are always weak, of consequence, they have often, perhaps always,
been deceived; a man conscious of having acted an honest part among
his fellow-creatures--even granting that he may have been the sport at
times of passions and instincts--he goes to a great unknown Being, who
could have no other end in giving him existence but to make him happy,
who gave him those passions and instincts, and well knows their force.
These, my worthy friend, are my ideas; and I know they are not far
different from yours. It becomes a man of sense to think for himself,
particularly in a case where all men are equally interested, and
where, indeed, all men are equally in the dark.
Adieu, my dear Sir; God send us a cheerful meeting!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 183: Blair's Grave. ]
* * * * *
CVIII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[One of the daughters of Mrs. Dunlop painted a sketch of Coila from
Burns's poem of the Vision: it is still in existence, and is said to
have merit. ]
_Mossgiel, 17th March, 1788. _
MADAM,
The last paragraph in yours of the 30th February affected me most, so
I shall begin my answer where you ended your letter. That I am often a
sinner with any little wit I have, I do confess: but I have taxed my
recollection to no purpose, to find out when it was employed against
you. I hate an ungenerous sarcasm a great deal worse than I do the
devil; at least as Milton described him; and though I may be rascally
enough to be sometimes guilty of it myself, I cannot endure it in
others. You, my honoured friend, who cannot appear in any light but
you are sure of being respectable--you can afford to pass by an
occasion to display your wit, because you may depend for fame on your
sense; or, if you choose to be silent, you know you can rely on the
gratitude of many, and the esteem of all; but, God help us, who are
wits or witlings by profession, if we stand for fame there, we sink
unsupported!
I am highly flattered by the news you tell me of Coila. I may say to
the fair painter who does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie says to
Ross the poet of his muse Scota, from which, by the bye, I took the
idea of Coila ('tis a poem of Beattie's in the Scottish dialect, which
perhaps you have never seen:)--
Ye shak your heads, but o' my fegs,
Ye've sat auld Scota on her legs:
Lang had she lien wi' beffs and flegs,
Bumbaz'd and dizzie,
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs.
Wae's me, poor hizzie. "
R. B.
* * * * *
CIX.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[The uncouth cares of which the poet complains in this letter were the
construction of a common farmhouse, with barn, byre, and stable to
suit. ]
_Edinburgh, March 14, 1788. _
I know, my ever dear friend, that you will be pleased with the news
when I tell you, I have at last taken a lease of a farm. Yesternight I
completed a bargain with Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton for the farm of
Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, between five and six miles above
Dumfries. I begin at Whit-Sunday to build a house, drive lime, &c. ;
and heaven be my help! for it will take a strong effort to bring my
mind into the routine of business. I have discharged all the army of
my former pursuits, fancies, and pleasures; a motley host! and have
literally and strictly retained only the ideas of a few friends, which
I have incorporated into a lifeguard. I trust in Dr. Johnson's
observation, "Where much is attempted, something is done. " Firmness,
both in sufferance and exertion, is a character I would wish to be
thought to possess: and have always despised the whining yelp of
complaint, and the cowardly, feeble resolve.
Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this winter, and begged me to
remember her to you the first time I wrote to you. Surely woman,
amiable woman, is often made in vain. Too delicately formed for the
rougher pursuits of ambition; too noble for the dirt of avarice, and
even too gentle for the rage of pleasure; formed indeed for, and
highly susceptible of enjoyment and rapture; but that enjoyment, alas!
almost wholly at the mercy of the caprice, malevolence, stupidity, or
wickedness of an animal at all times comparatively unfeeling, and
often brutal.
R. B.
* * * * *
CX.
TO RICHARD BROWN.
[The excitement referred to in this letter arose from the dilatory and
reluctant movements of Creech, who was so slow in settling his
accounts that the poet suspected his solvency. ]
_Glasgow, 26th March, 1788. _
I am monstrously to blame, my dear Sir, in not writing to you, and
sending you the Directory. I have been getting my tack extended, as I
have taken a farm; and I have been racking shop accounts with Mr.
Creech, both of which, together with watching, fatigue, and a load of
care almost too heavy for my shoulders, have in some degree actually
fevered me. I really forgot the Directory yesterday, which vexed me;
but I was convulsed with rage a great part of the day. I have to thank
you for the ingenious, friendly, and elegant epistle from your friend
Mr. Crawford. I shall certainly write to him, but not now. This is
merely a card to you, as I am posting to Dumfries-shire, where many
perplexing arrangements await me. I am vexed about the Directory; but,
my dear Sir, forgive me: these eight days I have been positively
crazed. My compliments to Mrs. B. I shall write to you at Grenada. --I
am ever, my dearest friend,
Yours,--R. B.
* * * * *
CXI.
TO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN.
[Cleghorn was a farmer, a social man, and much of a musician. The poet
wrote the Chevalier's Lament to please the jacobitical taste of his
friend; and the musician gave him advice in farming which he neglected
to follow:--"Farmer Attention," says Cleghorn, "is a good farmer
everywhere. "]
_Mauchline, 31st March, 1788. _
Yesterday, my dear Sir, as I was riding through a track of melancholy,
joyless muirs, between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I
turned my thoughts to psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs; and your
favourite air, "Captain O'Kean," coming at length into my head, I
tried these words to it. You will see that the first part of the tune
must be repeated.
I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but as I have only a sketch
of the tune, I leave it with you to try if they suit the measure of
the music.
I am so harassed with care and anxiety, about this farming project of
mine, that my muse has degenerated into the veriest prose-wench that
ever picked cinders, or followed a tinker. When I am fairly got into
the routine of business, I shall trouble you with a longer epistle;
perhaps with some queries respecting farming; at present, the world
sits such a load on my mind, that it has effaced almost every trace of
the poet in me.
My very best compliments and good wishes to Mrs. Cleghorn.
R. B.
* * * * *
CXII.
TO MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR,
EDINBURGH.
[This letter was printed for the first time by Robert Chambers, in his
"People's Edition" of Burns. ]
_Mauchline, 7th April, 1788.
