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 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.
Robert Forst
_
SIR,
By some neglect in Mr. Hamilton, I did not hear of your kind request
for a subscription paper 'till this day. I will not attempt any
acknowledgment for this, nor the manner in which I see your name in
Mr. Hamilton's subscription list. Allow me only to say, Sir, I feel
the weight of the debt.
I have here likewise enclosed a small piece, the very latest of my
productions. I am a good deal pleased with some sentiments myself, as
they are just the native querulous feelings of a heart, which, as the
elegantly melting Gray says, "melancholy has marked for her own. "
Our race comes on a-pace; that much-expected scene of revelry and
mirth; but to me it brings no joy equal to that meeting with which
your last flattered the expectation of,
Sir,
Your indebted humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XVIII.
TO MON. JAMES SMITH,
MAUCHLINE.
[James Smith, of whom Burns said he was small of stature, but large of
soul, kept at that time a draper's shop in Mauchline, and was comrade
to the poet in many a wild adventure. ]
_Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786. _
MY DEAR SIR,
I went to Dr. Douglas yesterday, fully resolved to take the
opportunity of Captain Smith: but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and
Mrs. White, both Jamaicans, and they have deranged my plans
altogether. They assure him that to send me from Savannah la Mar to
Port Antonio will cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards of fifty
pounds; besides running the risk of throwing myself into a pleuritic
fever, in consequence of hard travelling in the sun. On these
accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith, but a vessel sails from
Greenock the first of September, right for the place of my
destination. The Captain of her is an intimate friend of Mr. Gavin
Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as heart could wish: with him I am
destined to go. Where I shall shelter, I know not, but I hope to
weather the storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears them! I
know their worst, and am prepared to meet it;--
"I'll laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg,
As lang's I dow. "
On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much self-denial as to be
out of bed about seven o'clock, I shall see you, as I ride through to
Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex! I feel there is still
happiness for me among them:
"O woman, lovely woman! Heaven design'd you
To temper man! --we had been brutes without you. "[159]
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 159: Otway. Venice Preserved. ]
* * * * *
XIX.
TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.
[Burns was busy in a two-fold sense at present: he was seeking patrons
in every quarter for his contemplated volume, and was composing for it
some of his most exquisite poetry. ]
_Mossgiel, 16 May, 1796. _
DEAR SIR,
I have sent you the above hasty copy as I promised. In about three or
four weeks I shall probably set the press a-going. I am much hurried
at present, otherwise your diligence, so very friendly in my
subscription, should have a more lengthened acknowledgment from,
Dear Sir,
Your obliged servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XX.
TO MR. DAVID BRICE.
[David Brice was a shoemaker, and shared with Smith the confidence of
the poet in his love affairs. He was working in Glasgow when this
letter was written. ]
_Mossgiel, June_ 12, 1786.
DEAR BRICE,
I received your message by G. Patterson, and as I am not very throng
at present, I just write to let you know that there is such a
worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your humble servant, still in the
land of the living, though I can scarcely say, in the place of hope. I
have no news to tell you that will give me any pleasure to mention, or
you to hear.
Poor ill-advised ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last. You have
heard all the particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is.
What she thinks of her conduct now, I don't know; one thing I do
know--she has made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather
adored a woman more than I did her; and, to confess a truth between
you and me, I do still love her to distraction after all, though I
won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I don't want to do. My
poor dear unfortunate Jean! how happy have I been in thy arms! It is
not the losing her that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel
most severely: I foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal
ruin. * * * *
May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from
my very soul forgive her: and may his grace be with her and bless her
in all her future life! I can have no nearer idea of the place of
eternal punishment than what I have felt in my own breast on her
account. I have tried often to forget her; I have run into all kinds
of dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking matches, and other
mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in vain. And now for a
grand cure; the ship is on her way home that is to take me out to
Jamaica; and then, farewell dear old Scotland! and farewell dear
ungrateful Jean! for never never will I see you more.
You will have heard that I am going to commence poet in print; and to
morrow my works go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of about
two hundred pages--it is just the last foolish action I intend to do;
and then turn a wise man as fast as possible.
Believe me to be, dear Brice,
Your friend and well-wisher,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXI.
TO MR. ROBERT AIKEN.
[This letter was written under great distress of mind. That separation
which Burns records in "The Lament," had, unhappily, taken place
between him and Jean Armour, and it would appear, that for a time at
least a coldness ensued between the poet and the patron, occasioned,
it is conjectured, by that fruitful subject of sorrow and disquiet.
The letter, I regret to say, is not wholly here. ]
[_Ayrshire_, 1786. ]
SIR,
I was with Wilson, my printer, t'other day, and settled all our
by-gone matters between us. After I had paid him all demands, I made
him the offer of the second edition, on the hazard of being paid out
of the first and readiest, which he declines. By his account, the
paper of a thousand copies would cost me about twenty-seven pounds,
and the printing about fifteen or sixteen: he offers to agree to this
for the printing, if I will advance for the paper, but this, you know,
is out of my power; so farewell hopes of a second edition till I grow
rich! an epoch which I think will arrive at the payment of the
British national debt.
There is scarcely anything hurts me so much in being disappointed of
my second edition, as not having it in my power to show my gratitude
to Mr. Ballantyne, by publishing my poem of "The Brigs of Ayr. " I
would detest myself as a wretch, if I thought I were capable in a very
long life of forgetting the honest, warm, and tender delicacy with
which he enters into my interests. I am sometimes pleased with myself
in my greateful sensations; but I believe, on the whole, I have very
little merit in it, as my gratitude is not a virtue, the consequence
of reflection; but sheerly the instinctive emotion of my heart, too
inattentive to allow worldly maxims and views to settle into selfish
habits. I have been feeling all the various rotations and movements
within, respecting the excise. There are many things plead strongly
against it; the uncertainty of getting soon into business; the
consequences of my follies, which may perhaps make it impracticable
for me to stay at home; and besides I have for some time been pining
under secret wretchedness, from causes which you pretty well know--the
pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with some wandering stabs
of remorse, which never fail to settle on my vitals like vultures,
when attention is not called away by the calls of society, or the
vagaries of the muse. Even in the hour of social mirth, my gayety is
the madness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the
executioner. All these reasons urge me to go abroad, and to all these
reasons I have only one answer--the feelings of a father. This, in the
present mood I am in, overbalances everything that can be laid in the
scale against it. * * * *
You may perhaps think it an extravagant fancy, but it is a sentiment
which strikes home to my very soul: though sceptical in some points of
our current belief, yet, I think, I have every evidence for the
reality of a life beyond the stinted bourne of our present existence;
if so, then, how should I, in the presence of that tremendous Being,
the Author of existence, how should I meet the reproaches of those who
stand to me in the dear relation of children, whom I deserted in the
smiling innocency of helpless infancy? O, thou great unknown
Power! --thou almighty God! who has lighted up reason in my breast, and
blessed me with immortality! --I have frequently wandered from that
order and regularity necessary for the perfection of thy works, yet
thou hast never left me nor forsaken me! * * * *
Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen something of the storm
of mischief thickening over my folly-devoted head. Should you, my
friends, my benefactors, be successful in your applications for me,
perhaps it may not be in my power, in that way, to reap the fruit of
your friendly efforts. What I have written in the preceding pages, is
the settled tenor of my present resolution; but should inimical
circumstances forbid me closing with your kind offer, or enjoying it
only threaten to entail farther misery-- * * * *
To tell the truth, I have little reason for complaint; as the world,
in general, has been kind to me fully up to my deserts. I was, for
some time past, fast getting into the pining, distrustful snarl of the
misanthrope. I saw myself alone, unlit for the struggle of life,
shrinking at every rising cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere of
fortune, while all defenceless I looked about in vain for a cover. It
never occurred to me, at least never with the force it deserved, that
this world is a busy scene, and man, a creature destined for a
progressive struggle; and that, however I might possess a warm heart
and inoffensive manners (which last, by the by, was rather more than I
could well boast); still, more than these passive qualities, there was
something to be done. When all my school-fellows and youthful compeers
(those misguided few excepted who joined, to use a Gentoo phrase, the
"hallachores" of the human race) were striking off with eager hope and
earnest intent, in some one or other of the many paths of busy life, I
was "standing idle in the market-place," or only left the chase of the
butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt fancy from whim to
whim. * * * *
You see, Sir, that if to know one's errors were a probability of
mending them, I stand a fair chance; but according to the reverend
Westminster divines, though conviction must precede conversion, it is
very far from always implying it. * * * *
R. B.
* * * * *
XXII.
TO JOHN RICHMOND,
EDINBURGH.
[The minister who took upon him to pronounce Burns a single man, as he
intimates in this letter, was the Rev. Mr. Auld, of Mauchline: that
the law of the land and the law of the church were at variance on the
subject no one can deny. ]
_Mossgiel_, 9_th July_, 1786.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
With the sincerest grief I read your letter. You are truly a son of
misfortune. I shall be extremely anxious to hear from you how your
health goes on; if it is in any way re-establishing, or if Leith
promises well; in short, how you feel in the inner man.
No news worth anything: only godly Bryan was in the inquisition
yesterday, and half the country-side as witness against him. He still
stands out steady and denying: but proof was led yesternight of
circumstances highly suspicious: almost _de facto_ one of the servant
girls made faith that she upon a time rashly entered the house--to
speak in your cant, "in the hour of cause. "
I have waited on Armour since her return home; not from any the least
view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for her health and--to you I
will confess it--from a foolish hankering fondness--very ill placed
indeed. The mother forbade me the house, nor did Jean show the
penitence that might have been expected. However, the priest, I am
informed, will give me a certificate as a single man, if I comply with
the rules of the church, which for that very reason I intend to do.
I am going to put on sack-cloth and ashes this day. I am indulged so
far as to appear in my own seat. _Peccavi, pater, miserere mei. _ My
book will be ready in a fortnight. If you have any subscribers, return
them by Connel. The Lord stand with the righteous: amen, amen.
R. B.
* * * * *
XXIII.
TO JOHN BALLANTYNE,
OF AYR.
[There is a plain account in this letter of the destruction of the
lines of marriage which united, as far as a civil contract in a manner
civil can, the poet and Jean Armour. Aiken was consulted, and in
consequence of his advice, the certificate of marriage was destroyed. ]
HONOURED SIR,
My proposals came to hand last night, and knowing that you would wish
to have it in your power to do me a service as early as anybody, I
enclose you half a sheet of them. I must consult you, first
opportunity, on the propriety of sending my quondam friend, Mr. Aiken,
a copy. If he is now reconciled to my character as an honest man, I
would do it with all my soul; but I would not be beholden to the
noblest being ever God created, if he imagined me to be a rascal.
Apropos, old Mr. Armour prevailed with him to mutilate that unlucky
paper yesterday. Would you believe it? though I had not a hope, nor
even a wish, to make her mine after her conduct; yet, when he told me
the names were all out of the paper, my heart died within me, and he
cut my veins with the news. Perdition seize her falsehood!
R. B.
* * * * *
XXIV.
TO MR. DAVID BRICE.
SHOEMAKER, GLASGOW.
[The letters of Burns at the sad period of his life are full of his
private sorrows. Had Jean Armour been left to the guidance of her own
heart, the story of her early years would have been brighter. ]
_Mossgiel, 17th July, 1786. _
I have been so throng printing my Poems, that I could scarcely find as
much time as to write to you. Poor Armour is come back again to
Mauchline, and I went to call for her, and her mother forbade me the
house, nor did she herself express much sorrow for what she has done.
I have already appeared publicly in church, and was indulged in the
liberty of standing in my own seat. I do this to get a certificate as
a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has promised me. I am now fixed to go for
the West Indies in October. Jean and her friends insisted much that
she should stand along with me in the kirk, but the minister would not
allow it, which bred a great trouble I assure you, and I am blamed as
the cause of it, though I am sure I am innocent; but I am very much
pleased, for all that, not to have had her company. I have no news to
tell you that I remember. I am really happy to hear of your welfare,
and that you are so well in Glasgow. I must certainly see you before I
leave the country. I shall expect to hear from you soon, and am,
Dear Brice,
Yours,--R. B.
* * * * *
XXV.
TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND.
[When this letter was written the poet was skulking from place to
place: the merciless pack of the law had been uncoupled at his heels.
Mr. Armour did not wish to imprison, but to drive him from the
country. ]
_Old Rome Forest, 30th July, 1786. _
MY DEAR RICHMOND,
My hour is now come--you and I will never meet in Britain more. I have
orders within three weeks at farthest, to repair aboard the Nancy,
Captain Smith, from Clyde to Jamaica, and call at Antigua. This,
except to our friend Smith, whom God long preserve, is a secret about
Mauchline. Would you believe it? Armour has got a warrant to throw me
in jail till I find security for an enormous sum. This they keep an
entire secret, but I got it by a channel they little dream of; and I
am wandering from one friend's house to another, and, like a true son
of the gospel, "have nowhere to lay my head. " I know you will pour an
execration on her head, but spare the poor, ill-advised girl, for my
sake; though may all the furies that rend the injured, enraged lover's
bosom, await her mother until her latest hour! I write in a moment of
rage, reflecting on my miserable situation--exiled, abandoned,
forlorn. I can write no more--let me hear from you by the return of
coach. I will write you ere I go.
I am dear Sir,
Yours, here and hereafter,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXVI.
TO MR. ROBERT MUIR,
KILMARNOCK.
[Burns never tried to conceal either his joys or his sorrows: he sent
copies of his favorite pieces, and intimations of much that befel him
to his chief friends and comrades--this brief note was made to carry
double. ]
_Mossgiel, Friday noon. _
MY FRIEND, MY BROTHER,
Warm recollection of an absent friend presses so hard upon my heart,
that I send him the prefixed bagatelle (the Calf), pleased with the
thought that it will greet the man of my bosom, and be a kind of
distant language of friendship.
You will have heard that poor Armour has repaid me double. A very fine
boy and a girl have awakened a thought and feelings that thrill, some
with tender pressure and some with foreboding anguish, through my
soul.
The poem was nearly an extemporaneous production, on a wager with Mr.
Hamilton, that I would not produce a poem on the subject in a given
time.
If you think it worth while, read it to Charles and Mr. W. Parker, and
if they choose a copy of it, it is at their service, as they are men
whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, both in this world and
that which is to come.
I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive, but more of
this when, in the latter part of next week, you shall be troubled with
a visit from,
My dear Sir,
Your most devoted,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXVII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP,
OF DUNLOP.
[Mrs. Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wallaces in her
veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned
to got into a fine moral passion about follies which could not be
helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life. ]
_Ayrshire_, 1786.
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.
SIR,
By some neglect in Mr. Hamilton, I did not hear of your kind request
for a subscription paper 'till this day. I will not attempt any
acknowledgment for this, nor the manner in which I see your name in
Mr. Hamilton's subscription list. Allow me only to say, Sir, I feel
the weight of the debt.
I have here likewise enclosed a small piece, the very latest of my
productions. I am a good deal pleased with some sentiments myself, as
they are just the native querulous feelings of a heart, which, as the
elegantly melting Gray says, "melancholy has marked for her own. "
Our race comes on a-pace; that much-expected scene of revelry and
mirth; but to me it brings no joy equal to that meeting with which
your last flattered the expectation of,
Sir,
Your indebted humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XVIII.
TO MON. JAMES SMITH,
MAUCHLINE.
[James Smith, of whom Burns said he was small of stature, but large of
soul, kept at that time a draper's shop in Mauchline, and was comrade
to the poet in many a wild adventure. ]
_Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786. _
MY DEAR SIR,
I went to Dr. Douglas yesterday, fully resolved to take the
opportunity of Captain Smith: but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and
Mrs. White, both Jamaicans, and they have deranged my plans
altogether. They assure him that to send me from Savannah la Mar to
Port Antonio will cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards of fifty
pounds; besides running the risk of throwing myself into a pleuritic
fever, in consequence of hard travelling in the sun. On these
accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith, but a vessel sails from
Greenock the first of September, right for the place of my
destination. The Captain of her is an intimate friend of Mr. Gavin
Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as heart could wish: with him I am
destined to go. Where I shall shelter, I know not, but I hope to
weather the storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears them! I
know their worst, and am prepared to meet it;--
"I'll laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg,
As lang's I dow. "
On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much self-denial as to be
out of bed about seven o'clock, I shall see you, as I ride through to
Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex! I feel there is still
happiness for me among them:
"O woman, lovely woman! Heaven design'd you
To temper man! --we had been brutes without you. "[159]
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 159: Otway. Venice Preserved. ]
* * * * *
XIX.
TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.
[Burns was busy in a two-fold sense at present: he was seeking patrons
in every quarter for his contemplated volume, and was composing for it
some of his most exquisite poetry. ]
_Mossgiel, 16 May, 1796. _
DEAR SIR,
I have sent you the above hasty copy as I promised. In about three or
four weeks I shall probably set the press a-going. I am much hurried
at present, otherwise your diligence, so very friendly in my
subscription, should have a more lengthened acknowledgment from,
Dear Sir,
Your obliged servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XX.
TO MR. DAVID BRICE.
[David Brice was a shoemaker, and shared with Smith the confidence of
the poet in his love affairs. He was working in Glasgow when this
letter was written. ]
_Mossgiel, June_ 12, 1786.
DEAR BRICE,
I received your message by G. Patterson, and as I am not very throng
at present, I just write to let you know that there is such a
worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your humble servant, still in the
land of the living, though I can scarcely say, in the place of hope. I
have no news to tell you that will give me any pleasure to mention, or
you to hear.
Poor ill-advised ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last. You have
heard all the particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is.
What she thinks of her conduct now, I don't know; one thing I do
know--she has made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather
adored a woman more than I did her; and, to confess a truth between
you and me, I do still love her to distraction after all, though I
won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I don't want to do. My
poor dear unfortunate Jean! how happy have I been in thy arms! It is
not the losing her that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel
most severely: I foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal
ruin. * * * *
May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from
my very soul forgive her: and may his grace be with her and bless her
in all her future life! I can have no nearer idea of the place of
eternal punishment than what I have felt in my own breast on her
account. I have tried often to forget her; I have run into all kinds
of dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking matches, and other
mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in vain. And now for a
grand cure; the ship is on her way home that is to take me out to
Jamaica; and then, farewell dear old Scotland! and farewell dear
ungrateful Jean! for never never will I see you more.
You will have heard that I am going to commence poet in print; and to
morrow my works go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of about
two hundred pages--it is just the last foolish action I intend to do;
and then turn a wise man as fast as possible.
Believe me to be, dear Brice,
Your friend and well-wisher,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXI.
TO MR. ROBERT AIKEN.
[This letter was written under great distress of mind. That separation
which Burns records in "The Lament," had, unhappily, taken place
between him and Jean Armour, and it would appear, that for a time at
least a coldness ensued between the poet and the patron, occasioned,
it is conjectured, by that fruitful subject of sorrow and disquiet.
The letter, I regret to say, is not wholly here. ]
[_Ayrshire_, 1786. ]
SIR,
I was with Wilson, my printer, t'other day, and settled all our
by-gone matters between us. After I had paid him all demands, I made
him the offer of the second edition, on the hazard of being paid out
of the first and readiest, which he declines. By his account, the
paper of a thousand copies would cost me about twenty-seven pounds,
and the printing about fifteen or sixteen: he offers to agree to this
for the printing, if I will advance for the paper, but this, you know,
is out of my power; so farewell hopes of a second edition till I grow
rich! an epoch which I think will arrive at the payment of the
British national debt.
There is scarcely anything hurts me so much in being disappointed of
my second edition, as not having it in my power to show my gratitude
to Mr. Ballantyne, by publishing my poem of "The Brigs of Ayr. " I
would detest myself as a wretch, if I thought I were capable in a very
long life of forgetting the honest, warm, and tender delicacy with
which he enters into my interests. I am sometimes pleased with myself
in my greateful sensations; but I believe, on the whole, I have very
little merit in it, as my gratitude is not a virtue, the consequence
of reflection; but sheerly the instinctive emotion of my heart, too
inattentive to allow worldly maxims and views to settle into selfish
habits. I have been feeling all the various rotations and movements
within, respecting the excise. There are many things plead strongly
against it; the uncertainty of getting soon into business; the
consequences of my follies, which may perhaps make it impracticable
for me to stay at home; and besides I have for some time been pining
under secret wretchedness, from causes which you pretty well know--the
pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with some wandering stabs
of remorse, which never fail to settle on my vitals like vultures,
when attention is not called away by the calls of society, or the
vagaries of the muse. Even in the hour of social mirth, my gayety is
the madness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the
executioner. All these reasons urge me to go abroad, and to all these
reasons I have only one answer--the feelings of a father. This, in the
present mood I am in, overbalances everything that can be laid in the
scale against it. * * * *
You may perhaps think it an extravagant fancy, but it is a sentiment
which strikes home to my very soul: though sceptical in some points of
our current belief, yet, I think, I have every evidence for the
reality of a life beyond the stinted bourne of our present existence;
if so, then, how should I, in the presence of that tremendous Being,
the Author of existence, how should I meet the reproaches of those who
stand to me in the dear relation of children, whom I deserted in the
smiling innocency of helpless infancy? O, thou great unknown
Power! --thou almighty God! who has lighted up reason in my breast, and
blessed me with immortality! --I have frequently wandered from that
order and regularity necessary for the perfection of thy works, yet
thou hast never left me nor forsaken me! * * * *
Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen something of the storm
of mischief thickening over my folly-devoted head. Should you, my
friends, my benefactors, be successful in your applications for me,
perhaps it may not be in my power, in that way, to reap the fruit of
your friendly efforts. What I have written in the preceding pages, is
the settled tenor of my present resolution; but should inimical
circumstances forbid me closing with your kind offer, or enjoying it
only threaten to entail farther misery-- * * * *
To tell the truth, I have little reason for complaint; as the world,
in general, has been kind to me fully up to my deserts. I was, for
some time past, fast getting into the pining, distrustful snarl of the
misanthrope. I saw myself alone, unlit for the struggle of life,
shrinking at every rising cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere of
fortune, while all defenceless I looked about in vain for a cover. It
never occurred to me, at least never with the force it deserved, that
this world is a busy scene, and man, a creature destined for a
progressive struggle; and that, however I might possess a warm heart
and inoffensive manners (which last, by the by, was rather more than I
could well boast); still, more than these passive qualities, there was
something to be done. When all my school-fellows and youthful compeers
(those misguided few excepted who joined, to use a Gentoo phrase, the
"hallachores" of the human race) were striking off with eager hope and
earnest intent, in some one or other of the many paths of busy life, I
was "standing idle in the market-place," or only left the chase of the
butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt fancy from whim to
whim. * * * *
You see, Sir, that if to know one's errors were a probability of
mending them, I stand a fair chance; but according to the reverend
Westminster divines, though conviction must precede conversion, it is
very far from always implying it. * * * *
R. B.
* * * * *
XXII.
TO JOHN RICHMOND,
EDINBURGH.
[The minister who took upon him to pronounce Burns a single man, as he
intimates in this letter, was the Rev. Mr. Auld, of Mauchline: that
the law of the land and the law of the church were at variance on the
subject no one can deny. ]
_Mossgiel_, 9_th July_, 1786.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
With the sincerest grief I read your letter. You are truly a son of
misfortune. I shall be extremely anxious to hear from you how your
health goes on; if it is in any way re-establishing, or if Leith
promises well; in short, how you feel in the inner man.
No news worth anything: only godly Bryan was in the inquisition
yesterday, and half the country-side as witness against him. He still
stands out steady and denying: but proof was led yesternight of
circumstances highly suspicious: almost _de facto_ one of the servant
girls made faith that she upon a time rashly entered the house--to
speak in your cant, "in the hour of cause. "
I have waited on Armour since her return home; not from any the least
view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for her health and--to you I
will confess it--from a foolish hankering fondness--very ill placed
indeed. The mother forbade me the house, nor did Jean show the
penitence that might have been expected. However, the priest, I am
informed, will give me a certificate as a single man, if I comply with
the rules of the church, which for that very reason I intend to do.
I am going to put on sack-cloth and ashes this day. I am indulged so
far as to appear in my own seat. _Peccavi, pater, miserere mei. _ My
book will be ready in a fortnight. If you have any subscribers, return
them by Connel. The Lord stand with the righteous: amen, amen.
R. B.
* * * * *
XXIII.
TO JOHN BALLANTYNE,
OF AYR.
[There is a plain account in this letter of the destruction of the
lines of marriage which united, as far as a civil contract in a manner
civil can, the poet and Jean Armour. Aiken was consulted, and in
consequence of his advice, the certificate of marriage was destroyed. ]
HONOURED SIR,
My proposals came to hand last night, and knowing that you would wish
to have it in your power to do me a service as early as anybody, I
enclose you half a sheet of them. I must consult you, first
opportunity, on the propriety of sending my quondam friend, Mr. Aiken,
a copy. If he is now reconciled to my character as an honest man, I
would do it with all my soul; but I would not be beholden to the
noblest being ever God created, if he imagined me to be a rascal.
Apropos, old Mr. Armour prevailed with him to mutilate that unlucky
paper yesterday. Would you believe it? though I had not a hope, nor
even a wish, to make her mine after her conduct; yet, when he told me
the names were all out of the paper, my heart died within me, and he
cut my veins with the news. Perdition seize her falsehood!
R. B.
* * * * *
XXIV.
TO MR. DAVID BRICE.
SHOEMAKER, GLASGOW.
[The letters of Burns at the sad period of his life are full of his
private sorrows. Had Jean Armour been left to the guidance of her own
heart, the story of her early years would have been brighter. ]
_Mossgiel, 17th July, 1786. _
I have been so throng printing my Poems, that I could scarcely find as
much time as to write to you. Poor Armour is come back again to
Mauchline, and I went to call for her, and her mother forbade me the
house, nor did she herself express much sorrow for what she has done.
I have already appeared publicly in church, and was indulged in the
liberty of standing in my own seat. I do this to get a certificate as
a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has promised me. I am now fixed to go for
the West Indies in October. Jean and her friends insisted much that
she should stand along with me in the kirk, but the minister would not
allow it, which bred a great trouble I assure you, and I am blamed as
the cause of it, though I am sure I am innocent; but I am very much
pleased, for all that, not to have had her company. I have no news to
tell you that I remember. I am really happy to hear of your welfare,
and that you are so well in Glasgow. I must certainly see you before I
leave the country. I shall expect to hear from you soon, and am,
Dear Brice,
Yours,--R. B.
* * * * *
XXV.
TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND.
[When this letter was written the poet was skulking from place to
place: the merciless pack of the law had been uncoupled at his heels.
Mr. Armour did not wish to imprison, but to drive him from the
country. ]
_Old Rome Forest, 30th July, 1786. _
MY DEAR RICHMOND,
My hour is now come--you and I will never meet in Britain more. I have
orders within three weeks at farthest, to repair aboard the Nancy,
Captain Smith, from Clyde to Jamaica, and call at Antigua. This,
except to our friend Smith, whom God long preserve, is a secret about
Mauchline. Would you believe it? Armour has got a warrant to throw me
in jail till I find security for an enormous sum. This they keep an
entire secret, but I got it by a channel they little dream of; and I
am wandering from one friend's house to another, and, like a true son
of the gospel, "have nowhere to lay my head. " I know you will pour an
execration on her head, but spare the poor, ill-advised girl, for my
sake; though may all the furies that rend the injured, enraged lover's
bosom, await her mother until her latest hour! I write in a moment of
rage, reflecting on my miserable situation--exiled, abandoned,
forlorn. I can write no more--let me hear from you by the return of
coach. I will write you ere I go.
I am dear Sir,
Yours, here and hereafter,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXVI.
TO MR. ROBERT MUIR,
KILMARNOCK.
[Burns never tried to conceal either his joys or his sorrows: he sent
copies of his favorite pieces, and intimations of much that befel him
to his chief friends and comrades--this brief note was made to carry
double. ]
_Mossgiel, Friday noon. _
MY FRIEND, MY BROTHER,
Warm recollection of an absent friend presses so hard upon my heart,
that I send him the prefixed bagatelle (the Calf), pleased with the
thought that it will greet the man of my bosom, and be a kind of
distant language of friendship.
You will have heard that poor Armour has repaid me double. A very fine
boy and a girl have awakened a thought and feelings that thrill, some
with tender pressure and some with foreboding anguish, through my
soul.
The poem was nearly an extemporaneous production, on a wager with Mr.
Hamilton, that I would not produce a poem on the subject in a given
time.
If you think it worth while, read it to Charles and Mr. W. Parker, and
if they choose a copy of it, it is at their service, as they are men
whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, both in this world and
that which is to come.
I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive, but more of
this when, in the latter part of next week, you shall be troubled with
a visit from,
My dear Sir,
Your most devoted,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXVII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP,
OF DUNLOP.
[Mrs. Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wallaces in her
veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned
to got into a fine moral passion about follies which could not be
helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life. ]
_Ayrshire_, 1786.
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.
