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]