piously-disposed, vice-abhorring widow, coming on her climacteric; she
is at present in great tribulation respecting some daughters of Belial
who are on the floor immediately above. My landlady, who, as I have
said, is a flesh-disciplining godly matron, firmly believes her husband
is in heaven; and, having been very happy with him on earth, she
vigorously and perseveringly practises such of the most distinguished
Christian virtues as attending church, railing against vice, etc., that
she may be qualified to meet him in that happy place where the ungodly
shall never enter. This, no doubt, requires some strong exertions of
self-denial in a hale, well-kept widow of forty-five; and as our floors
are low and ill-plastered, we can easily distinguish our
laughter-loving, night-rejoicing neighbours when they are eating,
drinking, singing, etc. My worthy landlady tosses sleepless and unquiet,
"looking for rest and finding none," the whole night. Just now she told
me--though by-the-by she is sometimes dubious that I am, in her own
phrase, "but a rough an' roun' Christian,"--that "we should not be
uneasy or envious because the wicked enjoy the good things of this life,
for the jades would one day lie in hell," etc., etc.
I have to-day corrected my 152nd page. My best good wishes to Mr.
Aikin.--I am ever, dear Sir, your much indebted humble servant, R. B.
[Footnote 29: Mrs. Carfrae, Baxter's Close, Lawnmarket, Edinburgh,
according to John Richmond, law clerk.]
* * * *
XL.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.
EDINBURGH, 15_th January_ 1787.
MADAM,--Yours of the 9th current, which I am this moment honoured with,
is a deep reproach to me for ungrateful neglect. I will tell you the
real truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib--I wished to have
written to Dr. Moore before I wrote to you; but, though every day since
I received yours of December 30th, the idea, the wish to write to him
has constantly pressed on my thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set
about it. I know his fame and character, and I am one of "the sons of
little men." To write him a mere matter-of-fact affair, like a
merchant's order, would be disgracing the little character I have; and
to write the author of _The View of Society and Manners_ a letter of
sentiment--I declare every artery runs cold at the thought. I shall try,
however, to write to him to-morrow or next day. His kind interposition
on my behalf I have already experienced, as a gentleman waited on me the
other day, on the part of Lord Eglinton, with ten guineas, by way of
subscription, for two copies of my next edition.
The word you object to in the mention I have made of my glorious
countryman and your immortal ancestor, is indeed borrowed from Thomson;
but it does not strike me as an improper epithet. I distrusted my own
judgment on your finding fault with it, and applied for the opinion of
some of the literati here, who honour me with their critical strictures,
and they all allowed it to be proper. The song you ask I cannot
recollect, and I have not a copy of it. I have not composed anything on
the great Wallace, except what you have seen in print; and the inclosed,
which I will print in this edition.[30] You will see I have mentioned
some others of the name. When I composed my "Vision," long ago, I had
attempted a description of Kyle, of which the additional stanzas are a
part as it originally stood. My heart glows with a wish to be able to do
justice to the merits of the "saviour of his country," which sooner or
later I shall at least attempt.
You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet;
alas! Madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do not mean any
airs of affected modesty; I am willing to believe that my abilities
deserve some notice; but in a most enlightened, informed age and nation,
when poetry is and has been the study of men of the first natural
genius, aided with all the powers of polite learning, polite books, and
polite company--to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned and
polite observation, with all my imperfections of awkward rusticity and
crude unpolished ideas on my head--I assure you, Madam, I do not
dissemble when I tell you I tremble for the consequences. The novelty of
a poet in my obscure situation, without any of those advantages which
are reckoned necessary for that character, at least at this time of day,
has raised a partial tide of public notice which has borne me to a
height, where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my abilities are
inadequate to support me; and too surely do I see that time when the
same tide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far below the mark of
truth. I do not say this in the ridiculous affectation of self-abasement
and modesty. I have studied myself, and know what ground I occupy; and
however a friend or the world may differ from me in that particular, I
stand for my own opinion, in silent resolve, with all the tenaciousness
of property. I mention this to you once for all to disburthen my mind,
and I do not wish to hear or say more about it. But
When proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,
you will bear me witness, that when my bubble of fame was at the highest
I stood unintoxicated, with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking
forward with rueful resolve to the hastening time, when the blow of
Calumny should dash it to the ground, with all the eagerness of
vengeful triumph.
Your patronising me and interesting yourself in my fame and character as
a poet, I rejoice in; it exalts me in my own idea; and whether you can
or cannot aid me in my subscription is a trifle. Has a paltry
subscription-bill any charms to the heart of a bard, compared with the
patronage of the descendant of the immortal Wallace? R. B.
[Footnote 30: Stanza in the "Vision," beginning, "By stately tower or
palace fair," and ending with the first Duan.]
* * * *
XLI--TO DR. MOORE.[31]
EDINBURGH, _Jan._ 1787.
SIR,--Mrs. Dunlop has been so kind as to send me extracts of letters she
has had from you, where you do the rustic bard the honour of noticing
him and his works. Those who have felt the anxieties and solicitudes of
authorship, can only know what pleasure it gives to be noticed in such a
manner, by judges of the first character. Your criticisms, Sir, I
receive with reverence: only I am sorry they mostly came too late: a
peccant passage or two that I would certainly have altered, were gone to
the press.
The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far the greater part of those
even who are authors of repute, an unsubstantial dream. For my part, my
first ambition was, and still my strongest wish is, to please my
compeers, the inmates of the hamlet, while ever-changing language and
manners shall allow me to be relished and understood. I am very willing
to admit that I have some poetical abilities; and as few, if any,
writers, either moral or poetical, are intimately acquainted with the
classes of mankind among whom I have chiefly mingled, I may have seen
men and manners in a different phasis from what is common, which may
assist originality of thought. Still I know very well the novelty of my
character has by far the greatest share in the learned and polite notice
I have lately had; and in a language where Pope and Churchill have
raised the laugh, and Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear; where Thomson
and Beattie have painted the landscape, and Lyttelton and Collins
described the heart, I am not vain enough to hope for distinguished
poetic fame. R. B.
[Footnote 31: Father of the hero of Coruña, and author of _Zeluco_,
etc.]
* * * * *
XLII.--To THE REV. G. LAWRIE, NEWMILNS, NEAR KILMARNOCK.
EDINBURGH, _Feb_. 5_th_, 1787.
REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,--When I look at the date of your kind letter, my
heart reproaches me severely with ingratitude in neglecting so long to
answer it. I will not trouble you with any account, by way of apology,
of my hurried life and distracted attention: do me the justice to
believe that my delay by no means proceeded from want of respect. I
feel, and ever shall feel for you, the mingled sentiments of esteem for
a friend and reverence for a father.
I thank you, Sir, with all my soul, for your friendly hints, though I do
not need them so much as my friends are apt to imagine. You are dazzled
with newspaper accounts and distant reports; but, in reality, I have no
great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of prosperity. Novelty
may attract the attention of mankind awhile; to it I owe my present
_eclat_; but I see the time not far distant when the popular tide which
has borne me to a height of which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall recede
with silent celerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, to descend at
my leisure to my former station. I do not say this in the affectation of
modesty; I see the consequence is unavoidable, and am prepared for it. I
had been at a good deal of pains to form a just, impartial estimate of
my intellectual powers before I came here: I have not added, since I
came to Edinburgh, anything to the account; and I trust I shall take
every atom of it back to my shades, the coverts of my unnoticed
early years.
In Dr. Blacklock, whom I see very often, I have found what I would have
expected in our friend, a clear head and an excellent heart.
By far the most agreeable hours I spend in Edinburgh must be placed to
the account of Miss Lawrie and her pianoforte. I cannot help repeating
to you and Mrs. Lawrie a compliment that Mr. Mackenzie, the celebrated
"Man of Feeling," paid to Miss Lawrie, the other night, at the concert.
I had come in at the interlude, and sat down by him till I saw Miss
Lawrie in a seat not very far distant, and went up to pay my respects to
her. On my return to Mr. Mackenzie he asked me who she was; I told him
'twas the daughter of a reverend friend of mine in the west country. He
returned, there were something very striking, to his idea, in her
appearance. On my desiring to know what it was, he was pleased to say,
"She has a great deal of the elegance of a well-bred lady about her,
with all the sweet simplicity of a country girl."
My compliments to all the happy inmates of St. Margaret's.--I am, my
dear Sir, yours, most gratefully,
ROBERT BURNS.
* * * *
XLIII.-To THE EARL OF BUCHAN.[32]
MY LORD,--The honour your lordship has done me, by
your notice and advice in yours of the 1st instant, I shall
ever gratefully remember:--
Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast,
They best can give it who deserve it most.
Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart, when you advise me
to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scottish scenes. I wish for
nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through my native
country; to sit and muse on those once hard-contended fields, where
Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through broken ranks to
victory and fame; and, catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless
names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic
reveries, a long-visaged, dry moral-looking phantom strides across my
imagination, and pronounces these emphatic words:--
"I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not come to open the
ill-closed wounds of your follies and misfortunes, merely to give you
pain: I wish through these wounds to imprint a lasting lesson on your
heart. I will not mention how many of my salutary advices you have
despised: I have given you line upon line and precept upon precept;
and while I was chalking out to you the straight way to wealth and
character, with audacious effrontery you have zigzagged across the
path, contemning me to my face; you know the consequences. It is not
yet three months since home was so hot for you, that you were on the
wing for the western shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune,
but to hide your misfortune.
"Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power to return to
the situation of your forefathers, will you follow these will-o'-wisp
meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring you once more to the brink
of ruin? I grant that the utmost ground you can occupy is but half a
step from the veriest poverty; but still it is half a step from it.
If all that I can urge be ineffectual, let her who seldom calls to
you in vain, let the call of pride prevail with you. You know how you
feel at the iron gripe of ruthless oppression: you know how you bear
the galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I hold you out the
conveniences, the comforts of life, independence and character, on
the one hand; I tender you servility, dependence, and wretchedness on
the other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding you make
a choice."
This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble station, and
woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail. Still, my lord,
while the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to that dear-loved
country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those her
distinguished sons, who have honoured me so much with their patronage
and approbation, shall, while stealing through my humble shades, ever
distend my bosom, and at times, as now, draw forth the swelling tear.
R. B.
[Footnote 32: The Earl of Buchan was the very pink of parsimonious
patrons.--MOTHERWELL.]
* * * *
XLIV.--TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH,[33] STUDENT IN PHYSIC, GLASGOW COLLEGE.
EDINBURGH, _March_ 21_st_, 1787.
MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE,--I was equally surprised and pleased at
your letter, though I dare say you will think, by my delaying so long to
write to you, that I am so drowned in the intovirarion of good fortune
as to be indifferent to old, and once dear connections. The truth is, I
was determined to write a good letter, full of argument, amplification,
erudition, and, as Bayes says, _all that_. I thought of it, and thought
of it, and, by my soul, I could not; and, lest you should mistake the
cause of my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't give yourself
credit, though, that the strength of your logic scares me; the truth is,
I never mean to meet you on that ground at all. You have shown me one
thing which was to be demonstrated: that strong pride of reasoning, with
a little affectation of singularity, may mislead the best of hearts. I
likewise, since you and I were first acquainted, in the pride of
despising old women's stories, ventured in "the daring path Spinosa
trod;" but experience of the weakness, not the strength of human powers,
made me glad to grasp at revealed religion.
I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, "the old man with his deeds,"
as when we were sporting about the "Lady Thorn." I shall be four weeks
here yet at least: and so I shall expect to hear from you; welcome
sense, welcome nonsense.--I am, with the warmest sincerity, R. B.
[Footnote 33: Mr. Candlish married Miss Smith, one of the six
_belles_ of Mauchline. Their son was the Rev. Dr. Candlish, of Free
St. George's Church, Edinburgh.]
* * * *
XLV.--TO MR. PETER STUART, EDITOR OF "THE STAR," LONDON.
EDINBURGH, 1787.
MY DEAR SIR,--You may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish,
ungrateful fellow, having received so many repeated instances of
kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to paper to say thank you;
but if you knew what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that
account, your good heart would think yourself too much avenged. By the
by, there is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to be so
unaccountable as that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome
yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of use;
out at the beginning of the business, his feeble efforts are, to the
workings of passion, as the infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the
unclouded fervour of the rising sun; and no sooner are the tumultuous
doings of the wicked deed over, than amidst the bitter native
consequences of folly in the very vortex of our horrors, up starts
conscience, and harrows us with the feelings of the damned.
I have inclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose, that, if
they merit a place in your truly entertaining miscellany, you are
welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr. Sprott sent it me.
The inscription on the stone is as follows:--
"HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET,
Born, September 5th, 1751--Died, 16th October 1774.
No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,
'No storied urn nor animated bust;'
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust."
On the other side of the stone is as follows:--
"By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who erected this
stone, this burial place is to remain for ever sacred to the memory
of Robert Fergusson."
* * * *
XLVI--TO MRS. DUNLOP.
EDINBURGH, _March_ 22_nd_, 1787.
MADAM,--I read your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while
ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom; now I
am distinguished, patronised, befriended by you. Your friendly
advices--I will not give them the cold name of criticisms--I receive
with reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had
printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the
literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the
privilege of thinking for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I
owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his
strictures; his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I
follow implicitly.
You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; there I
can give you no light. It is all
Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun
Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams
Athwart the gloom profound.
The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride; to
continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and
Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim
than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for
which Heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages
through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the
romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or
venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes.
But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have dallied long enough with
life; 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care
for: and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender. Where the
individual only suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtlessness,
indolence, or folly, he may be excusable; nay, shining abilities, and
some of the nobler virtues, may half sanctify a heedless character; but
where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care;
where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must be far
gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom these
connections will not rouse to exertion.
I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my
authorship;[34] with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to have
any intention, to return to my old acquaintance, the plough; and, if I
can meet with a lease by which I can live, to commence farmer. I do not
intend to give up poetry; being bred to labour, secures me independence,
and the muses are my chief, sometimes have been my only enjoyment. If my
practice second my resolution, I shall have principally at heart the
serious business of life; but while following my plough, or building up
my shocks, I shall cast a leisure glance to that dear, that only feature
of my character, which gave me the notice of my country, and the
patronage of a Wallace.
Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you the bard, his situation, and his
views, native as they are in his own bosom. R. B.
[Footnote 34: The proceeds amounted to more--some £500 or so.]
* * * *
XLVII--TO MRS. DUNLOP.
EDINBURGH, 15_th April_ 1787.
MADAM,--There is an affectation of gratitude which I dislike. The
periods of Johnson and the pauses of Sterne may hide a selfish heart.
For my part, Madam, I trust I have too much pride for servility, and too
little prudence for selfishness. I have this moment broken open your
letter, but
Rude am I in speech,
And therefore little can I grace my cause
In speaking for myself--
so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and hunted figures. I
shall just lay my hand on my heart and say, I hope I shall ever have the
truest, the warmest sense of your goodness.
I come abroad, in print, for certain on Wednesday. Your orders I shall
punctually attend to; only, by the way, I must tell you that I was paid
before for Dr. Moore's and Miss Williams's copies, through the medium of
Commissioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can settle when I have
the honour of waiting on you.
Dr. Smith[35] was just gone to London the morning before I received your
letter to him. R. B.
[Footnote 35: Adam Smith, the celebrated author of _The Wealth of
Nations_.]
* * * *
XLVIII.--TO DR. MOORE.
EDINBURGH, 23_rd April_ 1787.
I received the books, and sent the one you mentioned to Mrs. Dunlop. I
am ill skilled in beating the coverts of imagination for metaphors of
gratitude. I thank you, Sir, for the honour you have done me and to my
latest hour will warmly remember it. To be highly pleased with your
book, is what I have in common with the world; but to regard these
volumes as a mark of the author's friendly esteem, is a still more
supreme gratification.
I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight, and after a
few pilgrimages over some of the classic ground of Caledonia, Cowden
Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, etc., I shall return to my rural shades,
in all likelihood never more to quit them. I have formed many intimacies
and friendships here, but I am afraid they are all of too tender a
construction to bear carriage a hundred and fifty miles. To the rich,
the great, the fashionable, the polite, I have no equivalent to offer;
and I am afraid my meteor appearance will by no means entitle me to a
settled correspondence with any of you, who are the permanent lights of
genius and literature.
My most respectful compliments to Miss Williams. If once this tangent
flight of mine were over, and I were returned to my wonted leisurely
motion in my old circle, I may probably endeavour to return her poetic
compliment in kind. R. B.
* * * *
XLIX.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.
EDINBURGH, 30_th April_ 1787.
--Your criticisms, Madam, I understand very well, and could have wished
to have pleased you better. You are right in your guess that I am not
very amenable to counsel. Poets, much my superiors, have so flattered
those who possessed the adventitious qualities of wealth and power, that
I am determined to flatter no created being, either in prose or verse.
I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics, etc., as, all these
respective gentry do by my bardship. I know what I may expect from the
world, by-and-bye--illiberal abuse, and perhaps contemptuous neglect.
I am happy, Madam, that some of my own favourite pieces are
distinguished by your particular approbation. For my "dream,"[36] which
has unfortunately incurred your loyal displeasure, I hope, in four
weeks, or less, to have the honour of appearing, at Dunlop, in its
defence in person. R. B.
[Footnote 36: The well-known poem, beginning, "Guid morning to your
Majesty." Mrs. Dunlop had recommended its omission, in the second
edition, on the score of prudence.]
* * * *
L--To MR. WILLIAM NICOL, CLASSICAL MASTER, HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH.
CARLISLE, _June_ 1, 1787.
KIND, HONEST-HEARTED WILLIE.--I'm sitten down here, after
seven-and-forty miles' ridin', e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd as a
forfoughten cock, to gie ye some notion o' my land lowper-like
stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' hour that I sheuk hands and parted wi'
auld Reekie.
My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchyall'd up hill and down brae, in
Scotland and England, as teugh and birnie as a very deil wi' me. It's
true, she's as poor's a sang-maker and as hard's a kirk, and
tipper-taipers when she taks the gate, first like a lady's gentlewoman
in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle; but she's a yauld, poutherie
Girran for a' that, and has a stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that
wad hae disgeested tumbler-wheels, for she'll whip me aff her five
stimparts o' the best aits at a down-sittin and ne'er fash her thumb.
When ance her ring-banes and spavies, her crucks and cramps, are fairly
soupl'd, she beets to, beets to, and aye the hindmost hour the tightest.
I could wager her price to a thretty pennies, that for twa or three
wooks ridin' at fifty miles a day, the deil-stickit a five gallopers
acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut on her tail.
I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dunbar to Selcraig, and hae
forgather'd wi' mony a guid fallow, and mony a weelfar'd hizzie. I met
wi' twa dink quines in particlar, ane o' them a sonsie, fine, fodgel
lass, baith braw and bonnie; the tither was a clean-shankit, straught,
tight, weel-far'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a flowerie thorn,
and as sweet and modest's a new blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They
were baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and onie ane o' them had as
muckle smeddum and rumblegumtion as the half o' some presbyteries that
you and I baith ken.
* * * * *
I was gaun to write ye a lang pystle, but, Gude forgie me, I gat mysel
sae notouriously fou the day after kail-time that I can hardly stoiter
but and ben.
My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our common friens, especiall Mr.
and Mrs. Cruikshank, and the honest guidman o' Jock's Lodge.[37]