Beheld in his life-time as a singular example of the genius rising
from the humbler shades of life, Burns is now ranked as a classic
among the poets of his country. The interest originally felt in his
personal character and unhappy fate, has been deepened as the high
absolute rank of the poet became appreciated. These changes might be
said to call for a more searching inquiry into his life than was at
first deemed necessary; and the task was undertaken by one, of whom we
may at least be permitted to say, that he possessed the requisite zeal
and love of the subject. For obvious reasons, we are not to be
expected to say more, in commendation or discommendation, of the work
now under our attention; but we may be allowed to advert to its
peculiar plan, and some of the new details which it brings before the
world.
The leading feature of the work is the assumption on which it
proceeds--that the writings of Burns are in a great measure expressive
of his personal feelings, and descriptive of the scenery and
circumstances of his own existence, and therefore ought to be involved
in his biography. Each poem, song, and letter, known as his, has
therefore been assigned its chronological place in his memoirs, thus
at once lending its own biographical light to the general narrative,
and deriving thence some illustration in return. The consequence is,
that, with the help of much fresh biographical matter drawn from
authentic sources, the life of the bard, as he loved to call himself,
is now given comparatively in detail. We can trace him from day to
day, and see the ups and downs of his prospects and his feelings, his
strangely mingled scenes of happiness and misery. We obtain a much
closer and more distinct view of his domestic existence than we ever
had before. The real extent of his aberrations, such as they were, is
more exactly ascertained. Some unexpected particulars emerge; as, for
instance, that, notwithstanding his poverty, he occasionally
accommodated his friends with money and credit, and almost to the last
was able to be their host as well as their guest. But perhaps the most
important result is what we learn of the wonderful versatility of
Burns's feelings and emotions. He is found writing a pensive,
semi-religious letter one day, and the next indulging in some outburst
of extravagant merriment. One day, he indulges in a strain of
melancholy recollection regarding a deceased mistress, commemorating
her in an elegy which hardly any one has ever since been able to read
without tears; and within four-and-twenty hours, he is again strumming
on the comic lyre. A deep mortification falls upon him in the shape of
a censure from the Board of Excise, a pain in which we are peculiarly
disposed to sympathise; but let us not be too eager to suppose that
Burns was permanently affected by any such mark of moral bondage. A
week or two after, he is found keeping a couple of friends in drink
and merriment at his table for a whole night. It is eminently the
_poet_ that is thus brought before us--a being of keen sensibility,
but whose gusts of feeling are as quick in passing as they are violent
while they last.
Beyond these few sentences, limited to a description of the structure
of this work, we can only propose to give one or two extracts.
Burns, it clearly appears, while degraded by the humble office
assigned to him, did his best, by performing its duties well, to
elevate it. He acted humanely towards poor people, but was the
conscientious servant of the government in protecting the revenue in
essential matters. The editor has been fortunate enough to discover
some documents which set his character as a man of affairs in a
favourable light.
'The first is a petition of T. J., farmer at Mirecleugh, addressed to
the justices of peace for Dumfriesshire, reclaiming against a fine of
L.5 which Collector Mitchell had imposed on him for "making fifty-four
bushels of malt, without entry, notice, or licence." J. stated that he
had been in the habit of making malt for forty years without making
entry of his kiln or pond, which he deemed unnecessary, because the
malting was always effected at one operation, and not till notice had
been given to the proper officer. With respect to "notice" on this
occasion--having inquired of Mr Burns which was the best way of
sending it to him, he had been informed that a letter might be sent to
"John Kelloch's," in Thornhill, whence it might be forwarded by post.
He had brought Mrs Kelloch to swear that such a letter had been sent
to her by J.'s son for Mr Burns, but had been mislaid. He offered to
swear that he had sent the notice to Thornhill in good time, and had
had no intention to defraud the revenue. With respect to "licence," J.
averred that he had only been prevented from renewing it as usual this
year because Mr Mitchell, on his applying for it, had put him off to
another time, on the score of being too busy at the time to grant it
to him.
'In respect of J.'s petition, the justices, Mr Fergusson of
Craigdarroch, and Captain Riddel, ordered the collector to stop
proceedings until they should have had an opportunity of inquiring
into the truth of what it set forth. Then came Burns's "Answers to the
Petition of T. J.:--
"1. Whether the petitioner has been in use formerly to malt all his
grain at one operation, is foreign to the purpose: this last season he
certainly malted his crop at four or five operations; but be that as
it may, Mr J. ought to have known that by express act of parliament no
malt, however small the quantity, can be legally manufactured until
previous entry be made in writing of all the ponds, barns, floors,
&c., so as to be used before the grain can be put to steep. In the
Excise entry-books for the division there is not a syllable of T. J.'s
name for a number of years bygone.
"2. True it is that Mr Burns, on his first ride, in answer to Mr J.'s
question anent the conveying of the notices, among other ways pointed
out the sending it by post as the most eligible method, but at the
same time added this express clause, and to which Mr Burns is willing
to make faith: 'At the same time, remember, Mr J., that the notice is
at your risk until it reach me.' Further, when Mr Burns came to the
petitioner's kiln, there was a servant belonging to Mr J. ploughing at
a very considerable distance from the kiln, who left his plough and
three horses without a driver, and came into the kiln, which Mr B.
thought was rather a suspicious circumstance, as there was nothing
extraordinary in an Excise-officer going into a legal malt-floor so as
to [induce a man to] leave three horses yoked to a plough in the
distant middle of a moor. This servant, on being repeatedly questioned
by Mr Burns, could not tell when the malt was put to steep, when it
was taken out, &c.--in short, was determined to be entirely ignorant
of the affair. By and by, Mr J.'s son came in, and on being questioned
as to the steeping, taking out of the grain, &c., Mr J., junior,
referred me to this said servant, this ploughman, who, he said, must
remember it best, as having been the principal actor in the business.
The lad _then_, having gotten his cue, circumstantially recollected
all about it.
"All this time, though I was telling the son and servant the nature of
the premunire they had incurred, though they pleaded for mercy keenly,
the affair of the notice having been sent never once occurred to them,
not even the son, who is said to have been the bearer. This was a
stroke reserved for, and worthy of the gentleman himself. As to Mrs
Kelloch's oath, it proves nothing. She did indeed depone to a line
being left for me at her house, which said line miscarried. It was a
sealed letter; she could not tell whether it was a malt-notice or not;
she could not even condescend on the month, nor so much as the season
of the year. The truth is, T. J. and his family being Seceders, and
consequently coming every Sunday to Thornhill Meeting-house, they were
a good conveyance for the several maltsters and traders in their
neighbourhood to transmit to post their notices, permits, &c.
"But why all this tergiversation? It was put to the petitioner in open
court, after a full investigation of the cause: 'Was he willing to
swear that he meant no fraud in the matter?' And the justices told him
that if he swore he would be assoilzied [absolved], otherwise he
should be fined; still the petitioner, after ten minutes'
consideration, found his conscience unequal to the task, and declined
the oath.
"Now, indeed, he says he is willing to swear: he has been exercising
his conscience in private, and will perhaps stretch a point. But the
fact to which he is to swear was equally and in all parts known to him
on that day when he refused to swear as to-day: nothing can give him
further light as to the intention of his mind, respecting his meaning
or not meaning a fraud in the affair. _No time can cast further light
on the present resolves of the mind; but time will reconcile, and has
reconciled many a man to that iniquity which he at first abhorred._"'
No one can fail to see, even in this piece of business, something of
the extraordinary mental energy of Burns.
The daily life of Burns, in his latter years at Dumfries, is described
in the following terms:--'He has daily duties in stamping leather,
gauging malt-vats, noting the manufacture of candles, and granting
licences for the transport of spirits. These duties he performs with
fidelity to the king and not too much rigour to the subject. As he
goes about them in the forenoon, in his respectable suit of dark
clothes, and with his little boy Robert perhaps holding by his hand
and conversing with him on his school-exercises, he is beheld by the
general public with respect, as a person in some authority, the head
of a family, and also as a man of literary note; and people are heard
addressing him deferentially as _Mr_ Burns--a form of his name which
is still prevalent in Dumfries. At a leisure hour before dinner, he
will call at some house where there is a piano--such as Mr Newall, the
writer's--and there have some young miss to touch over for him one or
two of his favourite Scotch airs, such as, the _Sutor's Daughter_, in
order that he may accommodate to it some stanzas that have been
humming through his brain for the last few days. For another half
hour, he will be seen standing at the head of some cross street with
two or three young fellows, bankers' clerks, or "writer-chiels"
commencing business, whom he is regaling with sallies of his bright
but not always innocent wit--indulging there, indeed, in a strain of
conversation so different from what had passed in the respectable
elderly writer's mansion, that, though he were not the same man, it
could not have been more different. Later in the day, he takes a
solitary walk along the Dock Green by the river side, or to Lincluden,
and composes the most part of a new song; or he spends a couple of
hours at his folding-down desk, between the fire and window in his
parlour, transcribing in his bold round hand the remarks which occur
to him on Mr Thomson's last letter, together with some of his own
recently composed songs. As a possible variation upon this routine, he
has been seen passing along the old bridge of Devorgilla Balliol,
about three o'clock, with his sword-cane in his hand, and his black
beard unusually well shaven, being on his way to dine with John Syme
at Ryedale, where young Mr Oswald of Auchincruive is to be of the
party--or maybe in the opposite direction, to partake of the luxuries
of John Bushby, at Tinwald Downs. But we presume a day when no such
attraction invades. The evening is passing quietly at home, and
pleasant-natured Jean has made herself neat, and come in at six
o'clock to give him his tea--a meal he always takes. At this period,
however, there is something remarkably exciting in the proceedings of
the French army under Pichegru; or Fox, Adam, or Sheridan, is expected
to make an onslaught upon the ministry in the House of Commons. The
post comes into Dumfries at eight o'clock at night. There is always a
group of gentlemen on the street, eager to hear the news. Burns
saunters out to the High Street, and waits amongst the rest. The
intelligence of the evening is very interesting. The Convention has
decreed the annexation of the Netherlands--or the new treason-bill has
passed the House of Lords, with only the feeble protest of Bedford,
Derby, and Lauderdale. These things merit some discussion. The
trades-lads go off to strong ale in the closes; the gentlemen slide in
little groups into the King's Arms Hotel or the George. As for Burns,
he will just have a single glass and a half-hour's chat beside John
Hyslop's fire, and then go quietly home. So he is quickly absorbed in
the little narrow close where that vintner maintains his state. There,
however, one or two friends have already established themselves, all
with precisely the same virtuous intent. They heartily greet the bard.
Meg or John bustles about to give him his accustomed place, which no
one ever disputes. And, somehow, the debate on the news of the evening
leads on to other chat of an interesting kind. Then Burns becomes
brilliant, and his friends give him the applause of their laughter.
One jug succeeds another--mirth abounds--and it is not till Mrs Hyslop
has declared that they are going beyond all bounds, and she positively
will not give them another drop of hot water, that our bard at length
bethinks him of returning home, where Bonnie Jean has been lost in
peaceful slumber for three hours, after vainly wondering "what can be
keeping Robert out so late the nicht." Burns gets to bed a little
excited and worn out, but not in a state to provoke much remark from
his amiable partner, in whom nothing can abate the veneration with
which she has all along regarded him. And though he beds at a latish
hour, most likely he is up next morning between seven and eight, to
hear little Robert his day's lesson in _Cæsar_, or, if the season
invites, to take a half-hour's stroll before breakfast along the
favourite Dock Green.'
Whenever a female of any rank secured the goodwill of Burns, he was
sure to compliment her in verse, and it was always by putting her into
the light of an adored mistress. In his latter days, when declining in
health, an amiable young girl, sister of one of his brother officers,
obtained his friendly regard by endeavouring to lighten the labours of
housekeeping to his wife, then also in a delicate state. The lady, who
still lives, 'relates that, one morning she had a call from the poet,
when he offered, if she would play him any tune of which she was fond,
and for which she desired new verses, to gratify her in her wish to
the best of his ability. She placed herself at the pianoforte, and
played over several times the air of an old song beginning with the
words--
The robin cam to the wren's nest,
And keekit in, and keekit in:
O weel's me on your auld pow!
Wad ye be in, wad ye be in?
Ye'se ne'er get leave to lie without,
And I within, and I within,
As lang's I hae an auld clout,
To row ye in, to row ye in.
'As soon as his ear got accustomed to the melody, Burns sat down, and
in a very few minutes he produced the beautiful song: