THE

WO R K S

R O BEfi T B U R N S .

EDITED BY

THE ETTRI C K S HEP HERD,

AND

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, ESQ .

e w 853 3 1

VOL. V.

3 x; 95 “S

n‘2

GLASGOW

ARCHIBALD FULLARTON, AND CO.

3 4, HUTCHESON STREET ;

AND 6, ROXBURGH PLACE,EDINBURGH.

MEMOIR OF BURNS .

CEAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS—BURNS AND HI S BIOGRAPHEBS .

So I am set down to wri tea memoir of the li fe of ROBERTBURNS . I wish from my soul that as many lives of thats ingu lar man had been wr i tten during his lifetime as haveb een of myself, and th en we should have known all of thehard and theman that

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behoved us to know for really th i severlast ing raking up of the ash es of the i llustrious dead,in s earch of colla teral evidences relat ing to th i ngs abou twh ich wehave no concern and ough t not to know, is too

bad.

I t has always b een my opin ion , that manki nd have as

l i ttl e r igh t to dive i n to the pri vate acti ons of a poet as thoseof any other i ndividual . It is by a man ’s gen eral behaviou ri n soc i ety that he is to b e j udged . But wi th regard to hisprivate frai l ti es and fai li ngs

,these are b etween God and

his own h eart, andwehav e noth i ng to do wi th them. Whyth en should the disti ngu ished hard he an exemption fromth is general and rati onal pri nciple,—hewho of all men ist hemost exposed to errat i c wanderings , but wi thout whosestrong pass ions and arden t feel ings, he could n ever haveb een the splendid m eteor of ou r adm i ra tion , or the beingof our h igh concern ? Therefore, of all oth er retrospects , anarrow one into the private fa i l ings of a deceas ed poet

,is

the most unfai r. No, no ; mankind have noth i ng ad9with them. For what he has produced under the sanct ion

5 A

2 MEMOIB or BURNS .

of his name to the publi c, his ch aracter is answerable, botht o the ex ist ing publi c and posteri ty ; bu t no farth er. Be

his pr ivate fai l ings ben evolently buri edwi th the arden t dus tthat nourished them , and thesilen t tear of regret shed overthem . They were b etween the soul of the hard and the

God who made him. Let any man cons ider how hewouldl ike to have all h is pri vate amou rs, foll i es, pol it i cal and selfish i n trigu es, raked togeth er andexposed to public vi ew.

L et even themost cautious and specious of our sex cons ider of th is, and th inko f thecatalogue. Thevery thoughtis awful .’

Biography, though difi’

ering in some essentials from worksof fiction, i s neverth eless, l ike them , an art,

—an art, the laws of

wh ich are determ ined by the imperfections of our nature, and theconstitution of society. Truth 15 not here, as in the sciences, andin natural ph ilosophy, to be sough t without scruple, and promul

gated for its own sake, upon them ere chance of it s being serviceable ; but only for obviously justifying purposes, moral or intellectual .

S ilence is a privilege of the grave, a righ t of the departedlet h im , therefore, wh o infringes that righ t, by speaking publiclyof, for, or against, those who cannot speak for them selves, takeh eed that he‘

opens not h is mouth Without a sufficient sanction:De m ortuis nil

’ nisi bonum, is a rule in wh ich these sentimentsh ave been pushed to an extrem e that proves howdeeply humanityis interested in mainta ining th em . And i t was wise to announcethe precept thus absolutely ; both because there ex ist in thatsame nature, by wh ich i t has been dictated, so many temptationsto disregard it,—and because there are powers and influences,with in andwi thout us, that

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will prevent its beingliterally fulfilled—to the suppression of profitable truth . Penalties of law, con;vent ions ofmanners, and personal fear, protect the reputation of

t he living ; and someth ing of th is protection is extended to the

recently dead, —who survive, to a certa in degree, in their kindred and friends. Few are so insensible as not to feel th is, andnot to be actuated by thefeeling. But only to ph ilosophyligh tened by the affections does it belong justly to estimate theclaims of the deceased on the one hand, and of the present ageand future generations, on the oth er ; and t o strike a

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balanceb etween them . S uch ph ilosophy runs a risk of becoming extinctamong us, if the coarse intrusions into the recesses, the grossb 1each es upon the sanctities, of domestic life, to wh ich we havelately been more and more accustomed, are to be regarded as

indications of a vigorous state of public feeling—favourable to

MEMOIR OF BURNS.

I wish no onehad evermeddled wi th the l ife of Bu rnssave Dr Curr ie and M r Lockhart ; for the work of the

latte r, though al togeth er i n im i table, and themost imp ressivem emoi r that perhaps ever was Wr i tten , is rather a suppl ement to the former than a concise h istory of, the poet

’

s l ifefrom beginn ing to end . Fo r D r Curri e I have the h ighestveneration ; nor can I discover, for all . the blame attach ed.to him by whole herds of revi ewers and self- importan t b io

graphers, that any one sen tencewh ich he publ ished has yet

the maintenance- of the l iberties of our country. Intelligentlovers of freedom are from necess ity bold and hardy lovers oftruth ; but, according to themeasure in which their love is intelligent, is i t attended wi th a finer discrim ination, and a moresensit ive delicacy. The wise and good (and all others being

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lovers of licence rath er than of l iberty are in fact slaves) respect,as

,one of the noblest characteristics ofEnglishmen, that jealousy

of fam iliar approach , wh ich , wh ile i t contributes,to the m ainte

nance of private dignity, is one of themost'

efiicacious guardiansof rational public freedom .

Thegeneral obligation uponwh ich I have insisted, is especiallyb inding upon those who undertake the b iography of a uthors

Assuredly, there is no cause why the lives'

of that class of men

should be pried into with the sam e diligent curios ity, and laid.

open with the same disregard of reserve, wh ich m ay som etimesbe expedient i n composing the h istory ofmen who have bo rne anactive

‘

part in theworld. S uch thorough knowledge of the good'

and bad quali ties of these latter, as can only be obtained by a.

scrut iny of their private lives,‘

conduces to explain not only thei rown public conduct , but that of those with whom they have acted.

Noth ing of th is applies to authors, consideredm erely as authors .

Our business is wi th their books—to understand and to enjoyth em . And, of poets more especially, i t is truer—that, if th eirworks be good, th ey conta in wi th in themselves all that is neces

sary to their being comprehended and relished. It should seemthat the ancients - though t in th is manner ; for of the em inentGreek and Roman poets, few and scanty m emorials were, I believe,’ ever prepared and fewer still are preserved. It is deligh tful to readwhat, in the happy exercise of h is own genius, Horacechooses to communicate of h imselfand his friends ; but I confessI am not so much a lover of knowledge, independent of its quality, as to make i t likely that it would much rejoice me, were I toh ear that records of the Sabine poet and h is contemporaries . composed upon tbc Boswellian plan, had been unearthed among t heruins of Herculaneum.

—Wordsworth .

4 n arrow. or"

Beans.

been disproved ; or, i f any th i ng may be objected to, i t isonly in the expressi ons used. I would be caut ious how Iendeavoured to prove Dr Curri e’s exaggerat ions in any

th i ng, as he certa i n ly had advan tages wh i ch no other hassubsequently possessed, wi th the except ion of Mr GilbertBurns, whose edi tion has only rendered confus i on moreconfounded . Dr Curr i e had his documents from thosewhocould not b e m istaken . The proof sh eets of the passagesreprobated were transm i tted to his fri ends and approven .

Why then carp at them now ? It has b een sai d they ough tto have been l eft out so th i nk I but Dr Curr i e though totherwise, andwas known to have expressed h imself otherwise, say i ng, that there were so many thousands l iving whowere i ntimately acquain ted wi th the character and fail ingsofBurn s, that i f he had drawn a vei l over these altogether,h is m emorial would have been vi ewed as any th i ng but

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a

genu in e l ife of the poet—as only a sly p ieceof soph istry,wh i ch would have don e more evil than good .

Walkefit wrote well on the subj ect, b ut disclosed l i ttl e.Peterkin ,-l fiercely, withou t prov ing or disproving any th i ng .

The late Rev. Mr Grayi took up the subj ect with greaten thusiasm, bu t though my beloved fri end and broth er-inlaw,

I had l east dependence on him of any of them . He

had such a profusion of soph is try in the defence of gen iusthat i t was boundless as well as i nsu rmou ntable . His m indwas an anomaly his adm i rat ion of poetical gen ius runn ingto such an extreme heigh t that before i t all faul ts and fa i lings van ish ed, and i nstead of degrading the man

,rather

l en t a splendour to his character. The errors of men ofgen i us that were passi ng daily b efore ou r eyes he would

Poem s by Robert Burns, wi th an account ofh is life andmiscellaneous remarks on h is writings, containing also m any poem s

and letters not printed in Dr Currie’s edition . 2 vols. 8vo .

Edin . 181 1 .

1‘ A Review of the life ofRobert Burns, and various criticisms

on h is character and writings, by Alex . Peterkin, 1814. WorksofRobert Burns, with preface by Peterkin, 4 vols. 8vo . 1819 .

1 Letter to Gilbert Burns, 1820 .

111 1511 0 111 or BURNS. 5

not adm i t of, but logically proved them to have no ex istence. If I chanced to recoun t any of my own foibles o rm istakes to my i n t imate fri ends, Gray den i ed them, asserti ng boldly that the th ings were impossibl e , for i t was noti n my natu re to do them , andwould leave all the party bu tmyself convinced that the th i ngs were not tru e, and that Iwas only try i ng to m islead them .

He always however confessed oneawful n igh t with Burns,but only one. He would n ever giveme the deta i l even i nfriendsh i p, but answered mewi th , No, no, that cannot bedetai led. But it was not his blame, poor fellow ! he wasl ed i n to i t by a few scoundrels of Engl ishmen , who had

made i t up among them to en tice ou r great lyr ical poe t

(who so far outshon e all th ei r own countrymen) to degradeh imself, andthey effected i t by leadin g h im from one mis

ch ief to anoth er. But the aberrati on cost him dear bothi n h eal th and spir i ts .”

Even this excuse I was naturally i ncl in ed to hold equivocal . I cou ld not concei ve Engl ish gen tlemen gu il ty ofsuch a comb inat ion , and have l i ttle doub t that th ey wereso happy with Burns that they could not part Wi th him .

Th i s I th i nk more l ikely than that the Engl ishmen hadp rev iously lai d a plan to en trap him . As far as my expe

rience goes, I cannot conce ive an English gen tl eman drawnt o a Scottish poet by augh t save adm i rat ion and attachm en t .AS

‘

for M r Wordsworth , h is was the most uncall ed-fo r”

ebullit ion'

of pompous absurdi ty that ever was pennedfifi

Mr Gray being m ost anx ious to further Gilber t Burns’

s

edi tion,requested of Wordsworth som eth in g that co uld

appear i n the work, and l en d thelustre of his name to i t .The poet compl ied, sat down and penned his le tter ; butperceiv i ng that i t was a masterp i ece, that Gilbert Burnsm igh t not reap the sol e benefit of such a gem , he published i t by i tself first i n a pamphle t. The publ ication of

A letter to a friend ofRobert Burns. London, 1816, 8vo.

’

6 MEMOIR OF BURNS .

th is pamphle t drew from'

thematchless pen ofa contemporary some remarks wh i ch seem to have come from the veryh eart’s core, andwh ich are so prophetic as well as so

'

i llust rat ive of the subj ect I am on , that I am compelled to givea few ex tracts .After some prefatory explanation , he says, We con

ceive that Mr Wordsworth has made-

a sl igh t m istake i nsay ing that Gilbert Burns has don e him the honou r of request ing his advice. Th is does not appear to have beent he case : the requ est ‘was made ‘

by M r Gray, not byMr

Burns, who, we have reason to know,

‘

was scarcely awareof Mr Wordsworth’s existence ; had '

ne'

ver read a l in e ofhis poetry and had formed no idea, good, bad, or indifferent , of h is character.

In the second place , i t appears that th is letter was , atfi rst, a private commun icat ion to Mr Gray ; and i t is a pi tyi t did not remai n so ; for we th ink that there is great iadeli cacy, van ity , and presumption , i n thus com ing forwardwi th p rinted andp ublished advice to a man who, most assuredly, stands i n n o n eed of it.

MrWo rdsworth says i n a note, that i t was deemed mecessary to publish th is letter andgive i t an open ci rculation .

We wish to ask Mr Wordsworth who deemed it would beso Did Gilbert Burns so deem ? did M r Gray so deem ?o r was i t only Mr Wordsworth that so deemed ? We be

l ieve that the latter gentleman alone recommended its

publ icat ion .

It is natu ral for us to askwhat peculiarly fits MrWordsworth to give advice on th is subj ect. He has n ever l ivedin Scotland ; he knows noth ing about Burns ; he very imperfectly understands the language ih wh ich Burns wri teshe has not even read those publ icat ions wh i ch are supposedto be unjust to h is memory ; yet , i n the m idst of all th isportentous i gnorance, and i n the face of th ese mani fest dis

qualifica t ions, he has the effrontery to offer adv i ce to Gilbert Burns, one of themost i n tell igen t and strong-m i ndedmen al ive, on a subject nearest and dearest to his heart,

MEMOIILor BURN S . 7

wh ich he ‘

had doubtless con templated i n every poss iblel ight , and of wh i ch hemust know many,

deeply i n terestingpart iculars unthough t of by theworld. . What would MrWordsworth th i nk of the unders tanding of a corresponden twho would publ ish an advice to him when to go on withhis poem of the Excu rs ion,

’

and how to conduct i tThe

~

i ngen ious wr i ter from whom these scraps were se

lected many -

years,

ago, says, in another place, wi th greattru th and energy When Mr Wordsworth br ings hisspecific charge agai nst Dr Curr i e, accusi ng h im of narratingBurns

’

s errors andmisfortunes withou t affording the readerany i n formation concern ing th eir source or cause, —th i serror of the b iograph er, he says, gave him acu te sorrow;exci ted strong indignat ion ,—moved him beyond what itwould become him to

‘

express .

’ Now, really Mr,Words

worth m igh t have spared h imself all th is unnecessary emot ion ; for the truth i s, that no man can wi th h is eyes Openread Dr Currie’s l i fe of Burns, and the mul ti tude Of lettersfrom and t o ,

the poet wh i ch his edi tion con tains, wi thout aclear, disti nct,

‘

and perfect knowl edge of all thecauses fromwh i ch the m isfortun es and errors . of that m igh ty gen iusSprung . His constan t struggles wi th poverty through boy‘

h ood, youth, and manhood, —the warmth and veh emenceofhis pass ions, —his sudden elevat ion to femeand celebri ty,—the disappoin tment of his

,hopes,—the cruel and absurd

debasemen t of his occupation,~ -the temptations wh ich as

sai led him from every quarter, - h is gradual and i ncreas in gindulgen ces,—the prickings of h eart and soul wh i ch consequently oppressed him,

—his keen remors e for every vio

lation of duty wh ich his uncorrupted consci enceoften forced

him~

to feel moreacutely than the occas i on m i gh t demand,pure and lofty aspi rati ons after a nobler kind

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of l i fe ,wh i ch often came l ike a sunbu rs t on h is imagi nation , - his

decay of health and. spi ri t,—the vis i ta ti ons of melancholy ,despondency, anddespai r, wh ich at the close of his eventfulli fe,

he too often endured - th is, and much more than all

th is, ’ MrWordsworth m ight have learned from thework he

8 MEMOIR or BURNS .

“pretends to desp ise andwi th such knowledge'

laidbefore“

theworld, shame to theman who thus dares to calumniatet he dead, and to repres en t as the i gnorant, i ll iberal, and

narrow-m i nded enemy to gen i us, him who was its mostarden t adm i rer ; i ts most strenuous, enl igh tened, and suc

cessful defender .”

Moreover, M rWordsworth should have reflected that theli fe and character of Bu rns had, long before Dr Curri e

’

s

edi tion , been the th eme of un iversal discussi on ; that hehad l ived i n the eye of theworld that i n numerable anecdotes of his conversat ion , habi ts , propensi t i es, anddomesti ceconomy were float ing through soci ety ; that thousands existedwho kn ew him and the gen eral tenor of his l ife—and

that, therefore, had his b iographer preserved that stri cts ilence regarding his personal character wh i ch Dr Curri e’s

'

accusers recommend , he would thereby have seemed to

sanction theworld’s b el i ef i n all the false or exaggeratedstories i n ci rculat ion abou t that extraordinary man tohave shrunk from the relation of facts wh i ch he could not

j ustify, and to have drawn a vei l over enorm i ties wh ich hecould not bu t condemn .

In conclusi on , on e word to a ll those oflicious gentl emenwho are now so idly bes ti rring themselves i n the rev i val ofan obsolete subj ect . Theworld areagreed about the char:acter and gen ius of Burns . Non e bu t the most narrowm inded b igots th i nk of his errors and frai l t i es but withsympa thy and i ndulgence ; non e but the blindest enthusiasts can deny thei r existence. It is very poss ibl e that hisbiograph ers and cri ti cs may hav e occasi onally used epi thetsand express ions too peremptory and decisi ve ; but, on the

whole, the character of the hard has had ample j ustice.There is no need for any one now-a-days to say wha t Burnswas , or what hewas not. Th is he has h imself told us a

hundred times i n immortal language ; and the followingmost patheti c and subl ime stanza ough t to si l ence both h isfri ends andh is en em i es,—if enem i es there can i ndeed be toa man so nobly endowed. For wh i le w ith proud conscidas

men ow or BURNS. 9

ness he there glori es i n thevi rtues wh i ch God had bestowedon him,

there, too, does b e wi th compunctious visi ti ngs ofnature own,

i n prostrat ion of spiri t, that the l igh t wh ichl ed h im as tray was no t always l igh t from Heaven .

The poor inhab i tant below,

Was qu ick to learn and wise to know,And keenly felt the friendly glow

And softer flameBut though tless follies laid h im low

And stained h is name.

Having thus settled wi th Wordsworth , turn we to the

Rev. Ham i lton Paul .* There is a hero for you. Any man

wil l stand up for a fri end, who, wh i le he i s man i festly inthe right, is sufferi ng inj ur ies from the envy or mal ice ofothers ; bu t how few l ike Mr Paul have the courage to

step forward and defend a fri end whether he i s r igh t o rwrong ; and even to show his determ inat ion , when he feelsthat the hard is farthest wrong, to p ers ist that there hewasm ost mai nly r igh t. I remember that, when Mr Paul’swork appeared, I could not help adm i ring i t greatly, notfor its i n ternal meri ts, bu t for the sp i ri t i n wh i ch i t wasexecuted . After the fame of the poet had arisen to i tsacme, and had been acknowledged by all ranks, there werea thousand venomed shafts prepared agai ns t his m emory,and the foulest i nsi nuations promulgated both regardinghis character and the tendency of his poetry, when he himself was no more to defend th em . It was then that theRev. Ham il ton Paul stood forward as the champ ion of thedeceased hard, and in the face of every obloquy wh i ch heknew would b e pou red upon him from ev ery quarter as a

div i n e of the Church of S cotland, and of wh i ch he brough tdown on h imself a l ib eral porti on yet he would nei th erb e p e rsuaded to fl i nch from the task, nor yet to succumb,or eat i n a word afterwards . The cantings of hypocrisyonly rendered him more bold and audacious

,and b e mai n

Burns’ Poems, wi th life by theRev. Ham ilton Paul, 12mo.

1819 .

5

10 MEMO IR or BURN S .

tai ns theperfect andpu remoral i ty of Bu rns’ sati r ical poetry

to th is day. I must acknowledge that I adm i re that ven erable parson , although differ ing from him on many points.*From all th is i t w ill b e seen that my mai n dependence

for facts will b e on Dr Currie and Mr Lockhart, whosej oin t labours I shal l endeavour to condense as much as pos

s ible, wi thout leav ing ou t any circumstance worthy of preservation . But i n the m ean time, wherever I can procureany th i ng h ighly original or deeply i n teresting, and bette rthan I could express i t myself, respect ing ou r hard, I deemi t my du ty to in terweave such i n th is editi on . I thereforeextract the essence of the followi ng chapter from an essaywri tten by a friend of m i n e, because I th i nk no better v i ewsever were taken of the subj ect, and no thoughts ever betterexpressed.

At the time the Ettrick Sheph erd drew up th is brief noticeof the various b iographers ofBurns, he was not aware that AllanCunningham was engaged upon an edition of the poet’s works.Indeed we believe that Mr Cunningham did not -address h imselfin earnest to the task till a considerable wh ile after the announcem ent of the present edition . In theAth enaeum of date the 1st

Dec. , 183 2, the following advertisement appears The EttrickShepherd, we h ear, is busied on a L ife of Burns the poet. AGlasgow bookseller, wi th some hundred and odd pounds in hishand, made an inroad into the vale ofYarrow, and persuadedHogg to undertake the task ofdelineating anew theman and the

poet. We know not what new matter the Bard of Ettrick hasobtained to aid h im in a Memoir of the Bard of Ayr—but weknow, that many letters, h itherto unseen and unpublished, stillex ist and i t is but lately that we saw poems by Burns of con

siderable length , wh ich have not yet been printed. We wish

Hogg m uch success in h is undertaking. The first notice ofMrCunningham ’

s edition was not till nearly two years afterwards,nam ely in 183 4 . Th is statement is made merely for t he purposeof showing to the public t hat there was no rivalry in the appearance, almost s imultaneously, of two ed1t ions of the ScottishBard's complete works. The priority of design apparently restswith us, bu t of execution with Mr Cunningham . As

‘

a generous,enligh tened, and industrious b iographer of Burns, we have m uch

pleasure in adding therefore to the above list the name ofAllanCunningham,

—of one who has h imself done so much for the

lyrics of h is native land.

MEMO IR or BURNS . 1 1

CHAPTER I I.

ON THE PEASANTRY OF SCOTLAND .

Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,

A breath can make them as a breath has madeBut a bold peasantry , their country ’s pride,When oncedestroy

’d can never be supplied.Gonnsm ra .

SCOTLAND has better reason to beprbud of her p easan tpoets than any other country i n the world. She possess esa r i ch treasure of poetry express ing themoral character ofher populat ion at very remote t imes and in her nationallyri cs alone, so full of tenderness and tru th , the tear of as imple, a wise, and a though tful people, is embalmed to us

in imperishable beauty. If we knew noth i ng of the forefathers ofour Scottish haml ets , but the pure and affectionate songs , and ballads, thewi ld and pathet ic airs of musicwh i ch they loved, we should know enough to convince usthat they werea race of men, strong, heal thful, happy, anddign ified i n the gen ial Spir i t of nature. The lower ordersof the S cotch seem always to havehaddeeper, calmer, purer,andmore reflect i ng affections than those of any oth er people and, at the same t ime, th ey have possessed, and do

possess, an imagination that broods over these affectionswi th a constan t del igh t, andkindles them i n to a strength andpower which, when brought i n to action by domes ti c o rnat ional trouble, have often been , i n good truth , subl ime.

Whatever may have b een the causes of th is fin e character i n more remote t imes, i t seems certa i n , that s ince theReformat ion i t is to be attrib uted ch i efly to the sp i ri t ofthei r rel igion . That spi ri t is pervading and p rofoundi t blends i n timately with all the relati ons of l ife, and givesa qui et and settled permanency to feel i ngs, wh ich, among apopulat ion un insp i red by an hab i tual reverence for h ighand holy th i ngs . are l i ttl e b etter than uncerta in , fluctuating,and trans i tory impulses of tempe rament. It is thus that

B 2

12 MEMO IR or BURNS .

there is someth i ng sacred and subl ime i n the tranqui ll i ty ofa S cottish cottage. The sabbath day seems to extend i tsi nfluence over all theweek. The B ible l ies from week’send to week’s end before the eyes of all the i nmates of thehouse. The language of scriptu re i s so fam il iar to the

m i nds of the peasan try, that i t i s often adopted uncon

sciously i n the conversat ion of common hou rs . In short,all the forms, modes, shows of l ife, are in a great measureei ther moulded or colou red by rel igion .

All enligh tened foreigners hav e been impressed wi th a

sense of the grandeur of such a national character, but th eyhave fai led in attributing i t to the true cause . The blessi ngs of educat ion have been widely diffused over S cotland,and the parish schools have conferred upon her i n est imablebenefi ts . But th ere is such s impl ici ty and depth of moralfeel ing andaffecti on i n her peasantry ; such power over themore agi tating and tumultuous pass i ons, wh ich, withou tweaken ing their lawful energi es, controls and subduesthei r reb ell i ous exci temen t there is an imagination sopurely and loftily exercised over the obj ects of thei r humanlove

,that wemus t look for the origin of such a

'

character

to a far h igher source than themerecultu re of them i nd bym eans of a rational andw idely ex tended system of educat ion . It is thehab itual fai th of the peasantry of th is happyland that has made them whole.” The undecayingsancti ti es of rel igion have, l ike unseen household gods,kept watch by the ir hearth sides, from generat ion to generation, and thei r bel i ef in theB ible is connected with all

that is holi es t and dearest i n fi lial and paternal love. Acommon pi ece ofwood, themeanest ar ticle of household furn iture, is pri zed when i t is a reli c of one tenderly belovedbu t the peasant of Scotland has a rel i c of departed affectionthat l ifts his nature up to Heaven , when he takes i n to hisreverent ial hands

The b ig ha’Bible, ance h is father’s pride.”

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14 MEMOIR OF BURN S .

and pure del igh ts pass i ng utterly away. It would fain givea permanen t ex istence to the fleeting shadows of earthlyhappiness . Its dreams areof h eaven and etern i ty, and suchdreams reflect back a hallowed light on earth and on time.We are ourselves will ing, when our hou r is come, to perishfrom the earth but we wish our thoughts and feel ings tol i ve beh i nd us, and we cannot endure the imagined sadnessand S i lence of th ei r ex tinction . Had a people no stronghope of the future, how could they deeply care for thepast ? or rather, how could the pas t awaken any though tsbut those of despondency and despai r ? A rel igious peopletread cons tantly, as it were, on consecrated ground. It

cannot b e said that th ere is any dea th among them, for wecannot forget those whom we know we shall meet in heav en . But, unless a people carry on thei r hopes and affect ions into an eternal future, there mus t b e a deplorableoblivion of obj ects of affection van ished—a still i ncreas ing

Of love upon a hopeless earth .

Rel igion , then , has made the Scottish people thoughtfulandmedi tat ive in th eir i n tellects, s imple and pure in the i rmorals , tender and affectionate i n thei r hearts . But whenth ereis profound though t, and awakened sensib il i ty, ima

ginat ion wi ll not fai l to reign ; and i f th i s be i ndeed thegeneral character of a whole people, and should they moreove r be blessed with a beautiful coun try, and a free governm ent, then those more elevated and purer feel ings, wh ich,inl ess happy lands, are poss essed only by the h igh er ranksof society, are brought i n to free play over all the bosom ofsoci ety : and i t may withou t v iolence b e sa id, that thesp iri t of poetry breathes over all its valleys.

Of England, and of thecharacter of her populat ion , h ighand low, we th i nk with exul tation andwi th pride. Somevirt ues they perhaps possess in greater perfection than anyoth er people but we bel i eve, that themost ph i losoph i calEnglishmen acknowledge, that th ere is a depth of moral‘

and religious feel ing in the peasantry of S cotland, not to be

MEMO IR or BURNS . 15

found among thebest part of thei r own populat ion . Th erecannot b e sai d to b e any poetry of the peasantry of England. We do not feel any consciousness of nat ional p rej udice, when we say that a great poet could not b e bornamong theEngl ish peasan try, bred among them, and re

stricted in his poetry to subj ects belonging to themselvesand their l ife.

There doub tless is among the peasantry of every t rulynoble nati on much to kindlethe imaginat ion and the fancybut we bel i eve that in no country bu t S cotland, does thereex is t a system of social and domes t i c l i fe, among that orderof men, which .combines Wi th in it

_

almost all the finer andh igher emot ionsn f cifl tivated m i n ds wi th a s impl ici ty and

artlessness of character, . peculiar to persons of low es tate.Thefireside of a n English cottager i s o ften a scen e of happiness and virtu e, bu t unquest i onably in reading the Cotter’s Saturday N igh t

’ of Burns, we feel that we are reading the records Of a purer, S impler, more pious race and

there i s in that immortal poem a depth of domest i c j oy,an in tensi ty of feeli ng of the home, a pres id ing sp iri t oflove, and a lofty enthus iasm .Of religion, wh ich are all pe

culiarly Scottish, and beyond the p itch of m ind of any

other people.‘ I t is not ou r in tention at presen t to pu rsue th is i n terest

i ng subj ect i n to i ts i nmost recesses we may have sa i denough to awaken the meditat ions of our readers on the

poetical character of our peasantry, yet i t may not be am i ssto say a few words on the differenceof poetical feeling andgen ius, in an agricultural and pastoral s tate of l i fe.

And i n thefi rs t place, it i s unden iable that in an agricultu ral coun try, the l i fe of a peasan t is a l ife of severe andincessant labou r, l eaving him, apparen tly, few Opportun i tiesfor the cultivat ion and enj oymen t ei ther of his moral or intellectual nature. Each has his hour of task ; and whenthe body is enslaved , with difficulty may the soul be free.In the second place, the knowledge wh i ch men thus .

s i tuated, are l ikely to wish to attain, is of a narrow and

16 MEMOIR or BURNS .

’

worldly kind, immediately connected wi th the means'

of

subsistence, and not l inked wi th objects fit ted to awakenmuch enthusias ti c or imaginat ive feel ings . Theknowl edgeabsolutely essential to a Cotter i n

’

an agricul tural country,is small indeed, ‘

and small i ndeed i t wi ll b e found to be i nalmost all cases sobri ety and p rudence arehis ch i ef vi rtues, but h is dut i es and his cares make n o demand on qualit ies or feel ings of a h igher kind.

Th irdly , The face of an agr icultu ral country cannot b every kindling to the senses of the imaginat ion—it is all

subordinated to separate anddisti nct uses . One great end ,namely production , is constantly obtruded on the m indamong all the shows of scenery, and that alone must befatal to all the play of imaginat ion . .

Fourthly , The constant and‘ close i n tercourse between

the i nhabitants,‘

arising from the densi ty of population ,gives to the people a tone of thought al i en from all enthu

siasm, and, consequently, from'

all supe rsti t ion . Any superst it ious forms that may arise up among them , will b e butsl igh t modifications of feel ing exci ted by the obj ects ofreal i ty, and will possess but a feeble power among the

depressing and deaden ing i nfluences of a l ife on thewholeso un imaginative .

And, Las tly , It may be asserted, that, i f such he thecharacter of an agricultural life, the religion of the peoplewi l l rather b e of a sedate and rat ional k ind than characterized by that fervour, and even pass ion , wi thout wh i ch i tis apt to degenerate i nto a cautionary system of moral i ty.i nstead of being a kindling, support ing, and elevating fai th.

On thewhole, therefore, '

it .would seem that i t is not toan agricultural coun t ry that we are to look for a poeti calcharacter in i ts i nhab i tan ts , or for the appearance amongthem of a great and prevai l ing poet.In a pas toral state of Soc i ety the scene

'

assumes'

a verydifferent aspect. For, i n the fi rst place

, shepherds, and

men connected wi th a pastoral life, arenot bowed down byf‘ bodily labour,cons tant andsevere,

”and both thethough ts

MEMO IR or BURNS . 17

and the affect ions have t ime for i ndulgence. They havealso a more i n timate acquai n tancewith thegreat and s impleforms of natu re, and wi th them are n ecessarily associatedmany of thei r best da i ly emot ions. Th ey hold conversewi th natu re, and become, even in the pai nfu l p rosecutionof their n ec essary labou rs, unconscious ly fam i l iar with herlanguage. Their own language then becomes poeti cal, anddoubtless i nfluences thei r characters . Thei r affecti ons become Spir i tual iz ed along with thei r imaginati on , and therei s a fine and del i cate b reath and shadow of superst i t ionover all the character of their best emot ions ; the i r veryrel igion partakes somewhat of thewildn ess of sup erst i t i ousfear ; the l onely edifice, bu i lt for the servi ce of God in the

moun tai n sol i tude, i s surrounded by spots haunted by thebeings of a Fa i ry creed .

It is certa i n that it has b een in the pas to ral val leys ofthe sou th of Scotland that the poetical gen ius Of ou r count ry has been most beauti fully displayed ; and though the

peculiar h istory of these districts , as wel l as the ci rcumstances under wh i ch thei r language grew, were speciallyfavou rable to the format ion and display of poetical feel ing,yet we are n ot to look to such narrowand l im i ted causesas these for the acknowledged superiori ty of the gen ius ofthe shepherds of. the south, but rather, as we concei v e, tosuch as have been h i n ted at above, and are n ecessar i ly, ina great degree, common to all pas toral s tates of society, inall t imes and in all coun tr i es.But when we consi der the gen ius of Bu rns, we see it

man ifestly moulded and colou red by h is agr i cultu ral l i fe .We see i n all his earl ies t poems, and they are by far his

finest, a noble soul struggl ing, labouri ng wi th a hard and

oppress i ve fate : he was from very boyhood“a to i l-worn

co tt er,” and i t was the aim of h is noble h eart to preservethat dign i ty wh ich nature gave i t unshaken and unhumbledby the weary weigh t of his lo t .

” His gen i us was wi ngedby i ndependence, and i n the proud disdai n wi th wh i ch hespurned at the fortune that i n vai n strove to enslave him,

18 MEMO IR or BURN S .

it seemed as i f his soul ros e to a noble r p i tch of enthusiasm, and that he more pass i onately enj oyed his freedomwh en feeling circled, not bound, by unavai l ing chai ns .

The hardsh ips and pr ivat ions that Burns early. felt “him

self born to endu re,~—the constant presence before him ofthe image of poverty ,—theconvicti on of the necessary ev ilsof the poor man’s lot, made his whole heart

‘

leap with inh im,

when j oy and pleasure and happiness opened thei rarms to rece i ve him. Bliss bursts upon h im l ike a rush ofwaters, andhis soul is at once swept down the flood. Everyone must have fel t tha t there is a melancholy air spreadover h is poetry, as i f his creed truly were that Man was

made to mourn but sudden flashings and i ll um i nati ons ofdeligh t are for ever breaking out, and

“

i n the vehemenceand energy and triumphan t exul tation of his language i nthos e momen ts of i nspi ration , we feel how dear a th ing freeand unmingled happiness is to the ch ildren of poverty and

sorrow.

It was thus that the calami ties of a l ife of hardsh i p, thatbows down ordinary Spi ri ts to the earth, elevated and sub

l imed the gen ius and character of our immortal poe t. Itwas thus that noth i ng seemed worthy to engross his at

tention b ut the feel ings and the pass ions of the h eart ofman. He fel t wi th i n him visi t ings of thoughts that waftedh im i n to Elys i um,

—he recogn ised in those though ts theawful power of human pass i on ,—andsaw that, circumscribedas the Sphere was in wh i ch he, a poor peasant, was placed,hem igh t yet walk in i t wi th power and glory,—and thathe m i gh t waken up in to strength , freshness, and beauty,those feel ings of his lowly brethren that des tiny had eu

feebled and obscured, and give to them an existence i npoetry essentially tru e to human li fe, b ut tinged with thatadorn ing radiance wh i ch emanates only from the poet’s souli n the hou r of inspi rat ion .

It is h ere that wemust seek for the tru e cause of Burns’

very' l im i t ed power of description of external nature. Cer

tainly, of all poets of the fi rst order, he i s the one that has

MEMO IR or BURNS . 19

l eft us the fewes t fine p ictu res of landscape. His senseswere gratified wi th . the form s

, the blooms, and the odoursof. nature; and.often ,

i n the fulness of his conv ivial del igh t,he pou rs out v iv id expressions of that rapture and enj oymen t. But external nature seems n ever to have el evatedh is imaginat ion for any l ength of t ime to have won h imfrom the dom i n i on of the l iv ing world. Where his eye

reposed or his ear l isten ed, there, too, his sou l was sat isfied.

-When he has attempted to general iz e or delin eate associat ions by wh ich nature is conn ected wi th - the universal feeli n gs of ou r kind, he s i nks to the level of an ordinary vers ifier. All that v i vid and burn ing vigou r wi th wh ich hedescribes his own feelings and passi ons as a human beingin un ion wi th human beings, is gon e at once, andwe witn ess the unavai l i ng labou r of a m ind endeavou ring to describewhat i t but imperfectly unders tands and bu t feeblyenj oys. There is scarcely a l in e of h is poems wri tte n i n ,or of

,the Highlands, that would startl e us wi th su rprise i n

the verses of. the m erest poetaster. His :mind had n everdel ivered i tself up to such t ra ins of though t. In his e vening walks

, after a day of to il, themurmuring of the stream ,

thewh ispering . of the breez e, or the song of the blackbi rd,touched his h eart with joy, and b eautifully indeed has b eblended his sweetest dreams of love and afl

'

ect ion wi th suchs imple sounds as th ese. But , gen erally speaking, Natu rehad. n o charms for him,

unless when she at once recalledto his memory the image of. some human being .whom he

loved, and the visi ons of departed happ iness . . Then , in

deed, i nsensa te th i ngs became i nst inct wi th Spir i t, and

spoke the passi on of the“ poet’s sou l, of wh ich there cannotb e a finer i nstance than i n the l ines to Mary in ,

Heaven,

”

when the trees, the banks, the streams, the chann el of theAyr, seem all parts of his own being, and thewhole o f thatsylvan scen ery is enveloped i n an atmosphere of mournfulpass ion .

We have frequen tly though t tha t i t was fortunate forBurns that he l i ved before th is age of descriptive poetry.

20 m om OF BURNS .

No doubt his origi nal m i nd would have preserved him fromservil e im i tation, but his adm iration of the genius of hisgreat contemporari es m igh t have seduced the t ra i n of hisemotions from the fi res ide to the valley, and hem igh t havewasted on the forms of external natu re much of the fervi dpass ion wh ich he has bestowed on the n earer and dearerobj ects of human love . Had he done so hewould haveOffered v iolence to h is own sou l ; for i t is plai n that hen ever could have been a truly great poet, except as thelow-born poet of lowly l ife, and that, had he res ign ed any

part of his emp ire over the pass ions of the human breast ,hewould have been but an i nferior prince i n thedom in ionsofpu re fancy.

He was i n many respects born at the happy time—happyfor a man of gen ius l ike him, but fatal and hopeless to them ere common m i nd. Much poetry existed in S cotland,bu t no poet there was no lavish and prodiga l applause ofgrea t public favouri t es—no despoti cal cri tic ism stretch i ngt he leaden sceptre of command over the free though ts of

gen ius. There were i n our popular po etry many exqu isi tefragmen ts struck off, as i t were, from t he great mass of domest ic l ife—many p ictures of unfin ished, but touch ingb eauty. There was every th ing to stimulate, awaken , andexci te—l i ttle or noth i ng to depress or discourage . A wholeworld of l ife lay before Burns, whose i nmost recesses, anddarkes t nooks, and sunn i est em i nences, he had fam i liarlytrodden from h is ch i ldhood. All that world he fel t cou ldb e made his own . No conqueror had overrun i ts fert ileprovi nces , and i t was for him to be crowned supreme overall the

Lyrical singers of that h igh - souled land.

The crown that he has won can never b e removed fromh is h ead. Much is yet left for other poets, even amongthat l i fe where the spiri t of Burns delighted to work ; buthe has bu i lt monumen ts on the h igh places , and they whofollow can only hope to leave beh in d them some far hum

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22 MEMO IR or BURN S

theabject , imp ious, andhum i l iat ing fooler i es, wh ich , i n toomany cas es, chara cterized them as they were ; wh i l e h isimagi nation was withdrawn from the vi rtues and p iety oft he truly enl igh tened m i n isters of Chr i st ian ity to the end

l ess,grotesque vari et ies of professi onal vi ce and folly ex

h ibited i n the hypocri tical pretenders to sancti ty, and the

s trong- l unged bellowers who lai d cla im to a monopo ly ofgrace.In all th is mad andm irthful art , Burns could hardly fa i l

of somet imes uni nten tionally hurting the best of the p ious,wh i le hewas i n fact seeking to lash only the worst of theprofane, and as i t is at all t imes dangerous to speak l ightlyabout holy th i ngs, it is not to be den ied that there are i nh is poems many reprehensible passages, and that the r idicule of the human som etimes trespass es, wi th seem i ng i rreverence, on thedivin e. An enemy of Burns m ight doubtl ess select from his wr i t ings a pretty form idable l ist of delinquencies of th is kind, and by shu tting his h eart aga i nstall the touch ing and subl ime poetry that has made Burnst he idol of his coun trymen—and brooding, wi th a gloomymal ign i ty, on all h is infirmities thus brough t i n to one mass,hem igh t enjoy a poor and p i tiable tri umph over the obj ectof his unchristian scorn . This has been more than onceattempted, bu t wi thout much effect ; and noth ing can moredecidedly prove that the general spiri t of Burns’ poetry i sworthy of the people among whom hewas born , than the

forgiv en ess wh ich men of theaus teres t principles have b eenwi ll ing to extend to themanifold errors both of his gen iusand his l ife .

But wh i l e we hold Ourselves j ustified in thus Speakingof some of h is stern and rancorous accusers, we mus t notShut our eyes to the t ruth , nor deny that, though Burnshas left to us much poetry wh ich s inks wi th heal ing and

cheering influence in to the poor , man’

s h eart—much thatb reath es -a pu re Spiri t of p iety and devotion : he m igh thav e done farmore good than he

‘

has done, had hedel ightedl ess in pai n ti ng the corrupt iOns of religi on than in deli ne

MEMO IR or BURN S . 23

at ing her nat ive and i ndestructibl e beauty . The Cotter’sSatu rday Nigh t

’

Shows what he could have done, had besu rveyed with a calm and untroubled eye all the i nfluencesof ou r rel igion , carr i ed, as they are, i n to the i nmost h eartof soc i ety by our s imple and beautiful forms of worsh i p ;had marriage, baptism—that other more awful sacramen t—death, and fun eral—had th es e, and the i nn umerablethemes all i ed to them, sunk in to the depths of his heart,and images of th em reascended thence i n to living and imp er ishable l igh t.There i s a patheti c moral i n the imperfec t character of

Burns, both as a poet and a man nor ough t they who del igh t both i n him and his works, and r igh tly hold the ann iversary of his b irth to b e a day sacred in the cal endar ofhis gen i us, to forget that i t was often the consciousn ess ofh is own frai l t i es that made h im so truea pai n ter of humanpass i ons ; that he often looked wi th melancholy eyes tothat pure and serene l ife from wh ich hewas , by his own

imprudence, debarred ; that innocence, puri ty, and vi rtue,were to him, in the happiest hours of his inspirat ion , thefai r images of beings whose l iv ing pres ence hehad too oftenshunned ; and that the sancti ties of rel igi on i ts elf seem stil lmore sanctified when they r ise before us in the poetry of aman who was not always wi thh eld from approach i ng wi thlevity, i f not wi th irreverence, hermost holy andmysteriousaltars .

CHAPTER 111.

PARENTAGE AND BIRTH OF BURNS .

THE father of our poet was a farmer’s son i n theMearns,o n the ancien t domai ns of theEarls Marischal . They hadlong been settlers there ; and, al though i t is held by Gilbert

.Burns to be apocryphal, I b el i ev e i t to b e a fact that partof the fam i ly of Burns were ou t both in 17 15 and 1745.

c 2

24 MEMOIR or BURN S .

When I was engaged i n collect ing the"

Jacob ite rel i cs , mypleasure as well as i n terest led me very much among theold Jacobi te fam i l ies of Angus andMearns settled in Edin.burgh , for all theEpiscopal ians of those districtswerewonderfully attached to the house of S tuart. In these gentlemen

’

s houses we hadnumerous supper pat tles, i n to wh ichnone were i nvi ted save s terling Jacob ites . There all thesongs and an ecdotes were Jacob i te, yet the toasts perfectlyloyal , as they had no successor to turn . thei r eyes to out ofthe reign ing fam ily. There was one old man, a Mr Hut~chard, about a hundred years of age, whowould never drinkKing George’s h ealth, e i ther by one denom i nati on or another, asserting that hewas Of the race of an usurp er, andh ad no r igh t to b e there . I t was ei ther from th is old ems

blem of a former age, or Mr Skinn er, brother to the lateRev. Bishop of that name, and son to the celebrated p oetand divin e, that I heard, one n ight, i n ! the house of MrMoi r

,by mere chance conversation , that Burns

’grandfatheranduncles were ou t i n both rebell ions, and that i t renderedthem obnoxious to the intolerablewh igs of that coun try,and reduced them in circumstances. Th is, i n conjunctionwith what Burns says h imself, is, i n my opin ion , qui te conel usive. I do not use theword honour wi th any reference to poli ti cal pri nciples ; loy al and disloy al, I take tobe merely relative terms, i n that anci en t and form idablecou rt

,known i n th is country by the name Of Club-law,

wh ere the r igh t is always wi th the stronges t. But thosewho dare welcome ruin , and shake hands with i n famy, forwhat th ey s incerely b el ieve to be the cause of their God,or th ei r king, are, as Mark Antony says i n Shakspeare, ofBru tus and Cass ius, honourablemen. I mention this ci rcums tance, because i t threw my father on the world at

large.”

Wi ll iam Burnes , the fath er of our poet, l eft his nat ivedistrict at the age of n ineteen to push his fortun e i n the

Lowlands as a gardener , and from the pa inful sensationsdescribed as having taken place at his part i ng wi th his

MEMO IR or BURNS . 25

father’s family, I have no doubt in my own mi nd that thecircumstances of that fam ily were al tered owing to

\the

above cause and as Wi ll iam Burnes ultimately settled inoneof themost Anti-prelat ic districts

‘

in Scotland, hewouldnaturally keep h is thumb on the p roscr ibed poli tics of hisancestors . Hehad even dreaded it so much that he hadbrought a certificate from his par ish m i n ister, stating thathe had no

.

hand in the latewicked reb ellion . This showsp lainly that thefam i ly had been sufferers on that score, else" hewould never have though t of . asking such a test imon ial ,(

as it must have been man i fest to every one that looked at

him that he could not have been in the rebel l ion, else i tmust have been in his i nfancy.From the superi or senseand fair educat ion of Wi lliam

Burnes, as well as theanxi ety heman ifested in promotingthe educat ion ofhis fami ly, I am further

’

convinced that he.was of a good stock, Cadets of the Earls Marischal , andcrushed by the change of t imes. TheMearns was far frombeing a forward country in l i terary . qual ifications, generallytaken ; for, though the higher ranks - were well-educated,the peasantry were far beh ind . NowWi ll iam Burnes appears to have been a very superi or person—offlne rel igiousfeel ings , a h igh sense of honou r, i n tegri ty, and the dignityof moral worth . The

‘

head farmers of all Scotland ‘

haveno moreeducat ion than hehas been allowed to have had,i ndependen t of what he possessed as a botan ist, florist, and

.plan ter, yet , in his humble and labor ious employment; hehad no use for any th ing farther than reading, wri ti ng, andari thmet ic.On leaving his nat ive county he repai red to Edinbu rgh ,

andwrought as a gardener in the v icin i ty of that ci ty forseveral years and abou t th i s t ime l i ttlemore is known ofh im until we find him i n Ayrsh ire, overseer on a smallestate belonging to Mr Ferguson of Doonholm, and l ikewise occupyi ng a few acres of land from another propri e tor,on wh ich he had origi nally i n tended to have settled as a .

nurseryman and i t was wh i l e prepar ing th is nu rsery thatc 3

26 MEMO IR or BURNS .

~Mr Ferguson engaged him as his overseer,when thefarthercult ivation of the nu rsery-ground seems to have been discontinued. In 1757 he marri ed a gi rl of Ayrsh i re of thename of Agn es Brown , and before proceeding further Imust give the

’

ingenious Mr Murdoch’

s character of th isworthy couple. She is described by every one who men

'

t ions her as a pat i ent, v irtuous, and industri ous housewife,greatly devoted to her husband. At all t imes, and i n allcompan i es, she l istened to him with a more marked . attent ion than to anybody else. When under the necess i ty ofbeing absent wh i l e hewas speaking, she seemed to regret,as a real loss , that she had m issed what the good man hadsaid . Th is worthy woman , Agnes Brown , had the mostthorough esteem for her husband of any woman I everknew. I can by no means wonder that she h ighly esteemedh im for I myself have always considered Wi lliam Burnesas by far the bes t of the human race that ever I had the

pleasure of being acquai n ted wi th—and many a worthycha racter I have known . I can cheerfully j o in with Roberti n the las t line of his ep i taph , (borrowed from Goldsm i th ,)

And even h is failings leau’

d to v irt ue’s side. ’

He was an excellen t husband, i f I may j udge fromhisass iduous att enti on to the ease and comfort of his worthypartn er, and from her afl

'

ectionatebehaviou r to him, as wel las her unwearied atten tion to the du t i es of a mother.

He was a tender and affect ionate father he to ok plsure in l eading his ch i ldren in the path of vi rtu e, not indriv i ng them, as somep arents do, to t he performance ofduti es to wh ich they themselves are averse. He took careto find fault but very seldom and therefore, when he didrebuke

, hewas l istened to wi th a kind of reveren tial awe.A look Of disapprobat ion was felt ; a repro of was severelyso ; and a stripe wi th the tawz , even on the skirt of thecoat, gave heart-felt pai n , produced a loud lamentati on, andbrough t forth a flood of tea rs .

He had the art of gain i ng theesteem and good-will of

341231 0 111 or BURNS. 27

those that werelabou rers under him . I th i nk I n ever sawh im angry bu t twice the one time i twas with theforemanOf theband, for not reaping thefield as hewas des i red ; andthe other t ime, it was wi th an old man , for usi ng smuttyinnuendoes anddoubles entendres . Were every foul-mou th

’

d

old man to recei ve a s easonable ch eck in th is way, i t wouldb e to the advantage of the r isi ng gen e ration . As he was

at no t ime overbeari ng to i nferiors, hewas equally incapable of that pass i ve, p i tiful , pal try spiri t, that i nduces somepeople to keep booingandbooing in the presence of a greatman. He always treated superiors wi th a becom ing re

spect ; bu t he n ever gave the smalles t encou ragem en t toaristocrat ical arrogance. But I must not pretend to give

you a descri p ti on of all themanly qual i ties , the rat ionaland Chr ist ian vi rtues , of the venerable Will iam Burnes .Time would fai l me. I shall only add, tha t b e carefullypractised every known duty, and avoided every th i ng thatwas cr im i nal ; or, i n the apostl e’s words, ‘ Herein did heexercise h imself, i n l iv inga l ife void of offence towards Godand towards men .

’

0 for a world of men of such disposit ions ! Weshould then haveno wars. I have often wished,for the good of mank i nd, that i t were as customary to honour and perpetuate.thememory of those who excel in mo ralrecti tude, as i t i s to extol what are call ed heroi c actions :then would themausol eum of the fri end ofmy youth overtop and surpass mos t of themonuments I see in Westmin

ster Abbey.

Although I cannot do j ust ice to the character of th isworthy man , yet you will perceive, from th es e few part iculars, what ki nd of person had the pr i ncipal hand i n the

education of ou r poet. He spoke the Engl ish languagewith more propri ety (both with respect to diction and pro

nunciat ion) than any man I ever knew wi th no greateradvan tages . Th is had a very good effect on the boys, whob egan to talk and reason l ike men much soon er than thei rneighbou rs.

”

Th is character of the parents of Burns by the hones t

28 MEMOIR OF BURNS .

Dom in i e, who could have‘

no'

interest or selfish motive inexaggerat ing, I regard as conclusi ve as ~far as the h igh re

spectability of their character is concern ed, andalsOstronglycorroborati veof what I befores tated, that he had been bredin a sphere much above mediocr i ty and,

“

moreover, whatBurns h imself says of his father

’

s creed confirms,

me in my ,

op inion that hewas bred among my old fri ends the Jacobi tes, and in theEpiscopal ian rel igion too.

In a l i ttl e clay bigging, built by Wi ll iam Burnes’ own

hands , a cottage of the lowes t description , s i tuated in the

parish of Alloway, and one mi l e anda half from the tOwn

of Ayr, and in the immediate v icini ty of the brig o’Doon ,

and Alloway’

s auld haunted ki rk,—there, on the twen tyfifth of January, 1759, was the boy born who was to fill theworld with admi rat ion ; the great renovator of S cottishlyrical poetry, who was to render classi cal th ese Westernstreams and valleys that had never been so before. Yes,

in that m iserable bothy, and i n the_

depth of win ter, was

Robert Burns born , two years and a mon th after the '

marxiage of his parents . A hard beginn ing has a good end,”

the proverb says. Alas ! how inappropriate the apothegmto h is fate. But Oh ! to haveseen him firs t open his eyes onthe l igh t of nature! I could almost fancy I did, and s ing of1t now

AIR Highland Harry bach aga in .

"

WHAT can ane say, what can sue sing,About a bairn he didna ken-L

They’re a’ but gapin’

, glowrin’ th ings,

Wh ate’er th ey. turn when they grow men.

But here, inc auldrife lowly den,Unh eeded by thegreat and gay,Was born the prince of Scottish menThat ever tuned the rural lay.

O for him back again,Co ila’s Rob in back again,

0 I wad gi'

e, what wad I not,For sic a sp irit back again.

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3 0 MEMOIR OF BURN S .

me thehonour to in terest yourself very warmly in my behalf ; and I th i nk a fai thful accoun t of what character of aman I am, andhow I came by that character, may perhapsamuse you in an idle momen t . I will give you an honestnarrati ve, though I know i t will he often at my own expense ; for I assure you, S ir, I have, l ike Solomon , whosecharacter

,excepting i n the trifl i ng affai r of wisdom, I some

t imes th i nk I resemble—I have, I say, l ike him turn ed myeyes to behold madness and folly, and l ike h im, too, frequently shaken hands wi th thei r in toxicating fri endsh ip .

A fter you have perused these pages, should you th i nk themtrifl ing ‘

and impert inent, I only beg leave to tell you, thatthe poor author wrote them under some twi tch i ng qualmsOf consci ence, arisi ng from a suspicion that hewas doingwhat he ough t not to do a predicament

’

he has more thanonce been in before.

I have not themost dis tan t pretens ions to assume thatcharacter wh ich the pye

-coated guardians of escu tch eons,

call a gentleman. When at Edinburgh last winter, I gotacquai n ted i n theHerald’s office ; and, looking through thatgranary of honours, I there found almost every name in thekingdom ; but for me,

My ancient but ignoble bloodHas crept thro’ scoundrels ever since the flood.

’

Gules, purpure, argent, &c. qui te disowned me.

My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of afarmer, andwas thrown by early m isfortunes on theworldat large ; where, after many years

’ wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quanti ty of Observationand exper i ence, to wh ich I am - i ndebted for most of myl i ttl e pretens i ons to wisdom—I have met with . feW

'whO

understood men , thei r manners,and thei r ways, equal'

to

him ; but stubborn , unga i nly i n tegrity, and h eadlo ng, nu

governable i rascib il i ty, aredisqualify ing circumsthnces ; consequently, I was born a very poor. man

’

s son . For the firs tsix or seven years of my l ife, my fatherwas t garden er to a

worthy gen tleman of small estate i n the'

neighbourhood of .

MEMO IR or BURNS. 3 1

'

Ayr. Had he continued in that sta tion , I must havemarched off to b e one of the l i t tl e underl i ngs about a farmh ouse but i t was his deares t wish and prayer to have i t inh is power to keep . his ch i ldren u nder his own eye, till theycould discern b etween good and evi l ; so, wi th the ass istance of his gen erous master, my fath er ven tured on a smal lfarm on his estate. At those years I was - by no m eans a

favouri te with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a re

tent ivem emory, a stubborn sturdy someth inginmy disposi t iou, and an enthusias t i c i diot p i ety. I say i dio t p i ety,because I was th en bu t a ch ild . Though i t cost the schoolmaster some thrash ings, -I made an excellen t Engl ish scholar and by the t ime I was . ten or eleven years of age, Iwas a cri tic i n substan t ives , verbs, and part i cles . In myinfan t and boy ish days, too, I owed much to an old woman.who res ided i n the fam i ly, remarkable for her i gnorance,c reduli ty, andsupersti t ion . Shehad, I suppose, the larges tcollection in the country of tal es and songs concern i n g devils, ghosts , fairies, b rown ies, wi tches, warlocks , Spunki es ,kelp i es , elf-candles,dead- l igh ts, wra i ths, appar i ti ons, can traips, giants , enchan ted towers, dragons, and other

‘

t rump

ery. Th is cultivated the laten t seeds of. poetry ; bu t hadso strong an effect on my imagination , that, to th is hour, i nmy nocturnal rambles , I somet imes keep a sharp look-ou tin suspicious places ; and though nobody can be more seept ical than I am i n such matters, yet i t often takes an effort

of ph ilosophy to shake off th ese idle terrors. The earl i estcomposi t ion that I recollect taking pleasure in , was The

Vision ofM i rza,’

anda hymn of Addison’

s beginn ing, How

are thy servan ts bl est, O Lord I part icu larly rememberon e half-stanza wh i ch was music to my boyish ear

For though on dreadful wh irls we hungH igh on the broken wave

3I met with these p ieces i n Mason ’s Engl ish Collect ion ,on e of my school-books. The fi rs t two books I ever readi n private, and wh ich gaveme more pleasu re than any

- two

3 2 MEMOIR or BURNS .

books I ever read'

since, were The L i fe of Hann ibal ,’ andThe History of S ir Will iam Wal lace.’ Hann ibal gavemy young ideas such a turn , that I used to strut i n rapturesup and down after the recru i t ing drum and bag

-p ipe, and

wish myself tall enough to be a soldi er wh il e the story ofWallace poured a Scottish prej udice i n to my veins, wh ichwill bo il along there t i ll the flood-gates of l ife shut in eternal rest .

Polem i cal div in i ty about th is t ime was putting thecountry half mad and I, amb i tious Of sh in ing i n conversation parti es on Sundays, between sermons, at funerals,&c., used a few years afterwards to puzzle Calv in ism withso much heat and i ndiscretion , that .I ra ised a hue and cry

of h eresy agai nst me, which has not ceased to th is hour.My v icin i ty to Ayr was of some advan tage to me. My

social disposi t ion , when not checked by som e modificationsof spiri ted pride,was l ike our catech ism defini tion of infinitude, wi thout bounds orlimits . I formed several connex ionswi th other younke rs, who possessed super io r advan tages ;the youngl ing actors who were busy i n the rehearsal o fparts, i n wh ich they were shortly to appear on the stage ofl ife, wh ere, alas I was dest i ned to drudge b eh ind . the

scenes . I t is not commonly at this green age, that our

young gentry have a j ust sense Of . the immense distanceb etween them and thei r ragged playfellows. It takes a fewdashes i nto theworld to give the y oung great man . t

'

nat proper, decen t, unnotic ing disregard for the poor, i nsignifican t,stupid devils,

'

themechanics andpeasantry around him, who

were, perhaps, born in the sam e vi llage . My young super iors never insulted the clouterly appearance of. my plo ughboy carcase, the twoex tremes ofwh i ch,

were often exposedto all the i nclemenci es of all the seasons. They would gi veme stray volumes of books among them,

e ven then , Icould p ick up some observat ions, and one, whose h eart, Iam sure, not even the Munny Begum

’

scenes have tai nted,

h elped me to a l i ttl e French . Parting wi th these my youngfri ends and benefactors, as they occasionally . went off for

MEMO IR or BURNS . 3 3

theEas t or West Indies, was often to me a sore afflict ionbu t I was soon called to more serious evils . My father

’

s

generous mast er died the farm proved a ru inous bargainand to clench them isfortune, we fell i n to the hands of afactor, who sat for the pictu re I have drawn of on e in mytale of Twa Dogs .’ My father was advanced i n l ife whenhemarri ed ; I was the eldes t of seven ch i ldren , and be,worn out by early hardsh ips, was unfi t for labour . Myfa ther’s spir i t was soon i rri ta ted, but not eas i ly broken .

Therewas a freedom in his l ease i n two years more, and toweather th es e two years, we retrenched our expenses. We

lived very poo rly : I was a dexterous ploughman for myage; and the n ex t eldest to mewas a brother (Gilb ert)whocould dr ive the plough very well, and help me to thrash thecorn . A novel-wr i ter m igh t, perhaps, have vi ewed th esescenes wi th some satisfaction, but so did no t I my indig

nation yet boils at the recollect ion of the scoundrel factor’

s

insolent threaten i ng letters, wh i ch used to set us all in

tears .

This kind of l ife—the cheerl ess gloom of a h erm i t,wi th the unceasi ng moi l of a gall ey-slave—brough t me tomy S ix teenth year ; a l i ttlebefore wh i ch peri od I fi rst commit ted the s in of rhyme . You know ou r country customof coupl ing a man and woman together as partners i n thelabours of harves t . In my fifteen th autumn my partn erwas a bewi tch ing creature, a year younger than myself.My scarci ty of Engl ish den ies me the power of doing herj ustice in that language, bu t you know the S cottish idiomshewas a bonn i e, sweet, sons i e lass.’ In short, she, al togeth er unwi ttingly to herself, i n i tiated me i n that del ici ouspassi on , wh i ch , i n spi te of aci d disappoin tmen t, gin-horseprudence, and book-worm ph i losophy, I hold to be thefi rs tOfhuman j oys, our dearest blessi ng here below ! How she

caugh t the con tagion I cannot tell ; you medical p eopletalk much of i nfection from brea th ing the same air, the

touch ,&c. but I n ever expressly sai d I lo ved her. Indeed, ,

I did not know myself why I l iked so much to lo i ter beh i nd5 n

3 4 MEMOIB or BURNS .

wi th her, when retu rn ing in the even ing from our labou rswhy the ton es of her voice made my h eart-strings thrill l ikean E olian harp and particularly why my pu lse beat sucha furious ratan , when I looked and fingered over her l i ttlehand to p ick ou t the cru el n ettle-st ings and th istl es . Amongher other love- i nspiri ng qual i ties, She sung sweetly and it

was her favouri te reel to wh i ch I attempted giving an em

bodied veh i cl e in rhym e. I was not so presumptuous as

to imagin e that I could make vers es l ike prin ted ones, composed by men who had Greek and

-

Lati n bu t my gi rl sunga song wh i ch was sa i d to b e composed by a smal l countrylai rd’s son, on on e of his father

’

s mai ds, wi th whom hewasi n lov e ; and I saw no reason why I m igh t not rhyme as

wel l as he for,excepting that he could smear sheep , and

cas t peats, his fathe r l iv ing i n the moorlands , he had nom ore scholar-craft than myself.

Thus wi th me began love and poetry, wh i ch at t imeshave .b een my only, and ti ll w ith i n the last twelve m onths,have b een my h igh est enj oym en t. My father struggled ontill he reached the freedom i n h is leas e, when he en teredon a larger farm, about ten m i les farther i n the coun try .

The nature Of the bargai n hemade was such as to throw a

l i ttle r eady money i n to h is hands at the commencemen t ofh is l eas e, otherwise the afl

'

air would have been impracticabl e. For four years we l ived comfortably here, bu t adifference commencing between him and h is landlord as toterms, after th ree years toss ing and wh i rl ing i n the vortexof l it igation , my father was j ust saved from the horrors ofa jai l by a consumption , wh ich , after two years prom ises ,kindly stepped i n

,and carried him away to where the

wicked ceas e from tro ubl ing, andwhere the weary are at

rest !’

It is during the t ime that we l ived on th is fa rm , thatmy l i ttlestory is most eventful . I was,

“

at thebeginn ing ofth is period, perhaps, themost ungain ly awkward boy i n theparish no solita irewas less acquain ted wi th theways ofthe world. What I knew of ancient story was ga thered

MEMOIB. or BURNS. 3 5

from Salmon’s andGu th ri e’s Geograph i cal G rammars and

the i deas I had formed of modern mann ers , of li terature,and cr i t icism, I got from the Spectator . Thes e, wi thPope's works, some plays Of Shakspeare, Tull and Dickson ou Agriculture, The Pantheon , Locke’s Essay on the

Human Unders tanding, S tackhouse’s History Of the Bibl e,Justice’s Bri tish Garden er’s Directory, Boyle

’

s Lectu res,Allan Ramsay

’

s worm, Taylo r’s Scrip tu re Doctri n e of O ri

ginal S in,A S elect Collection of Engl ish Songs, and Her

vey'

s M edi tat i ons, had form ed the whole of my reading.

The collection of songs was my vademecum. I pored overth em, driving my cart, o r walking to labour, song by song,verse by ve rs e ; carefully not ing the t rue tender, or sub

l ime , from afl'

ectat ion and fustian . I am con v i n ced I owe

to th is practi cemuch of my cri t i c-craft, such as i t is.In my seven teenth year, to givemy mann ers a brush,

1 wen t to a country danci ng-school . My father had an un

accoun table an tipathy agai nst these meet ings , andmy go ingwas, what to th is momen t I repen t, i n Opposi tion to hiswishes . My father, as I sa id before, was subj ect to strongpass i ons ; from that i nstance of disobedi ence i n me, he tooka so rt of disl ike to me, wh i ch , I b el i eve, was one cause ofthe diss ipat ion wh i ch marked my succeeding years . I saydiss ipat ion , comparat ively with the str ictness, and sobri ety,and regular i ty of presbyterian country l ife for though thewill-o’

-wisp meteors of though tless wh im were almos t thesole l igh ts of my path , yet early i ngrained p i ety and v i r tuekept me, fOr several years afterwards , with i n the l in e of innocence. The great m isfortun e of my l i fe was to wan t anaim. I had fel t early some sti rri ngs of amb i t ion , bu t theywere thebl ind grop ings of Hom er’s Cyclops round thewal lsof h is cav e. I saw my father

’

s s i tuat i on en ta il ed on meperp etual labour. Theonly two open i ngs by wh i ch I couldenter the temple of fortun e were the gate of n iggardly economy, or the path of l i ttl e ch i can i ng barga i n-making. The

fi rst is so con tract ed an apertu re I n ever could squeezemyself i n to i t ; the las t I always hated ; there was con

0 2

3 6 MEMOIR OF BURNS .

taminat ion in the' very entrance ! Thus abandoned of

aim or vi ew in l i fe, with a strong appeti te for soc iab il ity,as well from nat ive h ila ri ty, as from a pride of observat ionandremark; a cons ti tutional melancholy or hypochondriasmthat made me fly sol i tude ; add to these i ncen tives to soc iall ife, my reputat ion for bookish knowledge, a certa in wildlogical tal ent, and a strength of though t someth i ng l ike therudiments of good sense ; and i t wi ll not seem surpris i ngthat I was generally a welcome gues t wh ere I v isi ted, orany great wonder that always, where two or th ree met together, th ere was I among th em. But far beyond all oth erimpulses of my heart, was an p enchant d l

’

adorablemoitié

da genre huma in . My heart was completely t inder, and

was eternally l igh ted up by some goddess or other and, as

i n every other warfare in th is world, my fortun e was various sometimes I was received with favou r, and sometimesI was mortified with a repulse. At the plough , scythe, orreap-hook, I feared no competi tor, and thus I set absolutewan t at defiance ; and as I n ever cared farther fo r my labou rs than wh i le I was i n actual exercise, I spen t theevenings in theway after my own heart. A country ladseldomcarries on a love adven turewi thout an ass istan t confidant.I possessed a curiosi ty, zeal, and i n trep id dexteri ty, thatrecommended me as a proper second on these occas ions ;and I dare say I fel t as much pleasure i n b eing i n the se

cret of half the loves i n the parish of Tarbolton, as ever

did s tatesman i n knowi ng the i n trigues of half the cou rtsof Europe . The very goose-feather i n my hand seems toknow inst i nctively thewell-worn path of my imagination ,the favour i te them e of my song, and is with difficul ty re

strai ned from giving you a couple of paragraphs on the

love-adventures of my compeers, the humble inmates of thefarm-house and cottage bu t the grave sons of sci ence

,

amb i tion , or avarice baptiz e these th i ngs by the name offoll ies. To the sons and daugh ters of labour and povertythey arematters of the most seri ous nature : to them the

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3 8 MEMOIR OF BURN S .

over them most devoutly. I kept copi es of any of my ownl etters that pleased me, and a comparison between themand the composi t ion of most of my corresponden ts flatteredmy van i ty. I carri ed th is wh im so far, that though I hadnot three- farth in gs’ worth of bus i n ess i n the world, yetalmos t every post brough t me as many l etters as if I hadbeen a b road plodding son Of theday-book and ledger.

My l i fe flowed on much i n the sam e cou rse ti ll mytwenty- th i rd year. Vive l

’

amour, et vivela baga telle, weremy sole pr i nciples of action . T he addi tion of two moreauthors to my l ib rary gave me great pleasure S terne and

Mackenzi e, Tr istram Shandy and the Man of Feel i ng,

were my bosom favouri tes . Poesy was still a darl ing walkfor my m i nd, but i t was only i ndulged in according to theh umou r of the hou r. I had usually half-a-dozen or morep i eces on hand ; I took up one or oth er as i t sui ted the

momen tary ton e of them i nd , and dism issed the work as i tbordered on fat igu e . My pass i ons, wh en once l igh ted up ,raged l ike so many devi ls, t ill they got ven t i n rhyme and

then the conn ing over my verses, l ike a spell, soothed all

i n to qui et ! None of the rhymes of those days are i n prin texcept Wi nter, —a di rge,’ the eldes t of my printed p iecesThe Death of poor Maillie,

’ John Barleycorn ,’andsongs

fi rst, second, and th i rd. S ong second was the ebulli ti on ofthat pass ion wh ich ended theforement ioned school-busin ess.

My twen ty-th i rd year was to me an important era.

Partly through wh im , and partly that I wished to set aboutdoing someth i ng i n l ife , I j oined a flax-dresser i n a neighbouring town (Irvine) to learn his trade . Th is was an un

lucky ad’

ai r . Myit 4? and to fin ish the whole, as

wewere giv i ng a welcome ca rousal to the new year, theshop took fi re , and burn t to ashes, and I was left, l ike a

tru e poet, not worth a S ixpence .I was obl iged to give up th is scheme ; the clouds Of

m isfortun e were gathering th i ck round my father’

s h eadand,what was wors t of all, hewas v isibly far gone in a consumption and to crown my distresses, a bellefi lle, whom

MEMO IR or BURN S . 3 9

'

I adored, andwho had pledged her soul to m eet me i n the. field of matrimony, j ilted me, with pecul iar ci rcumstancesof mort ificat ion. The fin ish i ng evi l that brough t up the

rear of th is i nfernal fil e, was my const i tu t ional melancholy~ bei ng increased to such a degree, that for th ree months Iwas i n a state of m ind scarcely to be envied by thehopelesswretches who have got their mi tt imus, —depar t from me, yecursed !

From th is adven ture I learned someth i ng of a townl i fe ; but the pr i ncipal th ing wh i ch gave my m i nd a tu rn

,

was a fri endsh i p I form ed with a young fellow, a very noblecharacter, bu t a hapless son of m isfortune. Hewas theson

of a s impl e m echan ic ; but a great man i n the neighbou rhood taking him u nder his patronage, gave h im a gen teeleducat i on , wi th a v i ew of b ettering his s i tuat ion i n l ife.

The patron dyi ng j ust as hewas ready to launch out i n tothe world, the poor fellow i n despai r went to sea where,after a var i ety Of good and i l l fortun e, a l i ttl e b efore I wasacquainted wi th h im hehadbeen set on shore by an Amer ican privateer, on thewi ld coas t of Connaugh t, stripped ofevery th ing. I cannot qu i t th is poor fellow’

s story withoutadding, that he is at th is t ime master of a large WestIndiaman belonging to the Tham es.

His m i nd was fraugh t with i ndependence,magnan im i ty,and every manly v irtu e . I loved and admi red him to a

d egree of enthusiasm , and of course strove to im i tate him.

In somemeasure I succeeded I had pride b efore, but hetaugh t i t to flow in proper channels. His knowledge oftheworld was vastly super ior to m in e, and I was all attention to learn . Hewas the only man I ever saw who was agreater fool than myself where woman was the pres idingstar bu t he spoke of ill ici t love wi th the levi ty of a sa i lor,wh i ch h i therto I had regarded wi th horror. Here h isfri endsh ip did me a m isch i ef, and the consequence was,that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote the Poet’sWelcome .

”g My reading only i ncreased wh il e i n th is tow n

Rob the Rhymer’s Welcome to h is Bastard Ch ild.

’

40 MEMO IR OF BURN S .

by two stray volumes of Pamela, and on e of FerdinandCoun t Fathom, wh i ch gav e me some i dea of novels.Rhyme, except some rel igious p ieces that are in pri n t, Ihad given up but m eeting wi th Ferguson’s Scott ishPoems, I strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre wi th emu

lat ing vigour . When my father di ed, his all wen t amongthe h ell-hounds that prowl i n the kennel of j ust ice ; butwe made a sh i ft to collect a l i ttl e money i n the fam i lyamongst us, wi th wh ich , to keep us together, my brotherand I took a neighbouring farm . My b rother wanted myhair-brai ned imag inat ion, as well as my social and amorousmadness but i n good sense, and every sober qual ificat ion ,hewas far my.superior

I entered on th is farm with a full resoluti on , come,go to , I wi ll b e wise !’ I read farmi ng books, I calculatedcrops ; I attended markets ; and i n short, in spi te of thedevil, and theworld, and the fl esh, I b eli eve I should haveb een a wise man ; but the fi rst year, from unfortunatelybuy ing bad seed, the second from a late harvest, we losthalf o ur crops. Th is overse t all my wisdom, and I retu rned,

‘ l ike the dog to his vom i t, and the sow that was washed, to her wallowi ng in them i re.

’

I now began to b e known i n the neighbourhood as a

maker of rhymes . Thefirst of my poetic offspr i ng that sawthe l ight, was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calv i n ists, hoth of them drama tis

persona? i n my Holy Fa i r.’ I had a notion myself that

the p iece had some meri t ; but, to preven t the worst, Igave a copy of i t to a fri end, who was very fond of suchth i ngs, and told him that I could not guess who was theauthor of i t, but that

'

I thought i t pretty clever. Wi tha certa i n description of the clergy, as well as la i ty, i t metwi th a roar of applause. Holy Wi l li e

’

s Prayer’ n ex t

made its appearance, and alarmed thekirk-session so much,that they h eld several m eetings to look over their spiri tualarti llery, i f happily any of i t m igh t be poin ted agai nst profan e rhymers . Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me

MEMO IR OF BURNS . 4 1

on another s ide, with in poin t-blank sh ot o f th ei r heavi estm etal . Th is is the unfortunate story that gave r ise to myp rin ted poem ,

‘ The Lament .’ Th is was a most melancholy affair, wh ich I cannot yet b ear to r eflect on , and hadvery n early given me one or two of the pri ncipal qualificat ions fo r a place among thosewho have lost the chart, andmistaken the reckon ing of rational i ty . I gave up my partof the farm to my brother in truth i t was only nom i nallym ine; andmadewhat l i ttle preparat ion was i n my powerfor Jamai ca. But , before leav ing my nat ive coun try forever, I resolved to publ ish my poems. I weigh ed my productions as impartially as was i n my power I though t th eyhad m eri t ; and i t was a del ic ious idea that I should becalled a clever fellow

,even though i t should never reach

my ears—a poor n egro-driver—or perhaps a victim to tha ti nhospitable clime, and gon e to the world of sp ir i ts ! Ican truly say, that p auvre inconnu as I then was, I hadpretty nearly as h igh an idea of myself and of my worksI have at th is moment, when the publ ic has decided inthei r favour. I t ever was my op ini on that the m istakesand blunders, both i n a rat ional and rel igious poin t o fvi ew, of wh ich we see thousands dai ly gu i lty, are owi ng t othe ir ignorance of themselves. To know myself had beenall along my constan t study. I we igh ed mysel f alone ; Ibalanced myself wi th oth ers ; I watch ed every means o finformat ion , to see how much ground I occupied as a manand as a poet I studi ed assiduously Nature

’

s desi gn i n myformat ion—where the l igh ts and shades in my characterwere i ntended. I was pretty confiden t my poems wouldm eet wi th some applause ; bu t at the worst, the roar of

the Atlan tic would deafen the voice of censure, and the

novel ty ofWest Indian scen es make me forget n eglect. Ith rew ofl

‘

six hundred copi es, of wh ich I had got subscript i ons for abou t three hundred and fifty. My van i ty wash igh ly gratified by the reception I met w i th from the publ ic ; and bes ides

,I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly

“

r

twen ty pounds . Th i s sum came very seasonably, as I was

42 MEMO IR OF BURN S .

th i nking of i nden ting myself, for wan t of money to procu remy passage . As soon as I was master of n in e gui n eas , theprice of wafting me to the torri d zon e, I took a ste eragepas sage in the firs t sh i p that was to sai l from the Clyde,for

Hungry ruin had me in thewind.

’

I had been for some days skulking from covert tocovert, under all the terrors of a jai l ; as some i ll-advisedpeople had uncoupled themerci less pack of the law at my

h eels. I had taken the las t farewell of my few fr i ends ;my ch es t was on the road to Greenock I had composedthe las t song I Should ever measure i n Cal edon ia The

gloomy n ight is gather ing fast,’ wh en a letter from Dr

Blacklock to a fri end of m in e, overthrew all my schemes,by open ing new prospects to my poetic ambi ti on . The

doctor belonged to a set of cri tics, for whose applause Ihad not dared to hope . His op i n ion , that I would meetwi th encou ragemen t i n Edinburgh for a second edi tion ,fi red me so much , that away I posted for that c i ty, withouta s i ngle acquai n tance, or a s ingl e l etter of introduction .

The ban eful star that hadso long sh ed its blast ing influencein my zen i th , for once made a revolut ion to thenadir and

a kind Providence placed me under the patronage of oneof the noblest of men, theEarl of Glencai rn . Oubliemoi,

grand D ieu, sij ama is j e l’

oublie .’

I n eed relate n o farther. At Edinburgh I was i n a

new world ; I m ingled among many classes of men, but allof them new to me, and I was all atten tion to catch’ thecharacters and themanners l i v i ng as they rise.

’ WhetherI have profited, t ime will Show.

”

MEMO IR or BURNS . 43

CHAPTER IV.

H IS EDUCATION .

W hat’s a’ your jargon 0’

your schools ,Your Latin names fo r horns and stoo ls ;If h onest Naturemade you fools,

W'

hat sairs your grammarsYe

’d better taeu up spades and shoals,

Or knappim hammers.

A set 0’ dull conceited h ashes,

Confuse their brains in co llege classes ,

They gang in st irks, and come out a sses,

Plain tru th to speak ;And syne they th ink t o climb Parnas sus

By dint 0 ’ Greek !

BURNS was put to school i n h is seventh year along wi thh is brother Gilbert, who must th en only hav e been i n h isfifth. T heir teacher was a young man of the name ofMurdoch , who was h i red by five cottagers to teach th ei rchildren ,

'

and board wi th each fam i ly by tu rns. A lad in

such dependen t circums tances is generally the very bes tandmost attent ive of all teachers, especially wh en hecom esso often i n con tact wi th the paren ts and ch i ldren togetherandMr Murdoch seems to hav e b een both a dil igen t andi ngen ious youth , and enthusias ti cally at tached to his pupils.

The two boys were both apt learners, Gilbert rather theb etter, as well as the better tempered and mo re ch eerful .Robert appears to have been a dour sulky cal lan—his intense jealousy Of all superiori ty probably even then keeping ’

h im unhappy and m elanch oly . Mr Murdoch, thei rmas ter, says, that he tr i ed to teach th em a l i ttl e sacredm usi c, but found th is impracticable

,there b eing no

musi c in e i ther of thei r souls . That as for Robert , h is earwas so completely dull , that he could not disti ngu ish one

tun e from another, and h is voice so untun eable , that hecould not frame a note , andwas l eft beh i nd by all the boysand girls of the school .

44 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

Th is is a most startl ing posi t ion . It was no wonderpoo r Robert was sulky andmelancholy—to th ink that theboy, i n whose soul the v ery springs of mus i c swelled, shouldhave been l eft b eh in d and laughed at by every gap ingragged u rch i n in the school , is really unspeakably ridicu

lous . I wish hehad threshed them allwell—theboys at least.I th i nk I see h im wi th h is dark looks standing i n a corner,and bumm i ng away l ike a dron e bee, and the girls looking askance at h im—as much as to say, Master, why notmake that dron ing cu i f hold h is peace —Was i t anywonder Robert Burns was a dour melancholy boy —No,110 , M r Murdoch , you must not try to impose upon

p oets i n that way. That he had a stiff and untunablevoice

,every one who kn ew him wi ll allow ; and that he

could n ever s ing a stavea ll his l ife to any purpose I adm i t,but to tel l me that Robert Burns had no ear for musi c, orco uld not distingu ish tun es, and appreciate their excellenci es

,is the same as to tell me i t is not summer makes the

flowers to spr ing, nor wi n ter that makes them fade. The

gen eral strai n of Burns’ poet ry prov es h im to have hadoneof the b es t tuned ears i n theworld. . Indeed, i f we exceptTom Campbell ’s poetry and Moore’s pall ing harmomcon,

there are no stra i ns more mellifiuous, vari ed , and su i ted tothe various subj ects than those of Burns, wh i ch proves thetrue perception of his ear beyond dispu ta tion . S irWal terS cott had no voice , but who that reads his poetry wouldsay that hewas void of an ear ? So far from i t, tha t hewasparticularly fond of mus i c, knew every old Highland and

Lowland air, and had many especial favouri tes amongthem , and yet to hav e h eard him attempt s inging, any nu

i n i tiated j udge would_h ave deemed he had no ear. He

was accustomed for a number of years to treat his sporti ngfri ends wi th a grand annual chas e i n the v i ci n i ty ofAbbotsford, when our greyhounds were pi tched agai nsteach other, and a great dea l of sport wen t on . Then at

di nner i t was the law that every gen tleman present was tos ing one song at least. t was on those occas ions only that

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46 MBMOIR or BURNS .

of small consequence,but i f he was only that space of

t ime , i t was hardly worth men tion ing i n such terms as theworthy dom i n i e has done .

Burns con tinu ed study ing the French at all his l eisu rehours, andmade h imself a cons iderable profici ent, so muchso that he could read and understand any French author i nprose. He nex t procured the rudimen ts of the Lati ntongu e, and began wi th the assistance of Mr Robertson ,schoolmaster at Ayr, to study that language, but found i tdry andunprofi table , and cou ld not st ick closely to i t, rarelyabove a week at a t ime, and sometimes bu t a few days, bu tu n iformly return ed to i t when any way chagrin ed ordisappoin ted by the lasses. Th is is excess ively good , andrates theLat in much as I hav e always est imated i t . WhenB urns was disappoin ted i n his love affairs, he returned .

to his Lati n for a cold bath .

In short, Burns got suffici en t educati on for a poet ofnature, and the further he had proceeded wi th the one, hewould have retrograded i n the other. There is no suchth ing as pure unsoph istica ted nature can spring from the

i n terior of a college for though blinks of i t may sh i ne ou th ere and there , i t is instantly clouded by affectation . Burnswas qu i te sens ible of this,as appears from his droll stanza

G ie me ae spark o’ Nature’s fire,That’s a’ the learning I desi reThen th o" I drudge th ro

’

dub and m i reAt pleugh or cart,

My muse, tho’ hamely in attire,May touch the heart. ”

Nei ther was Bu rns’ reading at all defici en t. Before hereached his si xteen th year, hehad pe1 useda share of all thesorts of li terature in his country . He hadread S tackhouse’3History of the Bible, —Derham

’s Physi co andAs tro- theolo

gy ; (th is latter a v ery excellen t work for the contemplat ion of a young m i nd The adven tures of S irWill iamWallace, un iformly the fi rs t work that attaches a S cotsmanto the poetry and the freedom .

of his coun try andwh ich

MEMO IR or BURNS . 7

poured a tideof Scottish prej udice into his veins,wh ich boi ledthere indeed , t il l the floodgates of l i fe shut i n eternal rest.Then he had a perusal o f Salmon’s Geography,—Locke ont heHuman Unders tanding,—Pope ’s poetica l works, i ncl udi ng h is Il iad, a glori ous poem i n my est imat ion ,—su ndryworks on Agriculture and Garden ing, -Taylor on OriginalS in . He had, moreover, Harvey

’s Medi tat ions, a work that

was to b e found on every Scottish peasan t’

s book deal, alongwi th Boston ’s Fourfold state of man,

—Ramsay’

s GentleSheph erd, and some large sheaves of Ballads . All theseBurns possessed i n h is early youth , andwhat occas i on hadany lyrical poe t for more ? He had besides Ferguson ’

s

poems, and theworks of Shakspeare, the best book i n theworld, next to the O ld Testam ent, for a young poet to p eruse. If we add to these Pamela, Peregrin e Pickl e, and

Count Fathom , and p erhaps othe rs, wh i ch I may have forgot —I say agai n , what occas i on had any young poet fo rmore ? It is not ex tens iv e l earn ing, nor extensive miscellaneous reading that he r equ ires, i t is a few good model sto adm i re and study closely . I canno t th i nk of such a treasure as he possess ed i n the davs of his youthful ardour,wi thou t en vy ing him . These, as I said, hepossessed beforereach ing his se ven teenth year, and subsequ en t to th is hespen t a summer at the school of Kirkoswald, i n the studyof m ensurat ion and som e of the h igh er b ranches of ari thmetic, i n wh i ch hemade good progress, and th us at mau

hood nom i nally term i nated his educat ion . But by th ist ime the book of nature was u nfolded to him, so thatbrightest era of his was st ill beginn ing to b egin .

Wh i le on th is subj ect I cannot avoid m ention ing an

an ecdote wh i ch pleased me exceedingly, hav i ng once ex

perienced the feel ing so decidedly myself —Wh en Burnswas abou t eigh teen years of age, his fri end and preceptor,Mr Murdoch , pai d a v isi t to the fam i ly, to take leave ofthem all before proceeding i nto Carr ick, and brough t wi thh im a presen t of an English Grammar, and the tragedy ofTi tus Andron icus.

’By way of pass i ng the even ing, the

E 2

48 MEMO IR or BURNS .

domi nie , with an i nconcei vable perv ers ion of taste, beganto read the beastly tragedy to the fam ily circle, wh i ch soonhad the delicacy and good sense to stop him . The olds i re des i red Mr Murdoch to leav e i t n evertheless, fort hough they decl in ed hear ing i t at present, they m igh tread i t at their le isure ; but Rober t strenuously i nsisted,that i f i t were left th ere, he Would burn i t in the fire.

So the dom i n i e was obl iged to take h is present away homewi th h im , and l eave the School for Love ’ in its place .Well done Robert fond as you were of books, you werequ ite righ t not to suffer such a t issu e of fou l garbage tosettle in the cot where your s isters resided. I first readthat abom i nable tragedy on board of a S tornoway sloop,off the coast of Suth erland ; andwh en I came to thatplace where the mu tilated form of the lovely Lavin iaenters

,I had up my hand to toss the volum e i nto the sea,

bu t the genu ine m etal that i t con tai n ed i n Macbeth, KingL ear, and Cor iolanus, saved it.

CHAPTER V .

A S UMMARY or THE YOUTHFUL ADVENTURE S or BURNS .

0 Life ! h ow pleasant is th y morning,

Young Fancy’s rays the h ills adorn ing !

Cold pausing Caution ’s lesson scorning,

We frisk away,

Like school-boys at theex pectedwarning,To j oy and play.

Wewander there, wewander here,Weeye t he roseupon the brier,Unmindful th at the thorn is near,

Among the leavesAnd t hough t he puny wound appear,

Sh ort wh i leit grieves.

WHY the sons of Will iam Burn es should have changedthe fam ily n am e, is rather unaccountable, bu t i t must have

MEMO IR or BURNS . 49

been wi th his acqu iescence for i f hehaddisapproved of i t,i t would not have been done. But i t was only i n the

spell ing, for the pronunciat ion of the name by the originalspelling is the very sam e to th is day i t is possible that i tmay hav e originated i n his conscious change of principles,bu t th is is m ere conj ectu re .The first adventure i n wh i ch we find our Bard engaged,

was rather an unpleasan t on e, and occultly emblemat ical ofh is future fortun es . W hi l e his youthful mother was st illon the straw, the m iserable clay cottage fell above herand the i n fan t bard , who both narrowly escaped, fi rstbe ing smothered to death, and then of being starved bycold, as they were con veyed through the frost and snow byn igh t to another dwell ing. It is a p ity that n ei th er benor Gilbert have l eft us any school anecdotes about him,

how he demeaned h imself among h is youthful compeersi fhewas a good bat tler, and gav e and got frequent bloodynoses i n the presence of ”

his associate nymphs ,—or i f hewas Shy toward the latter, and pretended to shun them .

These Should all have been told, andm igh t hav e been exp ressed in a few words. That hewas overbearing amongthem I have n o doub t, and consequently i l l l iked, for thatwas his general characte r th rough l i fe . Save for h issplendid ab il iti es, he never would have been ei ther gen erally respected or belov ed . James Moffat, Esqui re, and I,once got an old acquai ntance of the Poet’s i n to drink wi thus at Cumnock. Mofi

‘

at ,who was an enthusias tic adm i rer ofBurns, and sung many of his songs v ery well , exam i n ed theman , who was a weav er, most m i nu tely abou t him . He appeered to me to have known very l i ttle about Burns. Iremember only one express i on dist inctly, He was ama ista man when I was but a callan , but I was aye rather fearedfor him. Except among the gla iket b izz i es , hewas a v errai ll l iki t lad wh en he was young.

”Th is s eems to have

been the Bard’s own feel ings , from the following stanzascomposed by him when Si tt ing between the st il ts of theplough

50 MEMOIR or BURN S .

Ah wae is me, my mother dear,A man of strive you’ve born me ;

For sair contention I m aun bear,They hate, revile, and scorn me.

I ne’er could lend on b ill or bond,Per cent h as never blest me

And borrowing, on the oth er hand,The deil a anewill trust me.

Yet though a coin denied Wigh t,By Fortune quite discarded,

Y ou see h ow I’

m , baith day and nigh t,By lad and las s blackguarded.

From the time that poor Burns was able to put his handto a t urn

,hewas obl iged to toi l hard for his own and h is

parents’ bread, wh ich he seems to hav e don e wi th all the

energy and good wi l l of themost dutiful son . His fathertook the farm of Moun t Ol i phan t from his kind master andfri end, Provost Ferguson , who l en t him £ 100 to help himto stock i t . The farm was between eighty and n i netyacres, and the ren t was to b e £40 for the first s ix years,and £46 afterwards. Th is was only ten sh i ll ings per acreat the h ighes t, and one would th i nk to read th is ch eapenough ; but the soi l i t seems was ungen ial, and, despi teevery ex ert ion and retrenchmen t, gave annual tokens ofbeati ng them . They l ived perfectly reti red, and saw

nobody but them embers of th eir own fam i ly. The fatherwas the only companion of the boys, and the sons of thefather. They toi led together, con v ersing as they toil ed,and eat thei r meals together in ch eerful converse. The

girls read, and the boys studied ari thmeti c under thei rfather’s tui tion i n the even ing, and then eve ry day wasconcluded by fam i ly worsh i p .

But i t soon becamemani fest to them all, that th is p rim itive l ife was not long to continu e, andthat thehappy fam ilycirclewas to be broken up . The produce of Moun t Oliphant was l i ttl e more than sufficien t to supply a scantymeans of subsistence to the family, and old Burnes soon gotin to difficulti es. His cattle died

,or were lost by acciden t

MEMO IR or BURNS. 1

his crops fai led, and debts were accumulat ing. To thesebuffetings of m isfortun e, the fam ily could only opposehard labour, and themost r igi d economy. They l ived so

spari ngly, that butcher m eat was a stranger i n th ei r dwelli ng for years. They a ll wrough t, andhad no hired servan t.Among the rest, Robert exerted h imself to the utmostof his youthful s trength , and rath er beyond i t. At th irteen he took thebarn , and th rashed thecrop ,with occasionalassistancefrom Gilb ert. At fifteen he rel i eved his fatherand took the plough , wh ile Gilbert drove the team ; and,

to help the old man forward wi th theodd th i ngs, th ey wereobl iged to th rash even ing andmorn ing. They had l ikewiseto mow the hay, reap i n harvest, and go throu gh thewholelabou r of the farm, and yet all would not do . Robert i srepresented as an excellen t and hard worker bu t th is oppressi on so early in l ife, doubtless con tr ibuted to m ould hisform i n to the peasan t make wh ich he bore through l ife.Th is is a gri evous picture of an i ndustri ous and virtuous

fam i ly, representing one of those cases wh i ch have been ofso frequent occurrence of late years. There is no employmen t so deligh tful as that of a farmer, when he finds at theend of the year that he can make the two ends to meet .But when he finds that for all his toi l and care, he is anannual loser, and still reducing his smal l stock instead ofincreasi ng i t, and is engaged i n a bargai n wh i ch he cannotget qu i t of, I know of no more vexat ious circumstance .

It is amaz ing what exert ions a fam i ly wi ll make, when th eyfind that success is i n thei r power ; but when once th eyfind that success is impracticable, then all goes wrong togeth er. Th ere is one th ing qui te man ifest, wh i ch is, thatold Burn es was too poor a man ever to expect success infarm ing. To hav e b een obliged to borrow £ 100 to helpto stock a farm at £40 of rent, was ou t of the question .

Why, i n those days, the sum i tself was qu i te suffici ent, sothat Wi ll iam Burnes must have been l i teral ly worth noth ing. We hear n o more of that £ 100 ; bu t when ProvostFerguson di ed, that sum would necessari ly be called up,

52’

MEMO IR OF BURNS .

and then where was the stock of old Burn es to carry onthe farm ing and support a fam i ly ?The angu ish of m i nd wh ich such a spiri t as the Poe t’s

must have suffered under such ci rcumstances , may easi ly beconceived. He sawhis father wearing old, andbroken downboth in health and Spirits, and no prospects open ing toh imself, bu t the toi l of a galley Slave, and all that to il expended to no purpose. Was it any wonder that Burnsbecame a m elancholy looking man A most unhappy manhe had been during his whole l ife, save i n his hou rs ofexci tation ; andwhen his hard fortun e and temperament ofm i nd are taken i nto consideration , there is no man,

norwas th ere ever a man , whose casual indulgenci es i n love anddrink I can mor e readily excuse. About th is period too,he began to complain frequently of a dull , heavy headachein the even ings, wh ich I can easi ly account for from ex

perience. He had b een s i tt i ng up wi th some of the lassesthe n igh t before, and doubtless was glad to escape away toh is bed wi thou t the prayers, on wh ich , had he wa i ted, hewould , i n all l ikel ihood

,have been catched so sound asleep,

that p erhaps all the fam ily could not have awaked him.

Gilbert says, wi th great S implici ty , that th is dul l headachei n the even ing by degrees was changed for a palp itat ion ofthe h eart ; honest man ! one would hav e though t hem ighthave accounted for th is at any rate, cons idering how wellhe seems to have been acquai nted wi th h is brother’s ways.

Old Burnes, however, conti nued to wrestl e on wi th the

farm ofMoun t Ol iphant, for theSpaceof el even years, whenhe took advantage of a stipula ted break i n the lease, andgave i t up, taking i n its place the farm of Lochlea i n theparish of Tarbolton , wh i ch he possessed, upon thewhole,seven years, at the end of wh ich period he found h imselfa ru ined man . But before any legal execution took place,he departed from th is world of sin and sorrow

,leaving

h is fam i ly i n precarious andm ean ci rcumstances .Burns was seventeen y ears of agewhen the fam i ly w en t

to settle at Lochlea , in the parish of Tarbolton and soon

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54 MEMO IR or BURNS .

sore by the heart, but wh i ch I am sure was a happy riddance in his circumstances. Another fathered a ch i ldupon him and I would have given a S i xpence to have seenthemother, ofwhom th ere is n ever a word sa i d; but th is firstborn upset his polem ical divin ity consi derably , and broughthim before a crowded congregation in Mauchl i n e ki rk, todo penance publicly for h is crime. The Rev. Mr Auld,alluding more to the culpri t’s general b ehaviour than perhaps he ough t to have done, was exceedingly severe uponhim. Th is exh ib it ion rankled i n them i nd of Burns all hislife

, and I do not wonder at i t for though many a betterman has been i n the same predicament, and stood in the

same si tuat ion and though theRev. Clergyman was onlydoing his duty, yet there aredifferen t ways of performi ng anungracious task ; andwhether i t was theci rcumstance i tself,of Burns being placed on the stool of repentance, or thewords expressed by Daddy Auld, certai n i t is that fromthe commencemen t of the rebuke, wh en the parson calledout Robert Burns, you appear there confess ing yourabom inable,” &c. every belle i n church Skulked beh indher fan,

or turned away her face, and every young man at

l east lai d his face down on his arm . But a young man orwoman lying und er scandal i n thewest of Scotland, i s thesame as being excommunicated, SO Burns was obliged tocomply, thou gh i t galled h im sore .

Shortly after th is, there had certa inly been anotheroccu rrence of the same kind ; for I can never reconcileall the poems relat ing to the same subj ect

,wi th thei r

dates, as alluding to the same e vent. Burns’ ‘ Epistl es,’

&c. referring to th ese occurrences , were much more su i tedto the characters of tl_1_ose to whom they were addressed,than modelled to his own. In them all—I m ean , The

rant in dog the daddie o’

t ,’

The Poet’s Welcome,’ and

the Epistle to Rankin’—he pretends to laugh i t off, andeven to glory i n his sham e, threaten ing a double portionof crime but the truth is man ifest that his feel ings werequ i te the reverse, and that he felt degraded, repentan t,

MEMO IR or BURNS . 55

and unhappy, on accoun t of his fal l ings off. They cameupon him a t the t ime of his father ’s death, and his fam ily

'

s

m isfortun es and had i t been for noth i ng farther than thes tate of the hapless girls and their bab i es , I th i nk I can.read the h ear t of Burns so far, as to pronounce that h isfeel ings were at that period pregnan t wi th any th i ng b utlev i ty. No, no though his false pride reco iled from lett ingh is j ov ial associates even guess how l i ttle he was able todrown the ‘

S till small vo ice yet I am certain that thereverence wi th wh ich he ever regarded the m emory of hisvenerable father, whom he had so recently buri ed, and theconsciousness that hewas b r inging addi tional sorrow and

shame to his mother’s widowed fires i de, must have wrungh is sensi tive h eart to the very withers.

S ti ll I must say, that, taking his brother’

s narrative, andh is own l igh tsome on e together, wi th all theother corroborat ive evidence, the whole of his career at th is eventfulp eriod was on e h igh-wrought farce. At the notable schoolof Kirkoswald, a smuggling v illage on the Carr i ck shore ,besides trigonometry, he learned to dance - be l earned todrink, and mix i n scen es of roar ing riot wi th the smug

glers and, bes t of all, he learned to fall i n love, andmakep ri vate ass ignations. Then , of course, began his brigh tcareer of poetry so that what he says of h imself appea rsto have been l i terally true, that he had seen human naturei n a new phas is, and return ed hom e very considerably improved . Good tha t - bu t what was sti ll better, he says

that his passi ons, once ligh ted up , raged l ike v ery devils t illthey got ven t i n rhyme .

At Irv i n e agai n , although he set fi re to the tow, and

burn t the es tablishment, he learned from a broken sa i lorthe ruinous art of holding l igh t of i ll ici t love . Thenhe established the Bach elor’s club , and became a bold,fluent

,and notable disputant and from th is club, in wh ich

he was qui te the cock of the company, I am i ncli ned t oth i nk that both his ready powers of conversat ion and h is .

o verbeari ng manner had th ei r spr ing. He also became a

56 MEMOIB or BURNS.

free mason , and attended two lodges, So that i n fact all thist imehewas progress i ng very fast .But the foremen tion ed Bachelor’s Club appears to me

to have been so materially i nstrumen tal i n form i ng ourBard’s character, I must here give the deta i l of i t. Abou tthe end of the year 1780, our Poet, h is brother, and fiveother young peasants of theneighbourhood, formed~ them

selves i nto a society of th is sort, the declared obj ects of

wh ich were to relax themselves after toil,to promote

social i ty and friendsh i p, and to improv e the m ind . The

laws and regulat ions were furn ished by Burns.* Themem

The following were the Rules and Regu lations of the

Bach elor’s Clubl st . The club shall meet at Tarbolton every fourth Monday

nigh t, wh en a question on any subject shall be proposed, disputedpoints of religion only excepted, in themanner hereafter di rected wh ich question is to be debated in the club, each m embertakingwhatever side he th inks proper.2d. Wh en the club is met, the president, or, he failing, som e

one of the members till he come, Shall take h is seat ; then the

other m embers shall seat them selves, those wh o are for one sideof the question, on the president’s righ t hand and those whoare for the other S ide on h is left wh ich of them shall have therigh t hand is to be determ ined by the president. The presidentand four of the members, being present, shall have power totransact any ordinary part of the society’s bus iness.

3 d. The club met and seated, the president shall read the

question out of the club’

s book of records (wh ich book is alwaysto be kept by the president,) then the two m embers nearest thepresident Shall cast lots who of them Sh all speak first, and ao

cording as the lot shall determ ine, the m ember nearest thepresident on th at side shall deliver h is Op inion, and the m embernearest on the oth er side shall reply to h im ; th en the secondmember of the side that spoke first then the secondm ember ofthe Side that spoke second ; and so on to the end of the com

pany ; but if th ere be fewer members on one side than on the

other, when all the m embers of the least side h ave Spoken ao

cording to their places, any of th em , as th ey pleas e among th emselves, may reply to the remainingm embers of the oppos ite sidewhen both sides h ave Spoken, the president shall give h is opinion ,after wh ich they may go over it a second or more times, and so

continue the question.

4th . The club shall then proceed to the choice of a question

MEMO IR or BURNS . 57

hers we re to meet after the labou rs of the day were over,once a week, i n a small public-house i n t he village wh ereeach should offer his opin ion on a given quest ion

'

or sub

jcet, supporting i t by such arguments as he thought proper.

for the subject of next nigh t’

smeeting. The president shall firstpropose one, ,

and any oth er m ember who chooses may proposemore questions and whatever one of them is most agreeable tothe majority of the m embers, shall be the subject of debate nextclub- nigh t.5th . The club shall

,lastly, elect a new president for the next

meeting : the president shall first nam e one, then any of the club

m ay name another, and whoever of them has the majority of

votes shall be duly elected allowing the president the first vote,and the casting vote upon a par, bu t none other. Then, after ageneral toast to m istresses of the club

,they shall dism iss.

6 th . There Shall be no private conversation carried on duringthe time ofdebate, nor shall any m ember interrupt another wh ilehe is Speaking, under the penalty of a reprimand from the president for the first fault, doubling h is Share of the reckoning for

the second, trebling it for the th ird, and so on in proportion forevery other fault, provided always however that any m ember mayspeak at any time after leave asked, and given by the president.All swearing and profane language, and particularly all obsceneand indecent conversation, is strictly proh ib i ted, under the

sam e penalty as aforesaid in the first clause of th is article.

7th . N0 m ember, on any pretence whatever, shallm ention anyof the club

’s affairs to any oth er person but a broth er member,

under the pain of being excluded and particularly ifany member shall reveal any of the speeches or affai rs of the club, with a

view to ridicule or laugh at any of the rest of the members, heshall be for ever excommunicated from the society ; and the restof the m embers are desired, as much as poss ible, to avoid, andhave no communication wi th h im as a friend or com rade.

8th . Every member shall attend at the m eetings, without hecan give a proper excuse for not attending and i t is desired thatevery onewho cannot attend, will sendh is excuse with some otherm ember ; and he wh o Shall be absent th ree m eetings withoutsending such excuse, Shall be summoned to the next club- nigh t,when, if he fail to appear, or send an excuse, he shall be excluded.

9 th . The club shall not cons ist ofm ore than S ixteen members,all bach elors, belonging to the parish of Tarbolton except a

b rother m ember m arry, and in that case he may be continued, ifthe majority of the club th ink proper. No person Shall be ad

m it ted a member of th is society, without the unanimous consent5 F

58 MEMOIR or BURNS .

The debate was to be conducted wi th order and decorumand after i t was fin ished, the m embers were to choose a

subj ect for discuss ion at the ensuing m eeting. The sum

expended by each was not to exceed three-pence . and,

wi th thehumble potation that th is could procure, th eywereto toast their m istresses

, and to cult ivate fri endsh ip wi theach other. Th is socie ty conti nued i ts meet ings regularlyfor some time ; and i n the autumn of 1782, wish ing topres erve some accoun t of thei r proceedings, they purchaseda book, i n to wh ich th ei r laws and regulat i ons were copi ed,wi th a preamble, contai n i ng a short h istory of the ir transactions down to that period. Th is cu rious documen t,wh ich is ev iden tly thework of ou r Poet, has been discovered, and i t deserves a place in his memoi rs .

*

of theclub ; and any m ember may wi thdraw from the club altogether, by giving a notice to the president in writing of his de

parture.

loth . Every man, proper for a m ember of th is society, musthave a frank, honest, open heart above any th ing dirty ormeanand must be a professed lover of one or more of the female sex .

No haugh ty, self- conceited person, who looks upon h imself assuperior to the rest of the club , and especially no mean- Spirited,worldly mortal, wh ose only will is to h eap up money, shall uponany pretence whatever be adm itted. In Short, the proper personfor th is society is, a ch eerful, honest- hearted lad, who, if he hasa friend that is true, and a m istress that is k ind, and as much

wealth as genteelly to make both ends meet—is just as happy as

th is world can make h im .

H ist ory of theRise, P roceedings , and Regula tions of the

Bachelor’s Club.

Of b irth or blood we do not boast,Nor Gentry does our club afford;

But ploughm en and mechanics weIn Nature’s Simple dress record.

’

“ As the great end of human society is to become wiser and

better, th is ough t therefore to be the principal view of every m an

in every station of l1fe. But as experience has taugh t us, thatsuch studies as inform the h ead and mend the heart, when longcontinued, are apt to exhaust the faculties of the m ind, i t hasb een found proper to relieve and unbend the m ind by som e employment or other, that may be agreeable enough to keep its

MEMOIB or BURNS .

“

59

It is wi th regret that the sequel of the h istory of theBachelor’s Club of Tarbolton mus t b e told . I t su rv ivedseveral years after o ur poet r emov ed from Ayrsh i re, b ut n olonger susta i n ed by his talen ts, o r cemen ted by his social

powers in exercise, but at the sam e time not so serious as to exhaust them . But, superadded to th is, by far the greater part of

m ankind are under the necess i ty of ea rn ing the sus tenance ofhuma n life by the labour of their bodies, wh ereby, not only thefacu lties of the m ind, but the nerves and s inews of the body, areso fatigued, that it is absolutely necessary to have recourse tosom e amusement or divers ion, to relieve thewearied man , worndown wi th the necessary labours of life.

As the b est of things, however, have been perverted to theworst of purposes, so, under the pretence of am usement anddiversion, men h ave plunged into all themadness of riot and dissipat ion and, instead of attending to the granddes ign of humanlife, th ey have begun with extravagance and folly, and endedwithgu ilt and wretch edness. Impressed with th ese considerations,We, thefollowing lads in the parish ofTarbolton, viz , Hugh Reid,Robert Burns, G ilbert Burns, Alexander Brown,Walter Mitchel

,

Thomas Wrigh t, andWilliam M‘Gavin, resolve, for our m utualentertainment, to unite ou rselves into a Club or society, undersuch rules and regulations, that wh ile we sh ould forget our ca resand labours in m irth and divers ion, wem igh t not t ransgress thebounds of innocence and decorum and after agreeing on these,and some other regulations, we h eld our fi rs t m eeting at Tarbol

ton, in the house of John Rich ard, upon the evening of the 1 1 th

of November, 1780, commonly called Hallowe’en, and afterchoosing Robert Burns president for the nigh t, we proceeded todebate on th is question, Suppose a youngman , bred a farm er,bu t without any fortune, has i t in h is power to m arry either of

two women, the one a girl of large fortune, but neither handsom ein person, nor agreeable in conversation, but who can manage thehousehold affairs well enough ; the oth er of th em a girl everyway agreeable in person, conversation, and behaviour, but withou t any fortune : which of th em shall hechoose ?’ Finding our

selves very h appy in our society, we resolved to continue to m eetonce a month it: the sam e hous e, in the way and m anner proposed, and shortly th ereafter we chose Robert Ri tch ie for

another member. In May, 1781, we brough t in David S illar, ( ab rother poet,) and in June , Adam Jamaison, as m embers. Aboutthe beginning of the year 1782, we adm ittedMatth ew Patterson,and John Orr, andin June followingwechose Jam esPatterson as a

proper broth er for such a soc iety. The club being thus increas ed,we resolved to meet at Tarbolton on the race- nigh t, the July

60 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

afl'

ections, its meetings lost much of thei r attraction ; andat length in an evi l hour, diss ensi on ar ising amongs t itsmembers, the insti tu tion was given up, and the recordscommi tted to the flames. Happily the preamble and the

regulations were spared, and are t ransmit t ted to posteri ty.

After the fam i ly of our hard removed from Tarbolton tothe n eighbourhood of Mauchl i n e, he and his brother werereques ted to assist i n form i ng a sim i lar i nsti tu t i on there.The regulat ions of the club at Mauchl i n e were n early thesame as those of the club at Tarbolton but on e laudablealteration was made. The fines for non -attendance had at

Tarbolton been Spen t i n enlarging their scanty potat ionsat Mauchl in e i t was fixed, that themoney so aris i ng, Shouldbe set apart for the purchase of books, and the fi rst workprocured i n th is manner was the M irror, the separatenumbers of wh ich were at that t im e recen tly collected andpublished i n volumes. After i t, followed a number ofother works, ch i efly of the same nature, and among thesetheLounger. The soci ety of Mauchl i n e still subsists, andappeared i n the l ist of subscribers to the fi rst edi t ion of theworks of its celebrated associate.Whether in these humble soci eti es of wh i ch he was a

member, Burns acqu ired much direct i nformat ion , mayperhaps b e quest ioned . It cannot however be doubted,that by collision , the faculti es of his m i nd would b e exci ted,that by p ractice, his hab i ts of enunciat ion would b e esta .

blisbed, and thus we have some explanation of that earlycommand of words and of expression wh i ch enabled himto pou r forth his thoughts i n language not unworthy of h isgen ius, andwh i ch , of all his endowments, seemed, on h isappearance i n Edinburgh, the most extraordinary.

* We

following, and have a dance in honour of our society. Accordingly we did meet, each one with a partner, and spent the evening in such innocence and m erriment, such cheerfulness and goodh umour, th at every broth er will long remember it with pleasureand deligh t.”

It appears that our Poet made more preparation than m igh t

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/join

’

62 MEMO IR or BURNS .

CHAPTER VI.

PER IO D OF HI S RE S IDENCE AT MO S SG IEL .

For me, I’m on Parnas sus’ brink ,

Riviu’t hewords to gar them clink ;

VVh iles dais’t wi’ love, wh iles dais ’t W 1’ drink ,

W i’ j ads or masons ;

And wh iles, but aye owre late, I th inkBraw sober lessons.

NOTWITH STANDING the ru i n wh i ch overtook the Poet’sfather immediately before his death , the fam ily had cons

t rived i ndividually to save someth ing ou t of the fire ; fore ven before their father’s to tal bankruptcy, the two brothers had taken the farm of Mossgiel , belonging to the earlof London, on a sub-l ease from Mr Gavi n Ham il ton ,Wri ter ,i. e. attorney, i n Mauchl in e, as a retreat for the fam ily fromthe storm wh i ch they saw approach i ng. Th is farm was

much on the same scal e as the last, consisting of 1 18acres,and rated at £90. It was completely a fam i ly con cern ,each contributing a share to the stocking of i t, and eachreceiving victuals and wages according to the rate of thet ime, - Robert’s and Gilbert’s wages being £7 per annumeach . Th is fam i ly contract remain ed for the space of four

years : the m i ld and affectionate Gilbert says, that all th iswh i l e Robert’s expenditure n ever exceeded his sl ender income of seven pounds a year ; but th is, to me, is pas tcompreh ensi on .

On h is entry to the farm of Mossgi el , there were manyc ircumstances by wh ich Burns was called to serious and

thoughtful reflect ion . Hitherto,'

as a m ember of thefam ily,and i n his i ndividual character, all his schemes had misgiven , and no provisi on had been made to serve beyondthe day. The farm wi th wh i ch he had engaged was i n a

s i tuati on wh ich rendered its produce precarious, and toforce from i t a comfortable subsistence, after pay ing the

MEMO IR OF BURNS .

r ent, would requi re the mos t steady attention and persevering industry. These considerations seem to have touchedthem i nd of Burns wi th sui tabl e force i n the seasons of reflect ion; To use his own words I en tered on th is farmwi th a full resolu tion , come, go to, I will bewise I readfarmi ng books , I calcula ted crops, I attended markets ; and,i n Short, i n spi te of the devil, and theworld, and the flesh,I b el i eve I should have been a wise man ; bu t the fi rst year,from unfortunately buying bad seed, the second from a lat eharvest, we lost half ou r crops . Th is overset all my wisdom, and I return ed, ‘ l ike the dog to his vomi t, and the

sow that was washed, to her wallowing in them i re .’

These resolu tions were as meri tor ious as th ey probablyWere S incere,wh i l e thesubj ect hadposs essi on ofhis though ts .

But i t is curi ous to observe, that the peri od when h is agricultural operati ons commenced, and wh ich was to be alsothe commencemen t of a new tenor of l ife, was that whenbe devoted most time to poet ical avocat ions, when hisamou rs i ncreased both i n n umber and violence, and wh enh is visi ts to the scen es and the votar i es of lawl ess merrim en t, became most frequent andmos t seducing. That hewas an able workman is not to be doubted, but his constancy at work may fai rly b e quest ion ed . When a port ionof the n ight is claimed by pleasure, i t is imposs ibl e bu t thata corresponding portion of the day must be taken frombusi n ess. He who m i ngles mental and corporeal labour,or the pu rsui ts of dil igence and diss ipat ion , can scarcely besupposed to do equal j ust ice to b oth. The occupati onwh i ch is l eas t engagingwi ll b e most n eglected . Though badseed and backward seasons, therefore, may have b een , i npart, the cause that the farm of Mossgi el did not f ulfil theexpecta t i ons of the broth ers , there is ground for suspect ingthat the i rreg ulariti es of the elder were also to blame.

As Burns and his brother held the farm of Mossgi el ona sub - l ease from Mr Gavi n Ham i lton

,that gentleman be

gan to take a fancy for the humou r and bold original expressions of the poet, ere he knew fullv what was in h im

64 MEMOIR or BURN S .

and seems to have been the fi rst abov e the common ranksof l ife, who really countenanced or showed any kindnessor respect for th is wonderful man . Burns was natu rallyflattered by th is attention

,as appea rs both from his very

clever dedication and l etters for though hewas j ealous ofthe great to an ex ten t that was scarcely brookable, and

shunned pecun iary obligations to any of them as much as

hewould have shunned adders i n h is path, yet , from t he

whole of his correspondence, i t appears that the coun tsnance of the great was h ighly agreeable to him .

Whether the notice and fri endshi p of Gavin Ham i l tonwere advantageous to our poet appears rather equ ivocal t ome.

’ I t is qu ite manifest that Mr Ham il ton was an onginal

m inded, regardl ess , ram-s tam kind of chap, and that i twas principally to pleas e h im that Burns made so free wi ththe churchmen of t heir acquai n tance; for from all Burns

’

s

epistl es, on e can make an es t1mate of the characters of the ;

persons to whom they are'

addressed, but not the smalles t .

of his own, save by theway i n wh ich be regarded them .

Hami l ton , however, was a si ncere friend ; for, when Burnswas at las t dri ven to solici t a subscription for his poems,he entered in to i t wi th great activi ty andwarmth of fr iendsh ip .

About the same per iod a Mr Robert Aikin, wri ter i n

Ayr, a gen tleman of worth , good tas te, andwarm affecti ons,and connected wi th a h ighly respectable ci rcle

'

of ac

quaintances, began to in terest h imself S i ncerely i n ourpoet’s favour. It was to th is gen tleman that The Cotter’sSatu rday N igh t

’

was i nscribed ; and to a son of h is, MrAndrew H. Aikin , that the b eau tiful epistl e to a youngfri end was addressed? I therefore th ink that Mr Aiki n’sfri endsh ip had been of great u til i ty to Burns, as to that heowed his fi rst i n troduction into soci ety that was really correct and respectable. He always spoke of Bu rns wi th a

warm th of adm i ration , wh i ch did one’s heart good tohea r. Mr Aiki n also i ntroduced our poet to S ir VVill iam Cunn ingham of Robertland, and Mr John Ballan

MEMO IR or BURNS . 65

tyn e, banker in Ayr, who both continued his staunchfri ends.

“ The four years,”says Mr Lockhart,

“ during wh i chBurns res ided on th is cold and ungrat eful farm of Mossgi el

,were themost importan t of his l ife . I t was th en that

h is gen ius developed its h ighest en ergies ; on the worksproduced in these years his fame was first established, andmust ever continu e mai nly to rest : i t was then also thath is personal character came ou t i n all i ts brigh test l igh ts,and i n all but i ts darkest shadows ; and i ndeed from the

commencement of th is period, the history of theman mayb e traced, step by step, i n his own immortal wr i tings .

Bu rns now began to know that nature had mean t himfor a poet ; and dil igently, though as yet i n secret, he laboured i n what he fel t to b e his dest in ed vocat ion . Gilbertcontinu ed for some t ime to be his ch i ef, often indeed hisonly confidan t ; and anyth ing more in teresting and delightful than th is excellen t man’s account of themanner i n wh ichthe poems included in the first of his brother’s publi cationswere composed, is certa i nly not to b e found in the annalsof l i terary h istory.

”f

As i t may gratify many to know someth ing of the h istory of

those poem s onwh ich the celebrity of our poet is mainly founded,we insert the following extract of a letter from G ilbert Burns toDr Currie

MosscrEL, 2d April, 1798.

DEAR S IR,—Your letter of the 14th of March I received in

due course ; but , from the hurry of the season, have been h ith erto h indered from answering i t. I will now try to give you whatsatisfaction I can, in regard to the particulars you m ention . Icannot pretend to be very accurate in respect to the dates of thepoems ; bu t none of them , except 2Winter, a D irge,’ (wh ich wasa juvenile production,) ‘ The Death and DyingWords of PoorMa ilie,’ and some of the songs, were composed before the year1784 . The circumstances of the poor sh eep were pretty much

as he has described them . He had, partly by way of a frolic,bough t a ewe and two lambs from a neighbour, and she was

teth ered in a field adjoining the house at Loch lie. He and Iwere going out with our teams, and our two younger b roth ers todrive for us, at mid-day ; when Hugh Wilson, a curious- look ing

66 MEMO IR or BURNS . g

The reader has alreadys een, that, long before the earliest of them was known beyond the domestic ci rcle

, the

strength -

of Burns’

s understanding, and the keenn ess Of hiswit , as displayed in his ordinary conversation, and more

awkward boy, clad in plaiding, cam e‘

to us with much anx iety inh is face, wi th the information that the ewehad entangled herselfin the tether, and was lying in the ditch . Robert was much

tickledwith Hughoc’s appearance and posture on the occas ion .

Poor Maili e was set to righ ts, and when we returned from the

plough in the evening be repeated to me her ‘ Death and DyingWords,’ pretty much in the way they now stand.

Among the earliest ofh is poems was the Epistle to Davie .

’

Robert often composed wi thout any regular plan . When anyth ing made a strong impression on h is m ind, so as to rouse i t topoetic exertion, hewould give way to the impulse, and embodythe though t in rhyme. Ifheh it on two or th ree stan zas to pleaseh im, hewould then th ink Ofproper introductory, connecting, andconcluding stanzas ; h ence them iddle Of a poem was often firstproduced. It was, I th ink, in summer 1784, when in the interval ofharder labour, he and I were weeding in the garden (kailyard), that be repeated to me the principal part of th is epistle.I believe the first idea OfRobert’s becoming an author was startedon th is occasion . I was much pleas ed wi th the ep istle , and saidto h im I was Of Opinion it would hear being printed, and that i twould bewell- received by people Of taste ; that I though t i t at '

leas t equal, if not superior, to many ofAllan Ramsay’

s ep istles ;and that the m erit Of these, and m uch other Scotch poetry,seemed to consist principally in the knack of the expression ; buth ere there was a train Of interesting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the language scarcely seemed affected, but appeared tobe the natural language Of the poet ; that, besides, there wascertainly some novelty in a poet pointing out the consolationsthat were in store for h im wh en he Should go a-begging. Robertseemed very well pleased with my criticism, and we talked of

sending i t to some magaz ine ; but as th is plan afforded h o Oppor

tunity ofknowing how it would take, the idea was dropped.

It was, I th ink, in the winter following, as we were goingtogether with carts for coal to the fam ily fire,—( and I could yetpoint ou t the particular Spot,)—that the author first repeated tome the Address t o the Deil. ’ The curious idea of such an ad

dress was suggested to h im , by running over in h is m ind the

many ludicrous accounts and representations we have, from various quarters, Of th is august personage. ‘Death and Dr HornbOOk,

’ though not published in theKilmarnock edition, was produced early in the year 1785. The schoolmaster of Tarboltonparish, to eke up the scanty subsistence allowed to that useful

MEMO IR OF BURNS.

part icularly at masonic meet ings and debating'

clubs, had

made his nam e known to some considerable extent ' i n the

country about Tarbolton , Mauch l in e, and Irvin e ; and th isprepared theway for his poetry. Professor Walker gives

class Ofmen, h ad set up a shop Of grocery goods . Having accidentally fallen in with some medical books, and becom e mosthobby- h orsically attach ed to the study ofmedicine, he had addedt he sale of a few m edicines to h is little trade. He had got a

shOp- b ill printed, at the bottom of wh ich , overlook ing his own

incapacity, he had advertised. that ‘Advice would be given incommon disorders at the shop gratis. ’ Robert was at a masonm eeting at Tarbolton, when theDom inie unfortunately made tooostentatious a display Of h is medical skill. As he parted in t heevening from th is mixture of pedantry and physio, at the placewh ere he describes h is m eetingwith Death , one Of those floatingideas of apparition he m entions in h is letter to Dr Moore crossedh is m ind : th is set h im to work for the rest Of the way home.These circumstances be related when be repeated the verses tome next afternoon, as I was holding the plough , and hewas letting the water off the field beside me. The ‘Epistle to JohnLapraik was produced exactly on the occas ion described by theauthor. He says in that poem , On fasten- e’enwehad a rockin’.I believe he has om itted the word rocking in the glossary. Itis a termderived from those prim i tive times when the countrywomen employ ed their spare hours in sp inning on the rock, ordistali'. This s imple implement is a very portable one, and wellfitted to the social inclination ofmeeting in a neighbour’s house ;h ence the ph rase of going a- rock ing,’ or with the rock .

’AS

the connection the ph rase had wi th the implement was forgottenwhen the rock gave place to the sp inning-wheel, the ph rase cameto be used by both sexes on social occasions, and men talk of

goingwith their rocks as well as women.

It was at one Of these rockings at our house, wh en we hadtwelve or fifteen young people with their rocks,’ that Lapraik’

s

song, beginning Wh en I upon thy bosom lean,’ was sung, andwe were informedwho was the author. Upon th is, Robert wroteh is first epistle to Lapraik ; and h is second in reply to h is answer.The verses to the Mouse and Mountain Daisy were composedon the occasions m entioned, and wh ile the author was holdingthe plough —I could point out the particular spot wh ere eachwas composed. Holding the plough was a favouri te situationwith Robert for poetic com posi tion, and som e Of h is best verseswere produced wh ile he was at that exercise. S everal Of the

poem s were produced for the purpose of bringing forward somefavourite Sen timent of the author. He used to remark to me,that . h e could not well conceive a more mortifying picture Of

68 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

an anecdote on th is h ead, wh ich must not be omi tted .

Bu rns al ready numbered several clergymen among his ac

quaintances : i ndeed, we know from h imself, that, at this

per iod hewas not a l i ttle flattered, and j ustly so , no ques

human life than a man seekingwork. In cas ting about in h ism ind how th is sentiment m igh t be brough t forward, the elegyMan was made to mourn was composed. Robert had fro

quently remarked to me that he though t there was someth ingpeculiarly venerable in the ph rase Let us worsh ip God,’ used bya decent, sober h ead Of a fam ily introducing family worsh ip. TO

th is sentiment of the author theworld is indebted for the Cot

ter’s Saturday Nigh t.’ The h int of the plan and title of the

poem were taken from Fergusson’s Farmer’s Ingle .

’ Wh enRobert had not som e pleasure in view inwh ich I was not though tfit to participate, we used frequently to walk together, wh en theweather was favourable, on the Sunday afternoons, ( those precions b reath ing- times to the labouring part of the community,)and enjoyed such Sundays as would make one regret to see theirnumber abridged. It was in one of these walks that I first hadthe pleasure Of h earing the author repeat the Cotter’s SaturdayNigh t. ’ I do not recollect to have read or heard any th ing bywh ich I was more h ighly electrified. The fifth and sixth stan zas ,and the eigh teenth , th rilled with peculiar ecstasy th rough mysoul. I mention th is to you that you may seewha t h it ’

the tas teOfunlettered criticism . I Should be glad to know if the enlightened m ind and refined taste OfMr Roscoe, wh o has borne such

honourable testimony to th is poem , agrees with me in the selection. Fergusson, in h is Hallow Fair of Edinburgh ,’ I believe,likewise furnish ed a hint Of the title and plan of the Holy Fair. ’The farcical scene the poet there describes was Often a favouritefield Of h is Observation, and the most Of the incidents he mentions had actually passed before his eyes. It is scarcely necessaryto m ention that the Lament ’ was composed on that unfortunatepassage in h is matrimonial h istory wh ich I have m entioned in myletter to Mrs Dunlop, after the first distraction Of h is feelings hada little subsided. Th e Tale OfTwa Dogs was composed afterthe resolution of publish ing was nearly taken . Robert had hada dog, which he called

'

Luath , that was a great favouri te. Th e

dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some person ,

the

nigh t before my father’s dea th . Robert said t o me that he shouldlike to confer such immortality as he could bestow upon h is Old

friend Luath , and that he had a great m ind to introduce som eth ing into the book under the title of S tanzas to theMemory .

Of a quadruped Friend but th is plan was given up for the Taleas it now stands . Caesar was m erely the creature of the poet’simagination, created for the purpose of holding chat with h is

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70 m arrow. or BURNS.

and origi nal i ty displayed by him, the depth of h is discernmen t, the force of h is express ions, and the au thori ta ti v eenergy of his u nderstanding, had created a sense of hispower, of theex ten t of wh i ch I was unconscious, t ill i t wasrevealed to me by accident. On the occas ion of my secondappearance i n the pulp i t, I came wi th an assured and tranqu il m i nd, and though a few persons of educat ion were pres en t

, advanced some length in theserv ice wi th my confidenceand self-possessi on un impa i red ; but when I saw Burns, whowas of a differen t parish, unexpectedly en ter the church , Iwas affected wi th a t remor and embarrassmen t, wh i ch sud

denly apprized me of the impress i on wh ich my m i nd, un

known to i tself, had prev iously received.

’

The Professo radds, that the pe rson who had thus unconsc iously beenm easuring the stature of the i n tellectual giant, was not onlya man of good tal en ts and educat ion , but remarkable

loupen, short sark !’—with the melancholy catas trophe of the

p iece : i t is all a true story, that can bewell-attested by manyrespectable old people in that neighbourhood

I do not at present recollect any ci rcum stances respectingthe other poems that could be at all interesting; ever! som e of

those I have m entioned, I am afraid, may appear trifl ing enough ,bu t you will only make use of what appears to you of cousequence.

The following poem s in the first Edinburgh edition were notin th at published in Kilmarnock —‘Death and Doctor Hornbook,’ The Brigs ofAyr,’ The Calf,’— ( the poet had been withMr Gav in Ham ilton in the morn ing, who said jocularly to h im

when hewas going to church, in allus ion to the injunction of

some parents to their children, that hemust be sure to bring h ima note of the sermon at m id-day ; th is address t o the ReverendGentleman on h is text was accordingly produced, The Ordination,’ The Address to theUnco Guid,’ Tam S am son’s Elegy, ’AWinter Nigh t,’ S tan zas on the sam e Occas ion as the preceding Prayer,’ Verses left at a Reverend Friend’

s Hous e,’ The

First Psalm,

’ ‘ Pray er under the Pressure of violent Anguish ,’The first S ix Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm ,

’ Verses to MissLogan, with Beattie

’

s Poem s, To a Haggis,’ ‘Address to Edinburgh ,’ John Barleycorn,

’ Wh en Guilford Guid,

’

Behind yonH ills where S tinchar flows,’ ‘ Green grow the Rashes,’ ‘ Again

rejoicing Nature sees, ’ The gloomy Nigh t, ’ ‘ l\’

o Churchmanam I. ’

MEMO IR or BURN S . 7 1

for a ‘

more than ordinary port ion of consti tutional firm

“Every Scotch peasan t who makes any pretension to

understanding, isa theologi cal cri ti c—at leas t such was thecase—and Burns, no doubt, had long ere th is t ime disti n

guished h imself considerably among those hard-headedgroups that may usually b e seen gathered together i n the

churchyard afte r the sermon is over. I t may be guess edthat, from the t ime of his res idence at Irving, his strictu reswere too often del ivered in no reverend vei n . To unders tand Burns’s s i tuat ion at th is t ime, at once patron i z ed bva number of cl ergymen , and attended wi th a hue-and-cry

of heresy,’ we must remember his own words, that polem i

cal divin i ty was putting the coun try hal f-mad.

’ Of boththe two part ies wh i ch , ever si nce the revolution of 1688,have pretty equally di v i ded the Church of Scot land, it sohappened that some of the most z ealous and conspicuousl eaders and parti zans were thus opposed to each other, incons tan t warfare, i n th is part icular district and their feudsbeing of course taken up among thei r congrega tions, and

Spleen and prej udice at work, even more furiously i n the

co ttage than i n themanse, hewho , to theannoyance of theone set of bell igeren ts, could talk l ike Burns, m igh t coun tpretty surely, wi th whatever alloy his wi t happen ed to bem i ngled

,in whatever shape the precious ‘ ci rculat ing me

dium m ight be cast , on the applause and coun tenance ofthe en emy. And i t is needless to add, they were the l essscrupulous sect of the two that enj oyed the co-operati on ,

such as i t was then , andfarmore important, as in thesequeli t cam e to be, of our poet .

Just abou t th is t ime i t happen ed that the fri end ofBurns , M r Gav i n Ham i lton , was at open feud wi th Mr

Auld,the m i n ister of Mauch l in e, (the same who had

al ready rebuked the poet,) and the rul i ng elders of theparish, in consequence of certai n i rregular i t ies in his per

L ife prefixed to Morrison’s Burns, p . 45.

G 2

72 res ume. OF BURNS .

sonal conduct and deportmen t,wh i ch , according to the

usual strict n otions of ki rk discipli n e, were considered as

fai rly demanding the v igorous i n terference of these authoriti es. The notice of -th is person , his own landlord, and, asi t would seem, on e of the principal i nhab i tants of the v illage of Mauchl i n e at the t ime, must, of cou rse, have beenvery flatter i ng to our polem i ca l young farmer. He espousedGavin Ham il ton’s quarrel warmly . Ham i lton was natural lyenough disposed to mix up h is personal affai r wi th . the

s tanding controvers ies whereon Auld was at var iance wi th.

a large and powerful body of his brother clergymen ; andby degrees Mr Ham il ton’s arden t p rotege

’ came to b e as

vehemently i n terested i n the church pol i ti cs of Ayrsh i re , ashe could have been i n polit ics of another order, hadhehapspe

'

ned to be a freeman of some open borough , andhis patrona candida te for thehonou r of represen ti ng i t in S t S tephen ’

s.

Mr Cromek has been severely cri ticised for some details ofM r Gavi n Ham i l ton’s dissens i ons with his par ish m i n ister ;bu t perhaps i t m igh t hav e been well to l im i t the censure tothe ton e and spiri t of the narrat i ve, s ince there is no doubtthat these petty squabbles had a large share in directing theearly energies of Burns

’

s poetical tal en ts ; and that they'

led to the composi tion of most of those p i eces wh i ch fi rs tmade Ayrsh i re r ing wi th the equally z ealous applause and

vi tuperation ofPoet Burns,

And h is priest- skelp ing turns .

Wi th regard to theamours of Burns, som e may th ink theless tha t is said about them the better, bu t I th i nk differently ; for, as th ese form the pri ncipal featu res i n the character of theman, and el ici ted many of his finest p i eces, Ii n tend to noti ce them freely . They will, i n gen eral , . however, com e b etter in as notes to the songs that allude to

’

b isseveral fai r on es . I have been unable to discover the sur

name of M iss E., the gi rl who first sl ighted h im,for whom

he seems to have had a si ncere attachment . The followi ngare extracts of letters to her, om i tted in Gilbert Burns's

t u mors or BURNS . 73

edi tion , for what reason I cannot divin e I veri ly bel ie v e,my dear E.,

that the pure gen uin e feel ings of love are as

rare i n th is world as the pu re genu i n e prin ciples of vi rtu eand p iety. Th is, I hope, will accoun t for the uncommon,

styl e of all my letters to you. By uncommon I m ean thei rbe ing wr i tten in such a ser ious mann er, wh i ch , to tell youthe truth , has made me often afrai d lest .you should takeme for some z ealous bigot who con v ersed wi th his m istressas hewoul d converse wi th his m in ister. I don’t know howit is, my dear ; for though, except your company, there isnoth ing on earth gives me so much pl easure as wri t ing to

you , yet i t never gives me those giddy raptures so muchta lked of among lo vers. I have often thought, that, i f awell-grounded affection b e not really a part of v irtu e, i t issometh ing ex tremely aki n to i t. Wh en ever the thoughtof my E. warms my heart, every feel ing of humani ty, everyprincipl e of generosi ty , kindles i n my breast. I t ext in

guishes every di rty Spark of.malice’

and en vy wh i ch are bu t

too apt to i nvest me. I grasp every creature in the armsof un iversa l b en evolence, and equally partici pate i n the

pleasures of the happy, and sympath iz e wi th the m iseri esof theunfort unate . I assure you, my dear, I often look up

to the Divin e Disposer of ev en ts wi th an eye of grat i tudefor the bless i ng wh i ch, I hope, he i n tends to bestow on mei n best owi ng you .

”

It. is imposs ibl e that Bu rns could be court ing th is gi rl onmotives of self-gratificat ion, and onecan hardly help regrett ing that he did not get her i n his then uncon tam inatedstate. The followin g is an extract from the l etter wh ichhewrote to her after shehadfinally and absolutely rej ectedh im

I ough t, in good manners, to have acknowledged thereceipt of y our letter before th is t ime ; bu t my h eart wasso shocked with - the conten ts of it that I can scarcely yetcollect my thoughts so as to wr i te to you on t he subject.I will not attempt to describ e wha t I felt on receiving you rletter. I read i t over andover aga in and aga in , and though

a 3

74 MBMOIR or BURNS .

i t was i n the politest i language of refusal , still i t was peremptory. You were sorry you could not make me a re

turn,but you wish me,

’whatwi thout you l ean never, obta i n ,

‘

you wish me all kind of happin ess.

’ It would,be weak

and unmanly now to say that, withou t you, I can n ever behappy but sure I am that shar i ng l ife wi th you would havegiven i t a relish , that, wan ting you, I ne ver can tas te .

”

There is no doubt that hanging andmarryi ng go by destiny ,

els e Burns should have had th is sens ible gi rl . I wonder i fshe could be the handsome Nell wh ich he firs t celeb ra tedi n song, or Ann i e of the Barley Riggs, or Peggy of Kirkoswald, who upset his trigonometry. There is no doubtthat th is fickle dame extracted some love verses from him

i n the heyday of his pass ion , and all th ese thre e songs seemto have been wr i tten about the same period, and certai n lyall on different nymphs on whom his fancy had gratu i touslybestowed the charms of beauty. I am disposed to th i nk i twas the latter of thes e damsels, from every allusi on to heri n his l etters andmemoi r, that broke his heart by her peremptory rej ection of him.

Then there was M iss Alexander, ‘the bonny lass of Bal

lochmyle Blessed be that dear lady’

s name , whose beautyand elegance drew forth on e of the sweetes t love songs thatever was penned . When I first read that song i t made thehairs of my head creep , I thought i t so

'

beautiful. Burnstook i t heinously am iss that M iss Alexander n ever madeany reply to theflam ing lettersgwh i ch he sen t her along wi ththe song. I th ink i t would have been v ery unnatural i fshe had; for how could she th i nk wi th pati ence of a greatblack curly ploughman, wi th brawny l imbs andbroad shoulders, strai n ing her nigh tly to his bosom . It was really toomuch of a good th i ng th is !Mr Lockhart says here How many l esser romances

of th is order -were evolved and completed during his res idence at Mossgi el, i t is needless to inqui re ; that they were

See th is letter, vol. i i i . p . 3 55.

MEMO IR or BURNS . 75

many his songs prove, for i n those days hewrote no lovesongs on imaginary heroi n es .

‘ Mary Mor1son ,’

Beh i nd

yon h i lls where S tinchar flows,’ On Cessnock bank there

l i ves a lass,’ belong to th is period and there are three orfour i nspi red by

’

Mary Campbell—the obj ect of by far thedeepes t passion that ever Burns knew, andwh ich he hasaccordingly immortal iz ed i n the noblest of his el egiacs .

In i n troducing to Mr Thomson’

s notice the song,

Will ye go to the Indies, m y Mary,And leave auld S cotia’s shore ?Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,Across theAtlantic’s roar ?’

Burns says,‘ In my early years , when I was th i nki ng of go

i ng to theWest Indies, I took th is farewell of a dear gi rland, afterwards, i n a note on

Ye banks, and b raes, and streams aroundThe Castle 0 ’ Mon tgomerie ;

Green be you r woods, and fai r your flowers,Your waters never drumlie ;

There Summer first unfauld her robes,And there the langest tarry,

For there I took the last farewell,O

’

my sweet Highland Mary,’

he adds After a pretty long tr ial of themost arden t re

ciprocal affection , we met by appoin tmen t on the secondS unday of May, in a sequ es tered spot by the banks of Ayr,wh ere we spent a day i n taking a farewell b efore she shouldembark for theWest Highlands, to arrange mat ters amongher fri ends for ou r p roj ected change of l i fe. At the closeof the au tumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at

Greenock, where shehadscarce landed wh en shewas seiz edwi th a mal ignan t fever, wh i ch hurr i ed my dear gi rl to hergrave i n a few days before I could even h ear ofh er i lln essandMr Cromek, speaking of thesame day of parting love,

’

gives, though wi thout mention ing h is authori ty, some further parti culars, wh ich no one would will ingly bel i eve to

MEMO IR OF BURNS'.

b e apocryphal. Th is adieu ,’ says that z ealous i nqu i reri n to the detai ls of Burns

’

s‘

story , was performed wi th all

those s imple and striking ceremon ials, wh i ch rusti c sent im en t has devised to prolong tender emotions and to imposeawe. The lovers stood on each s ide of ‘

a small purl ingb rook—they laved thei r hands in the l imp id stream—and,

holding a Bible be tween them , pronounced th eir vows to

b e fai thful to each other . They parted—n ever to meetagai n .

’ Upon the boards of the fi rst volume is i nscr ibed,in Burns

’

s hand-wr i ting And ye shal l not swear by myname falsely : I am the Lord.

—Lev i t. chap . x ix . ver.On the second volume Thou shal t not forswear thyself,but shalt perform unto the Lord th i ne oath .

—S t Mat th .

chap . v. ver. And on a blank leaf of e i ther-4 RobertBurns, Mossgi el .’ How last ing was thepoet’s remembranceof this pure love, and its tragic term i nation , wi l l be seenh ereafter. Highland Mary, however, seems to have diedere her lover hadmade any of h is more serious attempts i npoetry, seeing, i n the epistl e to Mr S i llar, the very earl i est,according to Gilbert , of these attempts , the poet celebrates‘ h is Davi e and his Jean .

’

Th is was Jean Armour, a young woman , a step , i f anyth ing, above Burns’s own rank i n l ife, the daugh ter of arespectable man, a master-mason , i n the v illage of Mauchl i ne, where shewas at the t ime the reign ing toast. Thereare numb erless al lus ions to her maiden charms i n the bestp ieces wh i ch he produced at Mossgi el . We select thefollowi ng, not for its poetical meri t, but because i t furn ishes us wi th the names of a number more of her Mauchl in e compe ers

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,The pride of the place and its neigh bourhood a

’

;

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,In Lon’on or Paris th ey’d gotten i t a

’

:

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland’s divine,Miss Smi th she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw

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78 MEMO IR or Bon u s .

b etween them , that they should make a legal acknowledmen t of an i rregular and pri vate marriage that he shouldgo to Jama ica to p ush h is fortune ; and that she shouldrema i n wi th her father t il l i t m igh t please Prov idence toput themeans of supporting a family i n his power.Mrs Burns was a great favouri te of her father’s . The

i ntimat ion of a marriage was the first suggest ion he re

ceived of her real s i tuat ion . He was i n the greates t distress, and fai n ted away. Themarriage did not appear toh im to make the matter better. A husband i n Jamai caappeared to him and his wi fe l i ttl e b etter than non e, andan effectual bar to any other prospects of a settlement inl ife that thei r daugh ter m igh t have . They therefore expressed a wish to her, that the wri tten pape rs wh ich re

spected the marriage should be cancelled, and thus themarriage rendered void . In her melancholy state she feltthe deepest remorse at having brought such heavy afiliction

'

on paren ts that loved her so tenderly , and submi tted toth ei r entreati es. Thei r wish was m entioned to Robert.He fel t the deepest angu ish of m i nd . He offered to stay athom e and prov ide for h is wife and family i n the bes t man

ner that his daily labou rs could provide for them ; thatbei ng the only m eans in his power. Even th is offer theydid not approve of ; for humble as M iss Armour’s stat ionwas, and great though her imprudence hadbeen , she still , inthe eyes of her partial paren ts, m igh t look to a better connex ion than that with my friendless and unhappy brother,at that t ime wi thout house or h iding-place . Robert a tl ength consented to thei r wishes but his feel ings on th isoccas ion were of them ost distract ing nature ; and the im

pression of sorrow was not effaced, t ill by a regular mar

riage they were i ndissolubly un i ted. In the state of m i ndwh i ch th is separation produced , he wished to leave the

country as soon as poss ible, and agreed wi th Dr Douglasto go out to Jama i ca as an assistant overseer, or, as I bel i eve i t is called, a book-keeper, on h is esta te. As he had

not sufficien t money to pay his passage, and the vessel in

MEMO IR OP BURNS .

wh ich Dr Douglas was to procure a passage for him was

not expected to sa i l for som e time, M r Hami l ton advisedhim to publ ish h is poems i n themean t ime by subscript ion,as a l ikely way of getti ng a l i ttl e money to p rovide h immore l iberally in necessaries for Jamai ca . Agreeably to th isadv i ce

, subs cription-b ills were pr inted immediately, and the

printing was commenced at Kilmarnock, his preparat i onsgoing on at the same t im e for his voyage . The recept ion ,however, wh i ch his poems met wi th in the world, and thefri ends they procu red h im , made h im change h is resolut ionf going to Jamai ca, and hewas advised to go to Edinburghto publ ish a second edi t ion . On h is re turn , i n happ i e rc i rcumstances, b e ren ewed his connex ion wi th Mrs Burns,and rendered i t permanen t by an u n ion for l i fe .

”

Poor Jane Armour b ecam e the mother of twi ns. Herfath er was greatly i ncensed aga i nst her seducer , whom he

must have regarded as a complet e blackguard, els e hewouldn ever have forced his daugh ter from h im i n her then ci rcumstances , after she was h is acknowl edged wife, and

l egally so by thelaw of Scotland.* Thewhole ci rcumstances

It is our fortune to knowaMr Kennedy, an aged gentleman,a native of Scotland, and the early associate and friend ofRobertBurns. Kennedy, whose boyhoodwas passed in the labours of a

farm , subsequently beca me the agent to a m ercantile house in a

neighbouring t own . Hence he is called, in an ep i taph wh ich h isfriend the poet wrote on h im , the Chapma n . These lines, om i tted in all editions ofBuras’s works, were composed on Kennedy

’

s

recovery from a severe illness .

On h is way to kirk on a b righ t Sabbath morning, hewas metby the po et, who having ralli ed h im on the sombre expression of

h is countenance, fell back, and soon rejoining h im , presented h imwith the following ep i taph scrawled on a bit of paper wi th a

pencilAs Tam the Chapman on a dayWi’ Death forgather

’

d by the way,YsVeel pleas

’

d, he greets a Wigh t sae famous,And Death was nae less pleased wi’ Thomas,Wha ch eerfully lays down the pack,And there blaws up a h earty crack.

His social, friendly, h onest h ea rt,Sae tickled Death th ey couldna part ;

80 MEMO IR OF BURN s .

attending th is conn exion are certai nly of a v ery s ingularnature . Burns

’

s m ind was in the greatest dis tract ion , fromt he distress andsorrow i n wh i ch hehadplunged his belovedm istress. He was not p erm i tted to make her the only repa

Sae after v iewing knives and garters,Death taks h im hame to gie h im quarters .

Kennedy represents Burns, at the time of their acquaintance,as a tall, coarse featured young man, with a flash ing eye, and

great colloqu ial powers. Frank and affable, he was neverthelessirascible and susp icious. His heart was extremely susceptibleto tender emotions, but their effects were usually ephemeral.Though , as Kennedy says, he always h ad a in h is head,’the reign of each fair one was but short .

“ The well-mounted agent, constantly passing and repassingevery part ofAyrsh ire, and not unfrequently transacting businesswith Miss Armour’s fath er, becam e an exceedingly convenientm edium of communication between the (now) unfortunate lovers.

Consequently, Kennedy became their m utual confidant. Hebore their messages, and occasionally exercised h is ingenui ty iridevising clandestine interviews, and in assisting them to eludedetection. One of these took place a short time before Burnsdeterm ined, in despai r, t o embark for Jam aica. Itwas in a roomof Mr Armour ’s own house, in the small village of Mauch line.The unfortunate pa ir, determ ined to th row th emselves on the

clemency of Mr Armour. ‘ Go,’said Burns to Kennedy, ‘ tell

John Armour, Robert Burns is with h is daugh ter. ’ On the de

livery of th is message, Mr Armour refused to credit i t, supposingh imself t rifled wi th . Jean was h is favouri te ch ild, and in Burnshesaw the indigent, unfortunate , and resourceless peasant. Afterthe ecclaircissement had taken place, the stern old man , with a

full knowledge of all t he circumstances, bade Burns begone forever.

After MissArmour’s, or rather Mrs Burns’

s confinement, Kennedy, in passing the farm where the poet and h is brother Gilbertstruggled to ob ta in a subsistence, was requested by the former tobecome the bearer of a gift to h is ‘ poor wife .

’-The present;

h oisted by h is brawny arm to the pomm el of the saddle, consistedof a bag filled with the substantial delicacies of a farm . Penuryapproach ing to absolute des titution, adm itted h im no choice of

gentle souvenirs. Kennedy’s road lay t o Kilmarnock, but

there was nae resisting Robert,’ and he journeyed to Mauch

line . Ou h is arrival, Mistress Arm our ( to her Kennedy at tri

butes ‘a’

the difficult y’

) violen tly protested against admittingh im to an interviewwi t h her daughter, besides bestowing on him

MEMO IR o r BURNS . 81

ration i n his power ; andas he hadacknowl edged his intenti on of em igrating, old Armou r se n t the sher iff officers toapprehend him , and force him to find securi ty for his twi nch i ldren, wh i ch he knew hewas u nable to procure . The

par ish officers were a lso after h im on the sam e gro unds.

so that our Bard was obliged to take to themountai ns l ikethe Covenanters of Ayrsh i re on a former day, or h is Jacob i te predecessors among the Grampians . It is greatly tobe regretted that old Armour took such u nwarrantable stepsagai nst a poor fellow, who could do no more than he proffered to do, andwho , though he had lost the b r idle handof his pass i ons, n ever for a moment let sl ip that of hishonoun

But he had now a fri end of powerful i n terest com i ngforward to in troduce him to all ranks and degrees . Th is washis own l i ttl e unpretending volume of poems, from the oh

scure press of Kilmarnock, wh i ch burst upon theaston ishednatives wi th a boldness and strength of original i ty, wh ichn ever s i nce the days of Shakspeare had appeared i no ur island . No sooner had the volume appeared, thanold and young, grave and gay, h igh and low, l earn ed and

ignorant, were al ike del igh ted, agi tated, and transported .

S hepherds, ploughboys, andma id-ser van ts, cheerfully gavethe last savings of th ei r penny fee, to purchase the works ofRobert Burns, and many protested that they would hav egiven the same sum to have seen theman wh o made them

sundry unceremonious appellations for befriending ‘ the rakeh elly Burns.

’The lady h owever, in th is instance, was overruled

by her h usband, and Kennedy was perm itted to proceed to the

apartmen t where Mrs Burns was confined t o her bed. He hadnae been there aboon fifteen m inutes,’ when he h eard a

scrambling on the sta irs , and och l sic a scream ing, ’ wh en Burnsburst into the room , hotly pursued by the lady of the m ansion,who, in turn, was as closely fo zlowed by her infuriated husband.

Burns flew to t he bed, and‘ pu tting h is face to Jean’s, and sync

to each of the wee bairns, wept like ony ch ild ; and och h ad ye

been th ere, ye’r heartwould h ave burst as m ine did.

’Th is only

enraged the unfeeling parents . The sequel is well known .

”

Cobbet t’

s Magaz ine.

5

82 MEMO IR or BURN S .

laugh, cry, or feel wi th regard to all th ings pas t, present, andto come, as he l isted .

‘

Among the very first to appreciate these,were two Kil

marnock merchan ts, (lauded be thei r memory,) one of

The followi ng manly preface contributed not a little to establish the author’s fam e

Preface to theFirst Edit ion .

The following t rifles arenot the production of the poet, who,wi th all the advantages of learned art, and perhaps, am id the

elegancies and idleness ofupper life, looks down for a rural theme,wi th an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the author of th is, theseand other celebrated names th eir countrymen are, at least in theiroriginal language, a foun ta in shu t up , a nd a book sealed. Unacquaintedwith thenecessary requisi tes forcommencingpoet by rule,he sings the sentiments andmanners hefelt and saw in h imselfandrustic compeers around him , in h is and th eir native language.Though a rhymer from h is earliest years, at least from the earliestimpulse of the softer passions, i t was not till very lately that theapplause, perhaps the partiality, offriendsh ip, wakened h is vanityso far as to make h im th ink anyth ing ofhis worth showing ; and

none of the following works were composed with a view to the

press. To amuse h imself wi th the little creations of h is own

fancy, am id the toil and fatigues of a laborious life ; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, thefears, in h is own breast ; to find some k ind of counterpoise to thestruggles ofa world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to thepoetical m ind—these were h is motives for courting theMuses,and in these he found poetry to be its own reward.

Now that heappears in the public character ofan author, hedoes i t wi th fear and trembling. So dear is fam e to the rhym ingtribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless bard, sh rinks aghast atthe though t of beingbranded as—An impertinent blockhead, oht ruding h is nonsense on the world ; and, because he can make ash ift to j ingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, lookingupon h im self as a poet ofno sm all consequence, forsooth !

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shenstone, whosedivine elegies do honour to our language, our nation, and our

species, that Humility has depressed many a genius to a h erm i t,but never raised one to fame If any critic catch es at thewordgenius , the author tells h im once for all, that he certainly looksUpon h imself as possessed of som e poetic ab ilities, otherwise h ispublish ing in the manner he has done, would be a manceuvre be

low the worst character, wh ich , he hopes, h is wors t enemy willever give h im . But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious

MEMO IR OF BURN S .

them a MrWi ll iam Parke r, who no sooner looked into thev olume than hesen t for other th i rty copies , paying for themin ready money. These b e compell ed his fri ends and cus

tomers to buy from him, and to such as absolutely refusedto purchase, he gave them i n presen ts , say i ng, hewould laythe pr ice upon the n ext articles orderedfrom h is shop .

The other was a M r Robert Mui r, a man without muchfortun e, bu t of grea t i ngenu ity and kindness of heart and

Burns seems to have estimated him very h ighly . Gilbertsays of h im, i f I remember right, that heheld the paten t ofh is honours imm ediately from Almigh ty God, and thatnature had i ndeed marked him a gen tleman i n themo stl egibl e characters .

But of all the fri endsh i ps wh ich Burns acqui red i n Ayrsh ire and elsewhere, non e seemed more agreeable to h imthan that of Mrs Dunlop, of Dunlop . Th is lady, daughte rand sole hei ress to Sir Thomas Wallace of Craigi e, andl in eal descendan t of the i llustr ious Wallace, the fi rs t ofScottish warri o rs , possessed the qual i t ies of m ind sui ted toher h igh l i n eage . Preserving, in thedecl i n e oflife, thegenerous affections of youth, her adm i rat ion of the poet wassoon accompan i ed by a si ncere fri endsh i p for theman wh i chpu rsu ed him i n after l i fe through good and evi l report in

dawn ings of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, be, wi th equal nuaffected s inceri ty, declares, that, even ia h is h igh est pulse of

vanity, he has not themost distant pretensions. These two justlyadm ired Scotch poets he has often had in h is eyein the followingp ieces ; but rather with a v iew to k indle at their flame, than forservile im itation .

To h is sub scribers, theauthor returns h ismost sincere thanks.Not the m ercenary bow over a counter, but t he h eart- throbbinggrati tude of thehard, conscious h owmuch he owes to benevolenceand friendsh ip for gratifyingh im, if he deserves it, in that dearestwish of every poetic bosom—to be distinguished. He begs h isreaders, particularly the learned and the poli te, who may honourh im with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for education and circumstances of life ; but if, after a fai r, candid, andimpartial criticism , he Shall stand convicted of dulness and non

sense, let h im be done by as hewould in that case do by otherslet h im be condemned,withoutm ercy, to contempt and oblivion.

”

H 2

84 MEMOIR or BURNS .

poverty, i n sickness, and in sorrow ; and wh ich was con

t i nned to his widow and i nfan t fam ily , after they were de

prived of thei r paren t . He was ou'

the poin t of set

t ing out for Edinburgh before Mrs Dunlop had h eard ofh im . About the t ime of h is publ ish ing i n Kilmarnock,she had been affl icted wi th a long and severe i lln ess, wh ichhad reduced her m i nd to themost distressi ng state of deopressio n . In th is s i tuat ion , a copy of the prin ted poemswas lai d on her tabl e by a fri end, and happen ing to openon The Cotter’s Saturday Nigh t,

’she read i t over wi th t he

greatest pleasure and surprise ; the poet’s description oft he s impl e cottagers, operat in g on her m i nd l ike the charmof a powerful exorcist, expell ing the demon ennui, and re

s tor ing her to her wonted harmony and satisfaction . Mrs

Dunlop sen t off a person express to Mossgi el , distan tfifteen or s ix teen m i les, wi th a very obliging letter to thePoet

,des iring him to send her half a dozen copi es of his

poems, i f he had them to spare, and begging hewould doher the pleasure of call ing at Dunlop House as soon as

conven i en t. Th is was the beginn ing of a correspondencewh i ch ended only wi th the poet’s l ife. The las t use he

made of his pen was wri ting a short letter to th is lady a

few days before h is death .

But the even tful autumn of 1786 was now weari ng to aclose,wh en poor Burns, havingmerely real iz ed as much fromthesal e of thefi rst l im i ted edition of his poems as to furn ishh im wi th a few necessar i es and pay for his passage to theWest Indies, , his fri ends encouraged him to publ ish anotheredi ti on , i n order that hem ight b e more comfortably equ ipped and furn ished. The Kilmarnock printer

, however,decl in ed to risk anot her edi tion , unless the poet advancedthe pri ce of the paper, wh ich Burns was unable to do.

This c i rcumstance com i n g to the ears of Mr Ballan tyn e,provost of Ayr, he offered to advance the sum ; bu t ereth is the harassed and impati en t poet had sen t off h is chestby night, for fear of i ts b eing arrested , and h imself con veyedi t on foot a fewm iles, on the road to Greenock

,wh i ther

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86 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

The n ex t post, however, brough t Dr Blacklock’

s l etter,wh ich Dr Lauri e sent off by an express to Gav i n Ham i lton , who h imself rode after thehard, and del ivered the joybearing ep istl e i nto his hand .

The star of Bu rns, wh ich had till n ow been struggl ingup the nadir of the n igh t, shon e out all at once close uponthe zen i th wi th dazzl ing lustre. He instan tly made pre

parat ions for v isi ting Edinburgh , and about the t ime of hisl eaving h is native coun ty his correspondence commencesand in theser i es of letters now giv en to theworld, the ch i efi nciden ts of the remain ing part of his l ife will b e found .

This authentic though melancholy record wi ll supersede i nfuture the necess i ty of any extended narrati ve.

CHAP. V I I .

vrsrr'ro EDINBURGH .

ED1NA ! Scotia’s darling seat !A ll h ail thy palaces and towers,W hereonce, beneath a monarch ’s feet,Sat legislation

’s sovereign powers !

From mark ing wildly ..scat ter’d flowers

A s on the banks of '

Ayr I stray’d,

And singing, lone, the lingering hours,I shelter in th y h onour’

d shade.

BURN S set out for Edinburgh i n themon th of Nov ember,1786.

He was furn ished with a l etter of i ntroduction toDr Blacklock, from the gentl eman to whom the doctor had

addressed the l etter wh ich is represen ted by ou r hard as

the immediate cause of h is v isi t ing the Scottish metropolis .

He was acquai n ted wi th Mr S tewart, Professor of MoralPh ilosophy i n the un ivers i ty , and had been enterta i n ed bythat gentleman at Catrin e, his esta te i n Ayrsh i re. He hadbeen i n troduced by Mr Alexander Dalzel to the earl ofGlenca i rn , who had expressed h is h igh approbation of hispoetical talen ts . He had fri ends thereforewho could ia

MEMOIR or BURNS . 87

troduce'

him i n to the c i rcl es of l i terature as wel l as offash ion , and h is own mann ers and appearan ce exceedingevery expectation that could have b een form ed of them , he

soon became an obj ect of gen eral cu ri os i ty and adm i rat ion .

The followin g ci rcumstance contribu ted to th is in a considerabledegree . At the t im e when Bu rns arri ved in Edinburgh the periodical paper en ti tled ‘ The Lounger ’

was

publish i ng, every Satu rday producing a successi ve n umb er.His poems had attracted the notice of the gentlemen eu

ged in that undertaking, and the n i n ety-seventh n umb er’

of those un equal, though frequ en tly beau t iful essays, is devoted to ‘An Account ofRobert Burns, theAyrsh i r e ploughman, with Extracts from his Poems,

’wr itten by the el egan t

pen of Mr Mackenz i e. The ‘ Lounger ’ had an ex tens i vec irculati on among person s of tas te and l i terature

,not i n

S cotland only, bu t i n var ious parts of England, to whoseacquai n tance th erefore our hard was imm ediately i n troduced. The paper of Mr Macken zi e was calculated toin troduce him advan tageously . The extracts are wellsel ec ted ; the cr i t i cisms and reflect ions are j udicious as

well as gen erous and i n the styl e and sen tim en ts there i sthat happy del icacy by wh i ch thewri t ings of theauthor areso em i n en tly disti nguish ed. The extracts from Burns

’

s

poems, i n the n inety-sev en th number of The Lounger,

’

were cop ied i n to the London as well as i n to many of t hep rovi n cial papers, and the fam e of ou r hardspread throughou t the island.at

Of the manners, character, and conduct of Burns at th isperiod, the following account was given by Dugald Stewart, Professor of Moral Ph ilosophy in the universi ty ofEdinburgh , in a

letter to Dr Currie, inclosing the L ines on an interview withLord Daer

The first tim e I saw Robert Burns was on the 28d ofOctober, 1 786, wh en he dined at my house in Ayrsh i re, togeth er withour common friend Mr John Mackenz i e, surgeon, in Mauch line,t o whom I am indebted for the pleasure of h is acquaintance . I

am enabled to mention the date particularly, by som e verseswh ich Burns wro te after he returned hom e, and in wh ich the dayof our meeting is recorded. My excellent and much- lamented

88 MEMOIR on BURNs ;

Howmuch may b e done for a poor man of gen i us by a

s i ngle good word, and yet how seldom is that good wordb es towed ! Thus i t appears i t was Dr Laur i e’s l etter alon ethat open ed the door at th is t ime to the l i terary fame of

friend, the late Bas il, Lord Daer, happened to arrive at Catrinet he same day, and by t he k indness and frankness of h is manners,left an impression on the m ind of the poet wh ich never was ef

faced. Th e verses I allude to are among the most imperfect ofh is p ieces ; b ut a few stanzas may perhaps be an object of curiosity to you, both on account of the character to wh ich they re

late, and of the ligh t wh ich they th row on the s ituation and feelings of thewriter, before his name was known to the public.

I cannot positively say, at th is distance of time, whether, att he period of our fi rst acquaintance, the Kilmarnock edition of

h is poem s had been just publish ed, or was yet in the press. I

suspect that the latter was the case, as I have still in my possession cop i es in h is own hand-writing, of some of h is favourite performances ; particularly of h is verses On turning up a Mousewith h is Plough ,’ On theMountain Daisy,’ and The Lament. ’On my return to Edinburgh I showed the volume, and mentionedwhat I knew of the author’s h istory to several ofmy friends, and,among others, to Mr Henry Macken z ie, who first recommendedh im to public notice in the ninety- seventh number of The

Lounger. ’“ At th is time Burns’s prospects in life were so extrem ely

gloomy that he had seriously form ed a plan of going ou t to Jamaica in a very h umble situation—not, however, wi thout lamenting that h is want of patronage should force h im to th ink of a

project so repugnant to h is feelings, wh en h is amb i tion aimed at

no h igher an object than the station of an exciseman or gaugerin h is own country.

His m anners were then, as they continued ever afterwards,s imple, manly, and independent ; strongly expressive of consciousgenius and worth ; but wi thout any th ing that indicated forwardness , arrogance, or vanity. He took h is share in conversa tion,but not more than belonged to h im ; and listened with apparentattention and deference on subjects wh ere h is want of educationdeprived h im of the m eans of information. If there had been a

little more of gentleness and accommodation in h is temper, hewould, I th ink, have been still more interesting ; but he hadb eenaccus tom ed to give law in the circle of h is ordinary acquaintance,and h is dread of any th ing approach ing to meanness or servilityrendered h is manner somewhat decided and hard. Noth ing,perh aps, was more remarkable among his various atta inm ents,than the fluency, and precision, and originality of his language,when he Spoke in company ; more particularly as be aimed at

MEMO IR or BURNS . 89

Burns; and i t was anoth er fortunate circumstance that t heperson whom Dr Lau ri e ap pl ied to , m erely b ecause hewast he only on e of h is l i terary acqua in tance wi th whom he

chose to use that freedom,happ ened also to be the person

puri ty in h is turn of expression, and avoided more successfullythan most Scotchm en the peculiarities of Scottish ph raseology.

He cam e to Edinburgh early in the winter followi ng, and

remained th ere for several months. By whose adv1ce he tookth is step I am unable to say,

—perhaps i t was suggested only byh is own curiosity to see a little more of theworld, —bu t I confessI dreaded t he consequences from the first, and always wishedthat h is pu rsui ts and hab its should continue the sam e as in the

form er part of life—with the addition of, what I considered as

then com pletely wi th in h is reach , a good farm on moderate term s,

in a part of the country agreeable t o his taste.

The attentions he received during h is stay in town from all

ranks and descriptions of persons, were such as would have turnedany h ead but h is own . I cannot say that I could perceive anyunfavourable effect wh ich they left on h is m ind. He retai nedthe same simplicity ofmanners and appea rance wh ich had struckm e so forcibly when I fi rst saw h im in the count ry ; nor did he

seem to feel any additional self- importance from the number andrank of h is new acquaintance . His dress was perfectly sui ted toh is station, plain and unpretending, wi th a sufficient attention toneatness. If I recollect righ t he always wore boots, and

, whenon more than usual ceremony, bucksk in breech es .

The variety of h is engagem ents wh ile in Edinburgh preventedme from seeing him so often as I could have wished. In the

course of the Spring he called on me once or twice, at my request,early in the morning, and walked wi th me to Braid- Hills , in theneighbourhood of the town, wh en he charmed me still more byh is private conversation than he h ad ever done in company. Hewas passionately fond of the beauties of nature ; and I recollectonce he told me, when I was adm i ring a distan t prospect in one

of our morningwalks, th at the sigh t of so many smoking cottagesgave a pleasure to h is m ind, wh ich none could understa nd whohad not witnessed, like h im self, the happ iness and the worthwh ich they conta ined.

In h is political princi ples hewas th en a Jacob i te ; wh ich was,perhaps, owing partly to th is, that h is father was originally fromt he estate of Lord Mareschall. Indeed he did not appea r toh ave though t m uch on such subjects nor very consisten t ly . Hehad a very strong sense of religion, and expressed deep regret atthe levity with wh ich he had h eard it treated occas ionally in someconviv ial m eetings wh ich he frequented. I speak of h im as he

was in thewinter of 1786- 7 for afterwards we met but seldom,

90 marrow or BURNS .

bes t qual ified to render the appl i ca tion successful . DrBlacklock was an en thusias t i n his adm i rat ion of an art

wh ich he had h imself practised with applause“ He fel tthe claims of a poet wi th a paternal sympathy, and he had

and our conversations turned ch iefly on h is li terary projects, orh is private affairs.

I do not recollect wh ether i t appears or not from any of yourletters to me, that you had ever seen Burns. If you h ave, i t issuperfluous for me to add, th at the idea wh ich his conversationconveyed of the powers of h is m ind exceeded, if poss ible, thatwh ich is suggested by h is writings . Among the poets whom Ihave happened to know, I have been struck, in more than one

instance, wi th the unaccountable disparity between thei r generaltalents

,and the occas ional insp i rations of their more favoured

m om ents. But all the faculti es of Burns’s m ind were, as far as

I could j udge, equally vigorous ; and h is predilection for poetrywas rather the result of h is own enthusiastic and impassionedtemper than of a genius exclusively adapted to that speci es of

composition. From his conversation I should have pronouncedh im to be fitted to excel in whatever walk of amb ition he had

chosen to exert h is abilities.Among the subjects on wh ich hewas accustomed to dwell,

the characters of the indiv iduals with whom he happened to meetwas plainly a favourite one. The remarks he made on themwere always sh rewd and pointed, though frequently inclining toomuch to sarcasm. His praise of those he loved was sometim esindiscrim inate and extravagant ; but th is , I suspect, proceededrather from the caprice and humour of the moment, than fromthe effects of attachment in blinding his judgm ent. His wit was

ready, and always impressed wi th the marks of a v igorous unders tanding ; but, to my tas te, not often pleas ing or happy. His

attempts at epigram , in h is printed works , are the only performaaees , perhaps, that he has produced totally unworthy of his

genius.

In summer, 1 787, I pas sed some weeks in Ayrsh i re, and saw

Burns occas ionally. I th ink that he m ade a pretty long excurs ion th at season to the Highlands, and that he also v isited whatBeattie calls the Arcadian ground of Scotland, upon the banksof the Teviot and the Tweed.

I should have m entioned before, that, notwith standing various reports I h eard during the precedingwinter of Burns’s predilection for convivial and not very select society, I should h aveconcluded in favour of h is hab i ts of sob riety from all of h im thatever fell under my own observation . He told me indeed h imself,that the weakness of h is stomach was such as to deprive h im en

ti rely of any merit in h is temperance. I was , however, somewhat

MEMO IR o r BURN S . 9 1

i n his const i tu t ion a tende rness and sens ib i l i ty that wouldhave engaged his beneficence for a youth i n the ci rcumstances ofBurns, even though he had not been i ndeb ted toh im for the deligh t wh i ch he received from h is works for ,

alarm ed about the efi'ect ofh is now comparatively sedentary and

luxurious life, wh en he confessed to me, the first nigh t he spentin my house after h is wi nter ’s cam paign in town, that he hadbeen much disturbed wh en in bed by a palp i tation at h is hea rt,wh ich , he sa id, was a complaint to wh ich he had of late becom esubject.

“ In the course of the same season I was led by curiosity toattend for an hour or two a Mason- Lodge in Mauchline whereBurns presided. He had occas ion to m ake som e short unpre

m edi ta ted compliments to different individuals from whom he

had no reason . to expect a v isit, and every th ing he said was happ ily conceived, and forcibly as well as fluently expressed. If I

am not m is taken, he told me, that, in that village, before goingto Edinburgh , he had belonged to a small club of such of the

inhab i tants as h ad a taste for books, wh en they used to converseand debate on any interesting questions that occurred to th em in

the cou rse of their reading. His m anner of speak ing in publichad evidently them arks of some practice in extempore elocution .

I must no t om i t to m ention , what I have always consideredas ch aracteristical in a h igh degree of true genius, the extremefacili ty and good- nature of h is taste in judging of the compositions of oth ers, wh ere there was any real ground for praise. I

repeated to h im many passages of English poetry wi th wh ich he

was unacquainted, and have m ore than once wi tnessed the tearsof admi ration and rapture wi th wh ich he heard them . The col

lection of songs by Dr Aikin, wh ich I first put into h is hands, heread with unm ixed deligh t, notwi thstanding h is form er efforts inthat very difficult species ofwri ting ; and I have li ttle doubt thatit had some effect in polish ing his subsequent compositions .

“ In judging of prose, I do not th ink h is taste was equallysound. I once read to h im a passage or two in Franklin’s Workswh ich I though t very h app ily executed, upo n the model ofAddison ; but he did not appear to relish or to perceive the beautywh ich th ey derived from th eir exquisite simplicity, and spoke ofth em with indifference, wh en compared with the point, and an

t ithesis, and quaintness of Junius. The influence of th is tas te isvery perceptible in h is own prose compositions, although th eirgreat and various excellencies render som e of th em scarcely lessobjects ofwonder than h is poetical perform ances . The late DrRobertson used to say, that, considering h is educa t ion, the former seemed to him the more extraordinary of the two .

His memory was uncommonly retentive, at leas t for poetry,

92 MEMOIR or BURN S .

i f the young men were enumerated whom he drew fromobscuri ty, and enabled, by education , to advance themselv esi n l i fe , the cata logue would exci t e surprise . He was notof a dispos i tion to act as Walpol e did to Chatterton , to

ofwhich he recited to me frequently long composi tions with the

most m inute accuracy. They were ch iefly ballads, and otherp ieces in our S cottish dialect ; great part of th em ( he told me)he had learned in h is ch ildhood, from h is mother, wh o deligh tedin such recitations , and whose poetical taste, rude as it probablywas, gave, i t is presumable, the first direction to her son’s genius .

Of the m ore polished verses wh ich accidentally fell into h ish ands in h is early years, he m entioned particularly the recom

mendatory poems, by different authors, prefixed to ‘ Hervey’

s

Meditations —a book wh ich has always had a very wide circu

lation among such of the country - people of Scotland as affect tounite som e degree of taste with th eir religious studies . And

th ese poem s ( although they are certa inly below mediocrity) hecontinued to read with a degree of rapture beyond express ion .

He too k notice of th is fact h imself, as a proof h ow much the

taste is liable to be influenced by accidental circumstances .

His father appeared to me from the account he gave of h im ,

to h ave been a respectable and worthy character, possessed of a

m ind superior t o what m igh t have been expected from his stationin life . He as cribed much of h is own principles and feelings tothe early impressions he had received from h is instructions and

example . I recollect that he once applied to h im ( and headdedthat the pas sage was a literal statement of fact) the two las t linesof the following passage in the ‘Minstrel, ’ thewhole ofwh ich berepea ted with great enthusiasm

Shall I be left forgott en in the dust,When fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ;

Shall nature ’

s voice, to man alone unjust,Bid h im , though doom

’

d to perish , hope to live ?Is i t for th is fai r virtue oft m ust striveWrth disappointment, penury , and pain ?

No Heaven’

s immortal Spring shall yet arrive ;And m an

'

s majestic beauty bloom again,

Brigh t th rough th’ eternal year of love’s triumph ant reign.

With respect to Burns’s early education I cannot say anything with certainty. He always spoke with respect and gratitude of the schoolmas ter wh o h ad taugh t h im to read English ;and wh o, finding in h is scholar a more than ordinary ardour forknowledge, h ad been at pains to instruct h im in the grammaticalprinciples of the language. He began the study of Latin, bu tdropped it before he had finished the verbs . I have som etimes

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94 men ow o r BURN S .

sense of the subl ime, the beauti ful, the tender, the p ious ,the vi rtuous. Poetry was to him the 'dear solace of per

petual bl indness .

S uch was the am iable old man to whom ou r hard wasintroduced , andwho took such i n teres t i n his su ccess . He

was a pattern of e ve ry good qual i ty, as appears by his l i few ri tten by M

‘Kenzie. His wri t i ngs are verging on'

obli

v ion , though some of them deserved a better fate bu t them emo ry of his vi rtues wi ll n ever pass away, un ti l manki ndshall have ceased to sympath i z e wi th the fortunes of gen ius,and to appreciate the poe try of Burns.

The scen e that opened on ou r hard in Edinburgh wasal together n ew, and i n a vari ety of other respects h ighlyi n terest ing, especially to one of his disposi t ion of m i nd .

To use an express ion of his own, he found h imself sud

denly translated from the veri es t shades of l ife,” i n to the

presence, and, i ndeed, i n to the soci ety of a number of persons, previously known to him by report as of the h ighes td isti nction i n his country, and whose characters it ‘ wasnatu ral for him to exam i n e wi th no common curios i ty.

From the men of letters, i n general , his reception wasparti cularly flatteri ng. The lat e Dr Rob erts on , Dr Blai r,Dr G regory, Dugald S tewart, Henry Mackenz i e The

Man of Feel ing,’ and M r Frazer Tytler, may b e m entionedi n the list of those who perceived his u ncommon talents,who acknowledged more especially his powers in conversat ion , and who i n terested th emselves i n the culti vati on of

h is gen ius . In Edinburgh l i terary and fash i onable soci etyare a good deal m i xed. Our bard was an accep table gues tin the gayest and most elevated c i rcles, and frequently t e

ceived from femal e b eau ty and elegance, those atten tionsabo v e all others most grateful to him. At the table of LordMonboddo he was a frequen t guest ; and wh i le he enj oyedthe soci ety, andpartook of thehospitali ti es of the venerablej udge

, he experi enced thekindness andcondescens ion of hislo v ely and accompl ish ed daugh ter. The s i ngular b eauty ofth is young lady was i llum inated by that happy express ion

MEMO IR or BURN S . 9 5

. of coun tenancewh i ch resul ts from the un ion of cult i vated-taste and superior unders tanding wi th the fin est affecti onsof the m i nd. The i nflu ence of such attractions was not

unfel t by ou r poet. There has not been any th i ng l ike.M iss Burnet,” sa id he in a letter to a fri end, “ i n all the

combinat ion ofbeauty, grace, and goodness the Creator hasformed si nceM i l ton’s Eve on thefi rs t day of herexisten ce .

”

In his Address to Edinb urgh she is celeb rated i n a straino fstill greater elevat ion

Fai r Burnet strikes th ’ adoring eye,Heaven’s beauties on my fancy sh ine ;

I see the S i re of Love on h igh ,And own his work indeed divine !”

Th is l ovely woman died a few years afterwards in the

flower of youth . Our bard expressed h is sens ib il i ty onthat occas ion in verses addressed to her m emory .

Among themen of rank and fash i on Burns was part icularly distinguished by James, earl o f Glencai rn . On the

motion of th is nobleman the Cal edon ian Hun t, an associat ion of the pri ncipal of the nob il i ty and gen try of Sco tland,ex tended thei r patronage to ou r hard, and adm i tted him t o

thei r gay orgies . He repai d thei r noti ce by a dedicat i onof the enlarged and improved ed iti on of his poems, i n wh i chhe has celebrated th ei r patrio tism and i ndependence i n veryan imated terms.It is to be presumed that these generous sen timen ts , ut

tered at an era s ingularly propi t ious to independence ofcharacte r and conduct, were favourably rece ived by the

persons to whom they were addressed, and that they wereechoed from every bosom as well as from that of the earlof Glencai rn . Th is accompl ished nobleman , a scholar, a

man of taste and sensib i l i ty, died soon afterwards. Had

he l ived, and had his power equal led his wishes, S cotlandm ight s ti ll have exul ted i n the gen i us, i nstead of lam en tingthe early fate of her favouri te hard.

A tas te for letters is not always conj oi n ed wi th hab its oftemperanceand regulari ty ; and Edinburgh , at the peri od

I 2

MEMO IR OF BURNS .

of wh ich we Speak,con ta i ned perhaps an uncommon pro

portion of men of considerable tal en ts, devoted to socialexcesses, i n wh i ch thei r talen ts werewas ted and debased.

Bu rns entered in to several parti es of th is descri ption wi ththe usual vehemence of his character. His generous affect ions, his arden t eloquence, his brill iant and daring imagination , fi tted him to be the i dol of such associat ion

'

s and

accustom i ng h imself to conversat ion of unl im i ted‘ range,and to festive i ndulgences that scorn ed restrai n t, he gradually lost som e portion of his rel ish for the more pure, bu tl ess poignan t pleasures, to b e found i n the ci rcl es of taste,elegance, and literature.

zjé The sudden al terat ion i n his

Of the state of h is m ind at th is time, an authentic, thoughimperfect, document remains in a book wh ich be procured in thespring of 1787, for the purpose, as he h imself informs us , of recording in i t whatever seemed worthy of observation. The fol

lowing extracts may serve as a specimenEDINBURGH, Ap ril 9, 1787.

“ As I have seen a good deal of human life in Edinburgh , a

great many ch aracters wh ich are new to one bred up in the shadesof life as I have been, I am determ ined to take down my remarkson the spot . Gray observes, in a letter to Mr Palgrave, thathalf a word fixed upon, or near the spot, is worth a cart-load

of recollection .

’ I don’t know how i t is wi th theworld in gen~

era], but with me making m y remarks is by no means a solitarypleasure. I want some one to laugh wi th me, some one to be

grave with me, some one to please me and h elp my discrim ination, wi th h is or her own remark, and at times, no doubt, toadm i re my acuteness and penetration . Theworld are so busiedwi th selfish pursu its, amb ition , vanity, interest, or pleasure, thatvery few th ink i t worth their wh ile to make any observation on

what pas ses around them , except wh ere that observation is a

sucker, or branch of the darling plant they are rearing in theirfancy. Nor am I sure, notwith standing all the sentimental fl igh tsof novel-writers, and the sage ph ilosophy of moralists, wh etherwe are capable of so intimate and cordial a coalition of friendsh ip, as that oneman may pour out h is bosom , h is every though tand floatingfancy, h is very inmost soul, with unreserved confidenceto another, without hazard of losing part of that respect wh ichman deserves from man ; or, from the unavoidable imperfectionsattending human nature, of one day repenting h is confidence.

For th ese reasons I am determ ined to make th ese pages myconfidant. I will sketch every character that any way strikes

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98 - MEMOIR or BURNS .

Considerable.

‘

Butwhatever influencem igh t be producedon h is conduct ,

'

h is excellen t unde rstanding suffered n ocorresponding debasemen t. He estimated his fri ends and

associates of every descr ip t i on at thei r proper value,and

h ead at table, ( thewhole company consisted ofh is lordsh ip, dunderpate, and myself,) that I was with in half a point of th rowingdown my gage of contemptuous defiance ; but he shook my hand,and looked so benevolently good at parting, God bless h im !though I should never see h im more, I shall love h im until mydying day ! I am pleased to th ink I am so capable of the th roesofgratitude, as I am m iserably deficient in some oth er v irtues.

Wi th Dr Blair I am more at my eas e. I never respect h imwi th humble veneration but wh en he k indly interests h imself inmy welfare, or still more, when he descends from h is p innacle,and m eets me on equal ground in conversation, my heart overflows wi th what is called liking . Wh en he neglects me for themere carcass of greatness, or wh en h is eyemeasures the difference of our points of elevation, I say to myself wi th scarcely anyemotion, what do I care for h im or h is pomp either ?”

The intentions of the poet in procuring th is book, so fully described by h imself, were very imperfectly executed. He has inset ted in i t few or no incidents, but several observations and re

flect ions, ofwh ich the greater part that are proper for the publiceye, will be found interwoven in the volum e of h is letters. The

m ost curious particulars in the book are the delineations of thecharacters hemet wi th . These are not num erous ; but th ey arech iefly persons of distinction in the republic of letters, and noth ing but the delicacy and respect due to l iving characters p revents us from comm itting th em to the press. Though i t appearsthat in h is conversation hewas sometimes disposed to sarcas ticremarks on the men with whom he lived, noth ing of th is k ind isdiscoverable in these more deliberate efforts ofh is unders tanding,wh ich , wh ile they exh ib i t great clearness ofdiscrim ination, m anifest also thewish , as well as the power, to bestow h igh and gen

erous praise .

As a sp ecimen of th ese delineat ions, we give the character ofDr Bla ir, wh o h as now paid the deb t of nature, in the full con

fidence that th is freedom will not be found inconsistent wi th the

respect and veneration due to that excellent man, the las t starin the literary constellation, by wh ich them etropolis of Scotlandwas, in the earlier part of the present reign, so beautifully illum ih ated.

’

“ It is not easy form ing an exact judgmen t ofany one; but, in

m y op inion, Dr Blai r is m erely an astonish ing proof what indust ry and application can do. Natural parts like his are frequentlyto bemet wi th ; his vanity is proverb ially known among h is ac~

MEMO IR or BURNS . 99

app reciated h is own conduct wi th a precisi on that m igh tgive scope to much cu ri ous andmelancholy reflect ion . Hesaw his danger, and at t imes formed resolu t ions to guardagainst i t bu t he had embarked on the t ide of d issipat ion ,andwas borne along i ts stream .

CHAP . VII I .

BURNS’S Toua s THROUGH scort axn.

O CALEDON IA ! stem andwild,Meet nurse for a poetic ch ild !Land of brown heath and sh aggy wood,

Land of themountain and the floodLand ofm y sires what m ortal h andCan ere untie the filial band,That knits me to thy rugged strand !By Yarrow

’s stream still let me stray ,

Though none sh ould guidem y feebleway

S t ill feel t he breezedown Ettrick break ,A lthough it ch illmy wi ther’d cheekS t ill lay my head by Teviot stone,Though there, forgotten and alone,

TheBardmay draw his parting groan.

As I sa i d before, I i n tend to leave ou t noth i ng that ourhard relates of h imself, so I must i nse rt here an accoun t ofhis jaun ts over a part of S cotland and Northumb erland,and h is cursory notes along with these. They have l i ttl ee i th er of efficacy or i n terest, save on e letter of his own fromLoch Lomond, wh ich i s h ighly character i sti c, both of theman and his tour ; for st ill I am obliged to regard thewhol etenor of his l ife as a h igh wrough t farce : bu t alas ! whatels e is any sons of gen i us when brough t to the tes t ?

quaintance but he is justly at the h ead of what may be calledfine writing; and a critic of the fi rst, the very fi rst, rank inprose ; even in poetry, a b ard of Nature’s making can only takethe pas of h im . He has a h eart, not of the very finest water,but far from being an ordinary one. In short, he is truly a wor

thy and most respectable character.

100 .m :w oa or BURNS .

The class ic scenes of Tweeds ide andher tribu taryborders treams, naturally presen ted themselves to his fancy as the

fi rs t that cla imed his atten tion , and a poor shabby vi ew hetook of them. He ough t to have v isi ted the fields ofFlodden

!

and O tterbu rn , wi th many others celeb rated insong surveyed the classi cal streams of Teviot, Ettri ck,and Yarrow, to their roman ti c sources ; sung among the

Broom of Cowdenknowes, and conversed wi th theb raw ladsof Gala Water i nstead ofwh ich , read his stun ted tour andmore stunted diary . He left Edinburgh on the 6th May,

1787, and, travelling on horseback,was accompan i ed, duri ngsome part of his j ou rn ey, by Mr Ainsl i e, now wri ter to thes ignet, a gentleman who enj oyed much of his fri endsh ip andof his confidence.

* Of th is tour a j ournal rema i ns, wh ich,

Mr Ainslie has kindly communica ted thefollowinganecdotesof that tour, and of other interesting incidents wh ich occurreddur ing his intercourse wi th theBard

TO LIB JAMES HOGG.

“DEAR Sm,—As you are publish ing the memorab ilia of my

old friend Burns, you are extremely welcome to the followinglittle anecdotes ofh im

It is m entioned in Dr Currie’s '

Life of the Poet, that wh en hewas in Edinburgh , be accompanied me on a horseback excursionfrom Edinburgh to Peebles, down the Tweed, all the way toColdstream ,

and from thence to Berrywell, near Bumse, the res idence of my father. Theweather was charm ing ; both partiesthen youthful and in good spi ri ts and the Poet deligh ted withthe fine scenery, and the many poetical associations connectedwith it. Wh en we arrived at Coldstream , where the div idingline between Scotland andEngland is theTweed, I suggested ourgoing across to the other s ide of the river by the Co ldstreamb ridge, that Burnsm igh t have it to say he had been in Engla nd.

”

We did so , and were p acing slowly along on English ground, enjoying our walk, wh en I was astonished to see the Poet th rowaway h is hat, and, thus uncovered, look towards Scotland, kneeling down with uplifted h ands , and, apparently, in a state ofgreatenthus iasm . I kept s ilence, uncertain what was next to bedone,wh en Burns, wi th extreme emotion, and an express ion of countenancewh ich I will never forget, prayed for andblessed Scotlandmost solemnly, b y pronouncing aloud, in terms of thedeepest de

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102 M an ors. or BURNS .

cou rse of th is tourhe visited'

Mr Ainsl i e of Berrywell, thefa ther of h is cornpanion Mr Brydone, the celebrated travell er, to whom he carried a l etter of i n troduction from Mr

Mackenz i e ; theRev. Dr Somerville of Jedburgh, the h is

hospi table not to offer a bo ttle to my friend, who was one of thefines t fellows in theworld. Wh at then was to have been expectedto happen —that some nice po ints would have been discussedan exercise in wh ich thePoet displayed always great eloquenceand many a fine quotation made, inwh ich be constantly indulgedwith great fervour ; and, lastly, that the poor five bottles ofwinem igh t have suffered in the cause, to the great elucidation -of all

the questions, and the increase of the beauty and sublimity

’

ofall

the passages quoted. But no such th ing. No, my friend,’ saidBurns giving me at the sam e tim e a kindly slap upon the shoulder, we’ll hae nae wine the day to sit doz ing in the house onsic a glorious afternoon as th is Besides, yeken you and I dinnarequi re wine to sharpen our wit, nor its adventi tious aid to mak

happy . No we’ll tak a walk about Arthur S eat, and com ein to a late tea. Wedid so ; and I almost never found thePoet

amusing, so instructive, and altogether so deligh tful, as hewasin the charm ing stroll wh ich we had togeth er, and during the

sober tea drink ing’wh ich followed i t.

I have ment ioned that Burns was extremely fond of quoting,in society, favouri te poetical passages ; and in h is correspondencealso with his intimates, he indulgedh im self in doing so , much totheir gratification. The subj ect of one of h is letters to me, wast he prospect of a happy eternity, and he concluded i t with the

following verses, wh ich were not h is own composition’Tis this , my friend, that streaks our morning brigh t ;

’Tis th is that gilds the horror of our nigh t.Wh en wealth forsakes us, andwh en friends are few ;When friends are fai thless , and when foes pursue’Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,D isa rm s afliict ion , or repels the dart ;With in the breast b ids purest rapture rise,Bids sm iling conscience spread her cloudless skies.

L iving, as I did, in hab i ts of close intimacy wi th h im duringh is res idence in Edinburgh, wh en he publish ed thesecond editionof his poems, often have I h eard h im recite these fine verses,wh ich seemed to h ave made much impress ion on h im . PoorBurns Those wh o were best acquainted with h im knewthat beviewed and considered th ese noble and interesting subjects as heough t. The lapse of fleeting years is fast diss ipa ting the remainsof unkind feeling wi th wh ich some latterly regarded h im ; and

.MEMorR or BURNS . 103

torian ; Mr and Mrs Scott of Wauchope ; Dr Elliot, a

phys ician , re t ired to a romanti c spot on the banks of theBoole ; Sir Alexander Don S ir James Hall of Dunglassand a great var i ety of other respectable characters. Everywhere the fame of the poet _ had spread b efore h im, and

every where he received themost hospi table and flatteringatten tions. At Jedbu rgh he conti nued several days, andwas honou red by themagistrates wi th the freedom of the irborough . The followi ng may serve as a specimen of th istour, wh i ch the perpetual reference to l i v i ng charactersprevents ou r giving at large.

S a turday , May 6th . L eft Edinburgh—Lammermuir-h il ls , m iserably dreary in general, but at t imes veryp icturesque.

Lanson-edge, a glorious v i ew of the Merse. ReachBerrywell. The fam i ly-meeting with my com

p agnon de voyage, very charm i ng ; particularly the s ister.S unday . Wen t to church at Dunse. Heard D r

Bowmaker. ”E

“M onday . Coldstream—glori ous r iver Tweed -clearand maj esti c—ti n e bridge—dine at Coldstream wi th Mr‘Ainsl i e ane Foreman . Beat M r Foreman i n a disputeabout Vol ta ire . Drink tea at Lenel-House wi th Mr andMrs Brydone. Reception extremely flatter ing.

S leep at Coldstream.

Tuesday . Breakfas t at Kelso—charm ing s i tuation ofthe town—fine bridge over the Tweed. Enchanting views

wh ile h is country justly appreciates h is m emory, h is fame willdescend to future times, worthy of the author of The Cotter’sSa turday Nigh t.

’

Y ou may make what use of these anecdotes, in your new

publication, you chnose. They were given by me formerly toMrChambers, and have app eared in h is journal ; but I now h andthem to you in this letter, which you may insert in your work ifyou like.

'

I am, dear Sir,

Yours very sincerely,ROBERT Am smn.

“Baouca'ros Peace, EDINBURG II, §2051: Ap ril,

MEMO IR OF BURNS .

and prospec ts on both sides of the r i ver, especially on‘

the

S cotch s ide. V is i t Roxburgh Palace—fine si

tuat ion of i t. Ruins of Boxburgh Cas tl e—a Holly-bushgrowing where James the S econd was acciden tly killed bythe bu rsti ng of a cannon . A smal l old religious ru in , a nda fin e old garden planted by the rel igious , rooted ou t anddestroyed by a Hottentot, a ma itred

’ hotel of the Duke’s !—Climate and soil of Berwicksh i re and even Roxburghsh i re , superior to Ayrsh ire—bad roads—turnip and sheephusbandry, the ir grea t improvemen ts. Low markets , consequently low lands—magnificence of farmers andfarm-houses . Come up theTevio t, and up theJed to Jedbu rgh to lie

,and so wish myself good n igh t.

Wednesday . Breakfast w i th Mr Fa ir.Charm i ng roman tic s i tuati on of Jedburgh, wi th gardens ando rchards, in term ingled among the houses and the ru ins ofa oncemagn ificen t cathedral . All the towns here have theappearance of old rude grandeur, but extremely idle—Jed,a fin e roman tic l i ttle r i ver . Dined wi th Capt. Ru therford ,

return to Jedbu rgh . Walk up the Jed wi th someladi es to be shown Love-lane, and Blackburn , two fa i rysc enes . In troduced to Mr Potts, wri ter, and to Mr Somm erv ill e, the cl ergyman of the parish, a man, and a gen tleman, bu t sadly addicted to punn ing.

“ Jedburgh , S a turday . Was presented by the magistrates wi th the freedom of the town .

Took farewell of Jedburgh wi th some melancholy sensat ions.

“Monday , M ay 14th , Kelso. Dine wi th the farmers’

club—all gentlemen talking of h igh matters—each of themkeeps a hunter from £3 0 to £50 val ue, and attends thefox-hunt ing club i n the country. Go ou t wi th Mr Ker,one of the club , and a fri end of Mr A insl i e’s, to sl eep , Inh is mi nd and manners

,Mr Ker is aston ish i ngly l ike my

dear old friend Robert Mui r.—Eve ry th ing i n his houseel egan t. He offers to accompany me i n my English tou r .

Tuesday . Din e wi th Sir Alexander Don a very wet

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106 MEMO IR or BURN S .

Hav i ng remai ned wi th them a few days, he proceededaga in to Edinburgh

, and immediately set out on a j ourneyto the Highlands . Of th is tour no particulars have b eenfound among his manuscripts . A letter to his fri end MrAinsl i e

,dated Arrachar, nea r Crocha irba s, by Loch leary ,

J une28th , 1787 commences as followsI write you th is on my tou r through a country where

savage streams tumble over savage moun tains, th i nly over.spreadwi th savage flocks, wh ich starvingly support as savagei nhabi tants. My last stage was Inverary—to-morrow n igh t

’

s

stage, Dumbarton . I ough t sooner to have answered yourki nd letter, but you know I am a man of many s ins.

”

Thereader wil l b e amused wi th thefollowing extract fromone of our Bard’s letters to a fri end, wri tten during his tour.It is that m ent ioned at the beginn ing of th is chapter

On our return at a Highland gentleman’s hospi tablemansion, we fell in with a merry party, and danced ti ll theladi es left us, at three i n themorn ing. Ou r danci ng wasnone of the French or Engl ish insip id formal movemen tsthe ladies sung Scotch songs l ike angels , at i ntervals thenwe flew at B ob a t the bowster, Tullochgorum, Loch

Erroch side! ? &c. l ike m idges sport ing i n themort i e sun,or craws prognosti cat ing a storm i n a hairst day . Whenthe dear lass es left us, we ranged round the bowl ti ll thegood-fellow hour of six ; except a few m i n utes that wewent out to pay our devotions to the glorious lamp of daypeering over the towering top of Benlomond. We all

kn eeled ; our worthy landlord’

s son h eld the bowl ; eachman a full glass i n his hand ; and I, as pri est, repeatedsome rhym i ng nonsense , l ike Thomasa -Rhymer

’s prOpheci es I suppose. After a small refreshment o f the gifts of

Somnus, we procegled to spend the day on Lochlomond,and reach Dumbarton i n the even ing. We din ed at an

other good fellow’

s house, and consequently push’d the

bottl e when we went out to moun t our horses, we found

Scotch tunes.

MEMO IR or BURN S . 07

ourselves “No vera fou but gaylie yet . My two fri endsand I rode soberly down the Loch s ide, t i ll by came a Highlandm an at the ga llop, on a tolerably good hors e, but wh ichhad n ever known the ornam en ts of i ron or leather. We

scorned to be out-galloped by a Highlandman , so off we

sta rt ed, wh ip and spur . My compan ions, though seem in glygai ly mounted, fell sadly astern but mv old mare , JennyGeddes, one of the Rosi nante fam i ly, she strain ed pas t theHighlandman i n spi te of all his efforts , wi th thehai r-halterj ust as I was pass i ng him , Donald wh eeled his horse , as i fto cross before me to mar my progress, wh en down cameh is horse, and threw his r ider

’

s breekless a—e in a cl ipthedge ; and down came Jenny Geddes ov er all, and my

bardsh ip b etween her and theHighlandman’s horse. JennyGeddes trode o ver mewi th such cau tious reverence, thatmatters were not so bad as m igh t well have been expectedso I came offwi th a few cuts and bru ises , and a thoroughresolution to b e a pattern of sobri ety for the future .

I have yet fixed on noth i ng wi th respect to the seriousbusin ess of l ife. I am , j ust as usual , a rhym i ng, masonmaking, raking, aiml ess, idle fellow. However, I shallsomewhere have a farm soon . I was going to say, a wi fetoo but that must n ever b e my bl essed lot . I am but a

younger son of the house of Parnassus, and l ike other

younger sons of great fam i l i es, I may i n tr i gu e, i f I chooseto run all risks , bu t must not marry.

“ I am afraid I have almost ru i n ed on e source, the

principal on e indeed, of my form er happin ess that eternalpropens i ty I always had to fall i n love . My h eart no m oreglows wi th feverish rapture. I hav e no paradisiacal even ingi n terviews stolen from the r es tl ess cares and p ryi ng inhabitan ts of th is weary world . I have only 3? it at Th is las tis one of your distan t acqua in tances , has a fin e figu re, andel egan t mann ers and i n the tra i n of som e great folks whomyou know, has seen the poli tes t quarters i n Eu rope . I dolike her a good deal bu t what piques me is her conductat the commencement of our acquai n tance. I frequently

x 2

108 MEMO IR or BURNS .

visi ted her when I was i n and after pass ing regularly the i ntermediate degrees between the distan t formalbow and the fam i l iar grasp round thewaist, I ven tu red inmy carel ess way to talk of fr iendsh i p i n rather amb iguousterms ; and after her return to I wrote to her i nthe same styl e . Miss, constru ing my words farther I suppose than ev en I i ntended, flew off i n a tangen t of femaledign i ty and reserve, l ike a moun ta i n lark i n an Apri l momi ng andwrote me an answer wh i ch measured me out verycompletely what an immens e way I had to travel before Ireach the cl imate of her favour. But I am an old hawk atthe sport andwrote her such a cool , del iberate, pruden treply, as b rough t my b ird from her aerial towerings, popdown at my foot l ike co rporal Tr im

’

s hat .

As for the res t of my acts , andmy wars, and all my

wi se say i ngs, andwhy my mare was called Jenny Geddesthey shal l be recorded i n a fewweeks hence at L i nl i thgow,

i n the chron icles of you r memory, byROBERT BURNS .

”

From th is j ourn ey Burns return ed to his fri ends i n Ayrsh i re, wi th whom he spen t the month of July, ren ewinghis fri endships, and extending his acquai n tance throughou tthe coun ty, where hewas now very gen erally known and

adm i red. In August he aga i n visi ted Edinburgh,whence

he undertook another journey towards the m i ddl e of th ismon th ,

i n company wi th -Mr M. Adai r,now Dr Adai r, of

Harrowgate, of wh i ch th is gentleman gives the followingaccoun t

Burns and I left Edinburgh together i n August, 1787.

We rode by L i nl i thgow and Carron to S t i rl ing . We vis i tedthe i ron-works at Garron , wi th wh ich the poet was forciblyst ruck. The resemblance between that place and its inhab i tan ts to the cave of the Cyclops, wh i ch must haveoccurred to every class ical reader, presented i ts elf to Burns .

At S ti rl ing the prospects from the cas tl e strongly in teres tedh im ; in a former vis i t to wh ich, h is nat ional feel ings had

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110 MEMO IR or BURNS .

in g scen ery , i nferior to none in S co tland i n beauty, sub

l im i ty, and roman tic int erest : part icularly Castl e Campbell,the ancien t seat of the fam ily of Argyle, and the famousca taract of the Devon , called the Caldron L i nn , and the

Rumbl ing Bridge, a si ngl e broad arch, thrown by the devil ,i f tradi tion is to be bel ieved, across the r i ver, at about theh eight of a hundred feet above i ts bed . I am su rprised thatnon e of these scenes should have called forth an exertionof Burns ’s muse. But I doubt if he had much tas te for thepicturesque. I well remember that theladies at Harvieston,

who accompan i ed us on th is jaunt, expressed thei r disappo in tm ent at his not express ing i n more glowing and ferv idlanguage his impressi ons of the Caldron L i nn scene, certainly highly sublim e, and somewhat horr ible.

A vis i t to Mrs Bruce of Clackmannan , a lady aboven in ety, the lineal descendant of tha t race wh ich gave the

S cott ish thron e i ts b righ tes t ornament, interes ted his feelings more powerfully. Th is v en erabl e dame, wi th characterist ical dignity, i nformed me, on my observing tha t I believed shewas descended from the fam i ly of Robert Bruce,that Robert Bruce was sprung from her fam i ly. Thoughalmos t deprived of speech by a paralytic affection , she preserved her hospi tal i ty and urban ity. Shewas i n possess ionof thehero’s h elmet and two-handed swo rd, with wh i ch sheconferred on Burns and myself the honour of kn igh thood,remarking that she had a better r igh t to confer that t i tl ethan somep eop le.

it You wi ll of cou rse conclude thatthe old lady

’

s pol i tical tenet s were as Jacobi tical as the

po et’

s,—a conform i ty wh ich contr ibuted not a l i ttle to the

cor dial i ty of our reception and ent erta inment . She gaveas herfirs t toas t after d inn er, Awa

’ Uncos,’ or Away withthe S trangers —wbn these strangers were, you will readilyunderstand. Mrs A . corrects me by saying i t should beHooi,

’ or Hoohi uncos ,’

- a sound used by sheph erds todi rect thei r dogs to drive away the sheep ; but if that wasthe ph rase the old lady meant, i t should be Hawa uncos.

’

We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the Shore

MEMO IR or BURN S . 1 1 1

of Lochleven) and Q u eensferry. I am i ncl in ed to th i nkBurns knew noth ing of poo r M ichael Bruce, who was thenali ve at Kinross, or had di ed th ere a short wh i l e before .

A meeting between thebards, or a vis i t to the deserted cottage and early grav e of poor Bruce, would have been h ighlyinteres t ing.

At Dunferm l inewe v isi ted the ru ined abb ey, and the

abbey-church , now consecrated to Presbyter ian worsh ip .

Here I mounted the cutty s tool, or stool of rep en tance,

assum i ng the character of a pen i ten t for forn ica t ion ; wh il eBu rns, from the pulpi t, addressed to mea l udicrous reproofand exhortation , parodied from that wh i ch had been del ivered to h imself i n Ayrsh ire, Where he had, as he assuredme, once b een one of seven who mounted thesea t of shame

together.“ In the churchyard two broad flag-stones marked the

grave of Robert Bruce, for whosememory Burns hadmorethan common ven erat ion . He knelt and kissed the ston ewi th sacred fervour, and h eart ily (suus u t mos era t) execrated theworse than Goth i c n eglect of the fi rst of Scottishh eroes .

*

According to Fordun, Robert Bruce was buried in the middle of the choir of Dunferm line Abbey. Barbour describes theinterment of th is illustrious S cottish monarch as follows

Th ey have had him to DunfermlineAnd him solemnly yirded syne,In a fair tomb into the quire,Bishops and prelates that were th ereAssoilz i ed h im , wh en the serviceWas done, as th ey best could device,And syne upon the oth er day,So rry and wo th ey went th eir way ;And he debowelled was cleanly,And also balm ed syne full richly ;And theworthy Lord ofDouglas,His h eart, as i t forspoken was,Received has in great dewt ie,With fair and great solemnitie.

The neglect so much execrated by Burns h as been since re

paired. Wh en thenew parish church ofDunfermline was erected

1 12 memora or BURNS .

But the Bard's own account of th is tour to his brothermust not be om i tted h ere for

,though too short, i t is

.

genu i uc, and expressed h is feelings at that time. He wellkn ew in what l ight the pruden t Gilbert would v i ew thosedash ing expens i v e j ourneys

Enn s uacn, 17111 September, 1787.

MY DEAR BROTHER , —Iarrived here safe yesterday evening after a tour of twenty- two days, and travell ing n ear sixhundred m i l es , wi ndings i ncluded . My farthest stretch wasabou t ten m i l es beyond Inverness. I wen t through the

h ear t of the Highlands, by Criefl'

, Taymouth , the' famous

seat of Lord Breadalban e, down the Tay, among cascadesand dru id ica l ci rcles of ston es , to Dunkeld, a seat of theduke of Athole thence cross Tay, and up one of his tributary streams to Bla i r of Athole , another of the duke’ssea ts , where I had the honour of spending nearly two dayswi th h is grace and fam i ly ; thence many m i l es through a

wi ld country, among cl iffs grey with eternal snows, and

gloomy savage glens, t ill I crossed Spey andwent down thestream through S trathspey, so famous i n Scottish music,Badenoch , &c. t ill I reach ed Gran t Castl e, where -I spen thalf a day wi th S ir James Gran t and fam ily ; and thencrossed the coun try for Fort-George, but called by thewayat Cawdor, the anci en t seat of Macbeth ; there I saw the

iden tical bed i n wh ich , tradition says , king Duncan wasmurdered : lastly, from Fort-George to Inverness.

I returned by thecoast, through Na i rn , Forres, andso on ,

in 1818, i t was made to enclose the burial- place of the kings,and on th is occas ion the tomb of theBruce was Opened. Thebodyo f the h ero was found reduced to a skeleton . The lead in wh ichit had been wrapped was still entire, and even some of a fine

linen cloth , embroideredwith gold, wh ich had formed h is sh roud.

His bones having been deposited in a new leaden coffin, half an

inch th ick, seven feet long, two feet five inch es broad, and two

feet in depth, into wh ich was poured melted p itch to preservethem , hewas re- in terred wi th much state and solemnity, by theBarons of theExch equer, many of the most distinguish ed noblemen and gentlemen of the county being present. The tomb of

Bruce is immediately under the pulp i t of the new ch urch .

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1 14 mmrom or BURNS .

poets, destructive of the effect expected. Hence perhapsmay be expla in ed why the banks of the Devon and of theTweed form no part of the subj ects of his song.

A s im i lar trai n of reason i ng may perhaps explain the

wan t of emotion wi th wh i ch b e vi ewed the Caldron L i n n .

Certai nly there are no affections of t hem i nd more deadened by the i nfluence of previous expecta tion than . those

arisi ng from the sigh t of natural obj ects, andmore especiallyof obj ects of grandeu r. M i nute descri ptions of scenes ofa subl ime nature should n eve r be gi ven to those who are

about to v i ew them , particularly i f they are persons of greatstrength and sensib il i ty of imaginat ion . Language seldomor n ever conveys an adequate idea of such obj ects, but inthem in d of a great poet i t may exci te a pictu re that fart ranscends them . The imaginat ion of Burns m igh t form a

ca taract, i n compar ison with wh i ch the Caldron L i nn shouldseem the purl ing of a r ill, and even the m i gh ty falls ofN iagara a humble cascade.Whe ther these suggestions may assist i n explai n i ng our

Bard’s defici ency of impression on the occas ion referred to,or whether i t ough t rather to be impu ted to some preoccupat ion or indisposi tion of m i nd, we presum e not todecide ; but that hewas i n general feel ingly al ive to the

beauti ful or subl im e in scenery, may be supported by i rresist ible ev idence. I t is true th is pleasu re was greatly heigh tened in his m i nd, as m igh t b e expected, when combinedwi th moral emotions of a kind wi th wh i ch i t happ ily un i tes .

The differen t j ourn eys al ready men t ioned did not satisfythe curiosi ty of Burns. About thebeginn ing of S eptemberhe agai n set out from Edinburgh on a more extended tou rto the Highlands , in company wi th Mr N icol, with whomhe had now con tracted a particular in timacy;wh ich lastedduri ng the remai nder of his l i fe . Mr N icol was of Dum

fries-sh i re, of a descen t equally humble'

wi th our poet .L ike him he rose by the s trength of his tal en ts, and fell bythe

'

strength of his passi ons. He di ed in the summe r of1797. Having recei ved theelements of a classical instruc

MEMO IR or BURNS . 1 15

tion at his parish school , Mr N i col made a very rapid and

s i ngu lar profici ency ; and by early undertaking the officeof an i nst ructor h imself, he acqui red the means of enter in gh imself at the un ivers i ty of Edinburgh . Th ere hewas fi rs ta studen t of theology, th en a studen t of medici n e, andwasafterwards employed i n the ass istance and i nstructi on ofgraduates i n medicin e, i n those parts of the i r exercises inwh ich the Lat i n language is employed . In th is si tuati onhe was the con temporary and r ival of the celeb rated DrBrown , whom he resembled in the parti culars of his h istory ,as well as in the leading fea tures of his character. The

office of assistan t-teacher i n the High -school being vacan t ,i t was, as usual, fi lled up by competi t ion and i n the faceof some prej udices, and perhaps of some well-founded oh

ject ions, M r N i col, by superi or l earn ing, carri ed i t from all

the oth er candidates . Th is office he fill ed at the period ofwh i ch we speak .

It is to b e lamented that an acquai n tancewi th thewr i tersof Greece and Rom e does not always supply an originalwan t of tas te and correctness i n manners and conduct ; andwh ere it fails of th is efi‘

ect , i t somet imes inflames thenativ epr ide of temper, wh i ch treats wi th disdai n those del icaci esi n wh i ch i t has not l earn t to excel . I t was thus wi th the

fellow- traveller of Burns. Formed by nature i n a modelof great strength , n ei ther his person nor h is mann ers hadany t incture of taste or el egance ; and h is coarsen ess wasnot compensated by that roman tic sens ibi l i ty, and thosetower i ng fl ights

‘of imagi nation , wh i ch dist ingu ished the

conversat ion of Burns, i n the blaze of whose gen i us all thedefici enci es of his manners were absorbed and disappeared.

Mr N i col and our poet travelled in a post-chaisewh ichthey engaged for the j ourn ey, and, pass ing th rough the

h eart of theHighlands, stretched northwards abou t ten m i lesb eyond Inverness. There th ey ben t th ei r cou rse eastward ,across the island, and retu rn ed bv the shore of theGermansea to Edinburgh . In the cou rse of th is tou r, some particulais of wh i ch will he found i n the foregoi ng letter of our

116 MEMO IR or BURN S .

hard to his brother Gilbert, th ey v isi ted a number of remarkable scen es, and the imag i nat ion of Burns was cons tan tly exci ted by the wi ld and sublime scen ery th roughwh ich he passed. Of th is, several proofs may be found inthe poems formerly prin ted .

The followi ng addi t ional part iculars are from the pen ofProfessor Walker, who th en res ided in the fam ily of theduke of Athole On reach ing Blair he sent me noticeof his arrival, (as I had b een prev iously acquai n ted wi thh im ,) and I has ten ed to meet him at the i nn. The duke,to whom he brough t a l etter of i ntroduction , was fromhome bu t the duch ess , being i nformed of his arr i val, gaveh im an i nv i ta tion to sup and sleep at Athole-house. Heaccepted the i nv i tati on bu t, as the hour of supperwas atsome d istance, begged I would i n the in terval b e his gu ideth rough thegrounds . I t was al ready growi ng dark ; yet thesoften ed, though fa i n t and uncerta i n , vi ew of their beauti eswh i ch themoonlight afforded us , seemed exactly su i ted tothestate of his feel ings at the t ime. I hadoften , l ike others,experi enced the pl eas ures wh i ch arise from the sublime orelegan t landscape, but I n ever saw those feel ings so i ntenseas i n Bu rns . Wh en we reach ed a rustic hut on the r iverTi lt, where i t is overhung by a woody precip ice, from wh ichth ere is a noble waterfall, he threw h ims elf on the heathyseat, and gav e h imself up to a tender, abstracted, andvoluptuons en thus iasm of imaginat ion . I cannot h elp th i nkingi t m igh t have been h ere that he conce i ved the idea of thefollowi ng l ines , wh ich he afterwards i n troduced i n to h is

poem on BruarWate r, when only fancy ing such a comb inati on of obj ects as were now pres en t to h is eye

Or, by the reaper’s nigh tly beam ,

Mild, ch equering th rough the trees,Rave to my darkly-dash ing stream ,

Hoarse- swelling on the breeze .

’

It was with much difficu lty I preva i led on him to qurtth is spot, and to be in troduced i n p roper t im e to supper.

My curiosi ty was great to see how hewould conduct

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1 18 MEMO IR or BURNS .

n oble fam ily of Athole, was i n a h igh degree favou rable ;i t is certa i n hewas charmed wi th the reception he recei v edfrom th em, and heo ften menti oned the two days he spentat Athole-house as among the happies t of his l ife . He waswarmly i n v i ted to prolong h is stay, but sacrificed h is inclinat ions to his engagement wi th M r N i col wh i ch is themore to be regretted, as hewould otherwise have b een in

troduced to Mr Dundas , (then dai ly expected on a v isi t tothe duke,)—a circumstance that m igh t have had a favourable influence onBurns

’s fu ture fortun es . At Athole-house

hemet , forthe fi rs t t ime, Mr G raham,of Fin try, to whom

hewas afterwards i ndebted for his office i n the excise.The letters andpoemswh i ch headdress ed to Mr Graham,

bear testimony of his sensib il i ty, and j ust ify thesupposi tion ,that he would not have been deficien t i n grati tude had hebeen elevated to a si tuat ion better suited to his disposi t ionand to his tal en ts) ?A few days after leaving Bla i r of Athole, our poet and

h is fellow-traveller arrived at Fochabers . In the course ofthe preceding wi nter Burns had been i n troduced to theduchess of Gordon at Edinburgh , and presum ing on th isacquai ntance, he proceeded to Gordon-Cas tl e, l eav i ng Mr

N i col at the i nn i n thev illage, At the castl e our poet wasrece i ved wi th the utmos t hospi tal i ty and kindn ess, and thefam i ly bei ng abou t to sit down to dinn er, hewas i n v i tedto take h is place at table as a matter of cou rse. Th is invita t ion he accepted, and, after drinking a few glasses ofwin e, he rose up and propos ed to wi thdraw. On beingp ressed to stay , hemention ed, for thefi rs t t ime, hi s engagement wi th h is fellow- travell er ; and his noble host offeringto send a servan t to conduct Mr N i col to the cas tle, Burnsins isted on undertaking tha t office h imself. He was

,how

e ver, accompaniecfbya gen tleman , a part icula r acquain tance

of the duke, by whom the i n v i tat ion was del ivered in all

the forms of politeness . The i n v i tation came too late, the

See his epistles to Mr Graham in vol. iv.

MEMO IR or BURNS . 1 19

pr ide of N icol was i nflamed into a h igh degree of passionby the n eglect wh i ch he had already suffered. He hadordered the horses to b e put to the carriage, being determ i n ed to proceed on his j ou rney alone ; and they foundhim parading the streets of Fochabers, before the door ofthe in n , v en ting h is anger on the post il ion for the slownesswith wh i ch he obeyed his commands . AS no explanationnor entreaty could change the purpose of his fellow- traveller, our poet was reduced to the necess i ty of separatingfrom him enti rely, or of instantly proceeding wi th h im onthei r j ourn ey . He chose the last of these al ternat i ves ;and seating h imself bes ide N i col i n the post-chaise, wi thmortificat ion and regret, he turn ed his back on GordonCastle, where he had prom ised h imself som e happy days.

S ensibl e, however, of thegreat ki ndn ess of then oble fam ily,he made the best retu rn i n his power, by the followingpoem

S treams that glide in orient plains,Never bound by winter’s chains ;Glowing h ere on golden sands,There comm ix

’d with foulest stains

From tyranny’

s empurpled bandsThese, their richly gleam ingwaves,I leave to tyrants and their slaves ;G ive me the stream that sweetly lavesThe banks b y Castle- Gordon.

S p icy forests, ever gay,Shading from the burning rayHapless wretches sold to toil,Or the ruthless native’s way,Bent on slaugh ter, blood, and spoilWoods that ever verdant wave,I leave the tyrant and the slave,G ive me the groves that lofty b raveThe storms by Castle -Gordon .

Wildly here without control,Nature reigns and rules thewhole ;In that sober pensive mood,Dearest to the feeling soul,She plants the forest, pours the flood,

L 2

120 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

Life’s poor day I'

ll musing rave,And find at nigh t a sh eltering cave,Where waters flow and wild woods wave,By bonnie Castle- Gordon

Burns remai ned at Edinburgh duu ng the greater par t ofthewin ter, 1787-8, and again entered in to the society and

dissi pation of that metropol is. I t appears that on the 3 1stday of December, he attended a meeti ng to celebrate the

b irth-day of the l in eal descendant of the S cottish race ofkings

, the late unfortunatePrince Charles Edward. Whatever migh t have b een thewish or purpose of the originali nsti tu tors of th is annual meet ing, there is no reason to suppose tha t the gen tlemen of whom i t was at th i s t ime com

posed, were not perfectly loyal to the king on the throne.It is not to b e concei ved that they enterta i n ed any hopeof

, any wish for, the restoration of the House of S tuartbu t, over their sparkling

‘

wine, they i ndulged the generousfeel ings wh ich the recollection of fallen greatness is calculated to i nspire and commemorated the heroic valou rwh ich strove to susta i n i t i n vai n—valour worthy of a no

bler cause and of a happi er fortune. On th is occas ion ou rhard took upon h imself theoffice of poet-laureate, and produced an ode, wh ich , though deficien t in the complicatedrhythm and pol ished versificat ion that such composi t ionsrequire, m ight, on a fai r competi tion , where energy of feeli ng and of expressi on were alon e i n question , have wonthe butt of Malmsey from the real laureate of that day.

The following extracts may serve as a specimeni Q

Q

False flatterer, Hope, awayNor th ink to lure us as in days of yoreWe solemn ize th is sorrowing natal day

To prove our loyal truth—we can no moreAnd owning Heaven’s mysterious sway,

Subm issive, low, adore.

These verses our poet composed to be sung to ‘ Morag,’ aHighland air ofwh ich hewas extremely fond.

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122 MEMOIR or BURNS .

CHAPTER IX.

H ISTORY OF BURNS AT ELLISLAND .

By banks of N ith I sat andweptW hen Coila I th ought on ,

In midst thereof I hung my h arpThewillow trees upon.

BUT the gloomy n igh t is gathering fast : we must has tenon wi th ou r bard’s h istory, wh i ch , as usual wi th men of

genius, behoves to b e a detai l of reverses . Having settledwi th his publisher, Mr Creech, in February, 1788, Bu rnsfound h imself master of n early five hundred pounds

, afterdischarging all h is expenses . Two hundred pounds he immediately advanced to his b rother Gilbert, who had takenupon h imself the support of their aged mother, and wasstruggling wi th many difficult ies i n the farm of Mossgiel.Wi th the remai nder of th is sum, and some farther eventualprofits from his poems , he determ ined on settl ing h imselffor l ife i n the occupation of agricu lture , and took from MrM i ll er, of Dalswi n ton, the farm of Ellisland, on the banksof the r iver N i th

,Six m i les above Dumfries , on wh ich he

entered atWh i tsunday, 1788. Having been previously re

commended to theBoard of Excise, his name had been pu ton the l ist of candidates for the humble office of a gaugeror exciseman ; and he immediately appl i ed to acqui ringthe i nformat ion nec essary for fill ing that office

,when the

honou rable Board m igh t j udge i t proper to employ him.

He expected to be call ed i nto se rvice i n the district i nwh ich his farm was s i tuated, and vai nly hoped to un i te wi thsuccess the labou rs of the farmer wi th the duties of theexciseman .

When Burns had i n th is manner arranged his plans forfuturi ty, his gen erous h eart turn ed to the obj ect of hismost arden t attachmen t, and l isten ing to no considerations

MEMO IR or BURNS . 123

bu t those of honou r and affection , he j o ined with her i n apubli c declarat ion of marriage, thus l egal iz ing thei r u n .on

,

and rendering i t permanen t for l i fe . So says the am iableD r Curri e but, i n my opin ion , therewas no gen eros i ty inthe cas e. Jean Armour was th en his wife, both by the lawsof God and man , as much so as ever shewas in her l i fe,and had four ch i ldren by him,

all with the certa i n impress i on on her heart that Shewas his wi fe, and to be acknowledged as such as soon as a possible conven i ence sui tedso that to have behaved oth erwise than he did would havemarked h im a consummate villain but i n th is his secondand late acknowl edgment of her as his wife, there .was nomer i t, bu t rath er blam e, i n deferr ing i t so long. In th isopin ion I am, moreover, borne ou t by the Rev. Ham i l tonPaul , whom every man must regard as a j udge of th esematters .

Before Burns was known i n Edinburgh , a specimen ofh is poetry had recommended him to Mr M i ller of Dalswinton . Understanding that he i n tended to resume the l ife ofa farmer,Mr M i ll er had invi ted him, i n the spri ng of 1787,to vi ew his estate in N i thsdal e, ofi

'

ering him at the same

t ime the choice of any of his farms out of leas e, at such a

ren t as Burns and his fri ends m igh t j udge proper. It wasnot i n the nature of Burns to take an undue advantage ofthe l iberal i ty of Mr M i ller. He proceeded i n th i s bus in ess ,however,wi th more than usual del ibe rati on . Hav i ng madechoi ce of the farm of Ellisland, be employed two of hisfri ends, Skilled in the valu e of land, to exami n e i t, andwithth ei r approbation offered a rent to M r M i ller

,wh i ch was

immediately accepted. It was not conven i en t for Mrs

Burns to remov e immediately from Ayrsh ire, and our poetth erefore took up his residence alon e at Ellisland, to prepare for the reception of his wife and ch i ldren , who j oi nedhim towards the end of theyear.The s i tuat ion in wh i ch Bu rns now found h imself was

calculated to awaken reflection . Thedifferen t steps hehadof late taken were i n thei r nature h ighly important, and

MEMO IR or BURN S .

migh t be sa id to hav e, in some m easu re, fixed h is des t iny:He had become a husband and a fath er he had engagedin themanagemen t of a considerable farm , a diffi cul t andlabori ous u ndertaking ; i n his success the happ in ess of hisfami ly was i n volved i t was t ime, therefore, to abandon thega i ety and dissi pat ion of wh ich he had been too muchenamoured to ponder seriously on the past, and to formv irtuous resolutions respecting the future . That such wasactually the state of h is m i nd, the followi ng extract fromhis common -place book may bear witn ess

ELmSLAND, Sunday , 14th June, 1788.

Th is is now the th i rd day that I have been i n th iscountry. Lord, what is man ! ’ What a bustl ing l i ttlebundle of passi ons, appeti tes, ideas, andfancies And whata caprici ous kind of ex istence hehas here ! if it it There isi ndeed an elsewhere, where, as Thomson says, virtue sole

survives .

’

Tell us, ye deadWi ll none of you in p ity disclose the secret,What ’

t is you are,and wemust shortly be

A little timeWill make us wise as you are, and as close.

’

I am such a coward in l ife , so t i red of the service , thatI would almost at any t im e, with M il ton

’

s Adam , gladlylay me i n my mother

’

s lap, andbe at peace .

’

But a wi fe and ch i ldren bind me to struggle wi th thestream, till som e sudden squall shall overset thes i lly vessel, .

or i n the l istless return of years, its own craz iness reduce itto a wreck. Farewell now to those giddy foll ies, thosevarn ished vices, wh i ch , though half~sanct ified by the bewi tchi ng levi ty of wit andhumour, areat b est but thr iftless idl ingwith the precious curren t of ex istence nay, often poisoning thewhole, that, l ike the plai ns of Jericho, thewa ter isnaugh t and theground barren, and noth i ng short of a su

pernaturally-gifted El isha can ever after heal theev i ls .

Wedlock, the ci rcumstance that buckles me hardes t tocare, i f v i r tue and rel igion were to be any th ing wi th me

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126 marrow or BURNS .

o ur poet was wi thout the soci ety of his wi fe and ch i ldren.A great change had taken place i n h is si tuation ; h is oldhab i ts were b roken ; and the new c i rcums tances i n wh ichhewas placed were calcu lated to giv e a newdirection t o

his thoughts andconduct. But his appl icat ion to the caresand labou rs of his farm was i n terrupted by several v is i ts toh is fam i ly i n Ayrsh i re and as the distance was too greatfor a singl e day

’

s j ourn ey, b e generally Spen t a n igh t at ani nn on the road . On such occasions he somet imes fell i ntocompany, and forgot the resolutions he had formed. In a

l i ttl e wh i le temptation assai l ed him n earer home .His fame naturally drew upon h im the atten tion of his

n eighbours , and he soon formed a general acquai n tance inthedistrict i n wh i ch be l ived. The public voice had now

pronounced on the subj ect of his talen ts ; the reception hehadmet with i nEdinbu rgh hadgiven him thecurrencywh i chfash ion bestows hehad surmounted the prej udices aris ingfrom h is humble b i rth , and hewas rece ived at the table ofthe gentlemen of N i thsdal e wi th welcome, wi th kindness,and even wi th respect . Thei r social parti es too often se

duced him from his rust ic labours and his rustic fare, overthrew the unsteady fabric of his resoluti ons, and i nflamedthose propensi ti es wh ich temperance m igh t have weakened,and prudence ultimately suppressed. I t was not long,therefore, before Burns began to vi ew his farm wi th disl ikeand despondence, i f not wi th disgust .Unfortunately hehad for several years looked to an office

i n theExcise as a certai n m eans of l ivel ihood, should h isother expecta tions fai l . As has al ready been m en tioned,he hadh een recommended to theBoard ofExcise, andhadrec eived the i nstruction n ecessary for such a Situation.

at He

We h ave been kindly favoured with a copy of the letter of

instruction given by the Board to theworthy gentleman, underwhom Burns was trained for the duties of h is new office

Mr JAME S FINDLAY, Officer, TarboltonTHE Comm issioners order, That you instruct the Bearer, Mr

Robert Burns, in theArt of Gauging, and practical Dry gauging

MEMOIR or BURNS . 127

how appl i ed to b e employed ; and by the in terest of M rGraham of Fin try, was appointed exciseman , or, as i t isvulgarly called, gauger, of the district i n wh i ch he l i ved .

His farm was after this, in a grea t measure , abandoned toser van ts, wh i le hebetook h imself t o the duti es of his newappo in tmen t .He m ight, i ndeed, st i ll be seen i n the spri ng, di recti n g

h is plough , a labour in wh i ch he excelled or wi th a wh it esheet, con ta i n i ng h is seed-corn , slung across his Shoulders ,s triding wi th m easu red steps along his turn ed-up fu rrows,and scatter ing "

the grai n in the earth . But his farm nolonger occupi ed the pr incipal part of his care or his though ts .

I t was not at Ellisland that hewas now i n gen eral to hefound . Mounted on horseback, th is h igh-m i nded poet was

pu rsu i ng the defaul ters of the revenu e, among the h i lls andval es of N i thsdal e, h is roving eye wandering over the

charms of nature, andmuttering h is waywardfancies ashe moved along.

Burns brought home h is wi fe to his n ewly constructedh ouse abou t the end of the year 1788, and consequen tlyi n the depth of a sev ere wi n ter ; poor fellow,

we cannotbut be sorry for him , when th inking of the establ ishmen t

Casks and Utensils and that you fit h im for surveying Victuallers, Rectifiers , Chandlers, Tanners , Tawers, Maltsters, 8m. and

w h en he h as kept books regularly for S ix Weeks at least, anddrawn true Vouchers, and Abstracts th erefrom , (wh ich Books ,Vouchers, and Abs tracts, must be signed by your Supervisorand yourself, as well as the said Mr-Robert Burns,) and sentt o the Comm iss ioners at h is expense ; and wh en he is furnish edwith proper instrum ents, and well instructed and qualified foran Officer, then (and not before at your perils) you and yourSupervisor are to certify the sam e to the Board, expressingparticularly therein the date of th is letter ; and that the aboveMr Robert Burns hath cleared h is Quarters, both for Lodging andD iet ; that he has actually paid each of you for h is Instructionsand Exam ination ; and that he has sufficient at the Tim e to purchase a Horse for h is Business. I am , your hum ble S ervant,

A . PEARSON.

Excrsa Orrrcz ,EDINBURGH. 3 lst Ma rch. 1788.

128 MEMOIR or BURNS .

that heb rough t with him , all to find a l i vel ihood on a smallfarm, wh i ch heh imself characteri zed as having been createdi n the following si ngular mann er. “Soi l 1” sa id b e one dayto Mr Cunn ingham,

“ there n everwas such another so il—bu tI see how i t has been . God has riddled the hal e creat i on

,

and flung the riddlings on Ellisland.

” To th is smal l p i eceof ungen ial soil, Bu rns brough t a large fam i ly, i ncludings i x servan ts . Exposed, as hewas, to much i n terruption and

expense, had he been lai rd of Ellisland, i nstead of tenan twhat would his i ncom e have been to th is ! and though Iam convinced that hemade,

'

first and las t, abou t £ 1000 ofh is poems

, yet after his expens e in Edinburgh , where hehad some wi ld work,—his tours, wh ich , unless t aken onfoot,arealways expensi ve,—and themoney given to Gilber t,only a small porti on could be remai n i ng to stock and im

prove Ellisland,—and the disadvan tages wh ich a poor farmer labou rs under, i n comparison with a ri ch one, are al

together i ncalculable . But my fri end Allan Cunn ingham’

s

accoun t of Burns’s farmi ng, furn ished to Mr Lockhart, is sogood, and at the sam e t ime so distress ing, that I must copya part of i t h ere.

If Burns hadmuch of a farmer ’s skill, hehad l i ttl e ofa farmer’s prudence and economy. I once i nqu ired ofJam es Corri e, a sagacious old farmer, whose ground marched wi th Ellisland, the cause of the poet’s failure. Fa i th,’

said he, how could hem iss bu t fai l, when his servan ts atethe bread as fast as i t was baked ? I don’t mean figurat ively, I mean l i terally. Consider a l i ttle. At that t imeclose economy was necessary to haveenabled a man to

cl ear twen ty pounds a-

year by Ellisland. Now, Burns’

s

own handy work was out of the question ; he n ei the rploughed, nor sowed, nor reaped, at l eas t l ike a hard workingfarmer and then he had a b evy of servan ts from Ayrsh i re.The lasses did noth ing bu t bake bread, and the lads sat bythefires ide, and ate i t warm ,

wi th ale. Waste of time andconsumption of foodwould soon reach to twenty pounds a

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13 0 MEMO IR or BURNS.

i ng, tumbler-cars , so called to distin gu ish them from trai lcars, both of wh i ch were i n common use. On these rudecarr iages his manure was taken to the field

, and h is cropbrought home . The farmer h imself corresponded i n all respects wi th h is imperfect instruments . His poverty securedh im from risking costly experimen ts ; and his hatred ofi nnovati on made him entrench h imself beh i nd a b reas t-workof old maxims and rust i c saws, wh i ch he i n terpreted as

ora cles del ivered agai nst imp rovement . . Wi th ground i nsuch condi tion , wi th tools so unfi t, and wi th knowledge soimperfect

,he sometimes succeeded i n wri ngi ng a few hun

dred pounds S cots from the farm b e occupi ed. Such wasgenerally the state of agriculture when Burns came to

N i thsdale . I know not how far his own skill was equal tothe task of improvement—his trial was short and unfortu

nate. An importan t change soon took place , by wh ich hewas not fated to profit ; he had not the fores igh t to see

i ts approach, nor, probably, the forti tude to awai t i tscoming.

In the year 1790, much of the ground in Ni thsdale wasleased at seven and ten and fifteen sh i ll in gs p er acre and

the farmer, in his person and his house, differed l i ttl e fromthe peasants andmechanics around h im . He would hav ethought his

.daugh ter wedded i n her degree , had she mar

r i ed a j oi n er o r a mason and at kirk or market, all menben eath the rank of a portioner’ of the soil m i ngl ed together, equals i n appearance and importance. But the

war wh ich soon commenced, gav e a decided impulse toagricul ture ; the army and navy consumed largely ; cornrose i n demand the price augmented more land wascalled in to culti vation and, as l eases expired, the propri etors impro ved the grounds, buil t better houses, enlarged theren ts and the farmer was soon born e 0 11 thewi ngs of sudden weal th abov e h is original condi tion . His house oh

taineda slated roof, sash-windows, carpeted floors, plasteredwalls

, and even began to exchange the hanks of yarn wi thwh ich i t was formerly hung, for pai n tings and p iano-fortes.

MEMOIR or BURNS . 1

He laid as ide his coat of home-made cloth ; he reti redfrom h is seat among his servan ts ; ' he—I am gri ev ed tom ention it—gave up fam i ly worsh ip as a th ing unfashiona

ble, and became a kind, of rus tic gentleman, who rode a

blood horse , and galloped home on market n igh ts at the

peri l of h is own neck , and to the terror of every modest

pedestrianfif His daughters, too, no longer pr ided them

selves in well-bleached l in en and homemade webs ; theychanged thei r l insey—wolsey gowns fo r si lk and so nu

gracefully did thei r n ew state Sit upon them , that I haveseen thei r lovers com i ng i n i ron ~ shod clogs to th ei r carpetedfloors , and two of the proudest young women i n the parishsha ling dung to thei r fath er

’s potato-field i n si lk stockings .

Wh en a change l ike th i s took place, and a farmer cou ld,

with a dozen years’ i ndustry, be abl e to purchase the land

he ren ted—wh ich many were, andmany did—the same, ora sti ll more profi table change m i gh t have happened wi threspec t to Ellisland and Burns, had he stuck by his l easeandhis plough , would, i n all human possib il i ty, have foundthe i ndependence wh ich he sough t, and sough t i n vai n ,from the coldn ess and pars imony of mankind .

”

Mr Cunn ingham sums up his rem i n iscences of Burns atEllisland, i n these terms

During the prosperi ty of his farm, my father often sa idthat Bu rns conducted h imself wisely, and l ike on e anx iousfor his name as a man , and his fame as a poet. He wen tto Dunscore Ki rk on Sunday, though he expressed often erthan once his disl ike to the stern Calv i n ism of that stri ctold di v i n e, Mr Kirkpatri ck —heassisted in form i ng a readi ng cl ub and at weddings and house-beat ings, and ki rns,and other scen es of festiv i ty, hewas a welcome guest, un i

Mr Cunningham’s description accords wi th the

CrabbeWh o rides h is hunter, who h is horse adorns,Who drinks h is wine, and h is disbursement scorns,Wh o freely lives, and loves to Show he can

Th is is the farmer made thegentleman .

”

M 2

13 2 marrow. or BURNS .

versally l iked by the young and the old . But the fai lureof his farmi ng proj ects, and the l im i ted income wi th wh ichhewas compelled to support an i ncreas i ng fam ily and an

expensi ve stat ion i n l i fe, preyed upon his Sp i ri ts and,

during these fits of despai r, hewas wi ll ing too often to become the compan ion of the though tless and the gross . Iam grieved to say, that bes ides leaving the book too muchfor the bowl, andgrave andwise fri ends for lewd and reckless companions, hewas also i n the occas ional practice ofcomposi ng songs, in wh ich he su rpassed the l icentiousn ess ,as well as thewit and humou r, of the old Scottish muse.These have unfortunately found thei r way to the press,and I am afraid they cannot be recalled.

In conclusion , I may say, that few men have had so

much of the poet about th em, and few poets so much oftheman —theman was probably l ess pure than he ough tto have been , but the poet was pure and brigh t to the last.”

The reader must b e sufficien tly prepared to hear, thatfrom the t ime wh en he entered on his Excis e duti es, thepoet more and more n eglected the con cerns of his farm .

Occasionally, hem igh t b e seen holding the plough , an exercise i n wh ich he excelled, andwas proud of excell i ng, orstalking down his furrows, wi th thewh i te sheet of gra inw rapt about him, a tenty seedsman but hewas morecommonly occupi ed in fardifferen t pursu i ts . I am now,

”

says he, i n on e of his letters, a poor rascally gauger, condemned to gallop two hundred m i l es every week, to inspectdirty ponds andyeasty barrels.

”

I had an adventure wi th him i n the year saysMr Ramsay of Ochtertyre, in a letter to Dr Curr i e, whenpassi ng through Dumfri es-sh i re, on a tour to the Sou th,wi th Dr S teuart of Luss. S eeing him pass qu ickly, nearCloseburn , I said to my companion That is Burns.’ On

com i ng to the i nn the hostler told us he would be back ina few hours to gran t perm i ts , —that where hemet wi th any

th ing seizable hewas no better than any other gauger,—ihevery thing else that hewas perfectly a gentleman . After

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13 4 MEMO IR or BURNS .

h is humble dinn er—an i nvi tation wh ich they accepted. On

the table they found boiled beef, with vegetables, and barley broth , after themanner of S cotland, of wh ich they partook heartily. After dinn er thebard told them i ngenuouslythat he had no wine to offer them , nothi ng better thanHighland wh isky, a bottle of wh i ch Mrs Burns set on the

board . He produced at the same t ime his punch-bowlmade of Inverary marble, and, m ix ing the sp iri t wi th waterand sugar, filled thei r glasses, and i nvi ted them to drink )“

The travellers were in has te , and besides, theflavour of thewh isky to thei r suthron palates was scarcely tolerable butthegenerous poet offered them his best, andhis ardent hos

pitality they found i t impossibl e to resist. Burns was i nhis happies t mood, and the charms of his conversat ion wereal together fascinat ing. He ranged over a great vari ety oftopics, i llum i nating whatever be touched. He related the

tales of his i nfancy and of his youth ; he reci ted some ofthe gayest and some of the tenderest of his poems i n thewi ldest of his strai ns of m i rth he th rew in some touches ofmelancholy, and Spread around him the electri c emotionsof his powerful m ind. The Highland wh isky improved ini ts flavour ; themarble bowl was agai n and agai n emptiedand repl enished the guests of our poet forgot the fl ight oft ime, and the dictates of prudence : at the hou r of midn igh t they lost thei r way i n return ing to Dumfri es , andcould scarcely dist ingu ish i t when ass isted by themo rn ing

’

s

dawn .1'

Bes ides h is duti es i n the excise and his social pleasu res,other ci rcumstances i n terfered with the atten tion of Burnst o his farm. He engaged i n the formation of a soci ety forpurchas ing and circulat ing books among the farmers of his

Th is bowl was made of the Zap is ollaris stone, of wh ich Inverary

- house is built, the m ansion of the fam ily ofArgyle. It isnow in the hands of Mr Arch ibald Hastie in London, and betterhands it could not have been in for the convivial i ty of S cotsmen.

Many a time have I filled i t. He has refused th ree hundredguineas for i t.

1’ G iven from the information of one of the party.

MEMO IR or BURNS . 5

neighbourhood, of wh i ch he undertook the managemen t ;and be occupi ed h imself occas ionally i n composing songsfor themusical work of Mr Johnson , then in the cou rse ofpubl icati on . These engagemen ts, useful and honourablein th emselves, con tributed, no doubt, to the abstraction ofhis thoughts from the busi n ess of agricul t ure.The consequences may be eas i ly imagined. Notwith

standing the un iform prudence and good managemen t ofMrs Burns, and though h is ren t was moderate and reasonabl e, our poet found i t conven i en t, i f not necessary, to t e

sign his farm to Mr M i ller, after having occupi ed i t three

years and a half. His office in the excise had origi nallyproduced about fifty pounds per annum. Having acqu ittedh imself to the satisfact ion of the Board, he had been ap

poin ted to a new district, the emolumen ts of wh ich rose toabout seventy pounds per annum. Hoping to support himself and his fam ily on th is humble income ti ll promotionShould reach him,

he disposed of his stock and of his cropon Ellisland by public auction, and remov ed to a smallhouse wh i ch he had taken in Dumfri es, about the end ofthe year 179 1.Thus term i nated for ever thefarm i ng speculati ons ofBurns,

that grave of all the Capulets . The agricultural efforts ofsome of the sons of genius m igh t have succeeded, but i t wasimposs ible his could, even with the frugal i ty and diligencethat hewan ted. He was accustomed to say that the mosthappy period of his l ife was the firs t season he spen t atEllisland, under a roof of h is own , with his wife and ch i ldren about h im. But wi th such economy as above stated,from the mou th of a man who was a daily wi tn ess of thateconomy, i f Burns was at all happy i n Ellisland, i t must havebeen only at the outset, or i n defiance of future prospectsand to onewhose retrospects and prospects were both ofsuch a harrowing nature, the case is not very l ikely .

I have no doubt that our hard had a fair share of agricultural Skill as pract ised i n Ayrsh i re, for a man bred at theplough’s tail, to toil wet day anddry ; to reap the harvest,

MEMO IR OF BURNS .

and thrash that harv est-crop out i n the barn why, hemustbecome acquai n ted wi th the nature of crops, soils, and

manures, even wi th one- tenth part of the discernmen t thatBurns had. But i t is never the cl ever, sanguin e personwho succeeds i n farm ing i t is thedogged, plodding, thriftyperson , who saves every m i te, and nev er pu ts off till tomorrow what can be done to-day, although he may , be

obliged to add a part of the n igh t . I t is alon e by themostrigid dil igence and frugal i ty that the smal l farmer can workh is way what chance, then , has the luckless hard wi th hisprec ious t ime cu t up every day, nay, often every hour ofthe day, by vain adm i rers, whom i t is out of his power toelude and i f he could, h is own van ity wi ll not let h im ?In v i tations crowding on him to every social party, and hisboard n ever empty of vis i tors. Well may I write feeli nglyon th is subj ect and I aver, that,withBurns

’

s circumscribedm eans and splendou r of gen ius, success on the farm ofEllislandwas impossibl e, and no blame can beattached to

h im for the fa i lure of‘ that concern .

We l earn , from several let ters of Burns, that he had butsl igh t deal ings wi th the Muses dur i ng his abode at Ell island. But i f Burns did l i ttle that was great i n poetry duri ng th is per iod, his l i tera ry correspondence was both extens ive and original . I t is a pi ty there had been so manyunhallowed expressi ons as rendered a corresponding num

ber of blanks and asterisks n ecessary, for the l etters wouldhave been much more spi ri ted wi thout them. But even asthey are, they are vari ed beyond measure . It is

, however,very necessary, i n j udging of the l etters, and drawing inferences from thei r language as to the real sentimen ts and

opi n ions of the writer, to take in to considerstion the rankand character of the persons to whom they are severallyaddressed, and the? m easure of i ntimacy wh i ch rea lly sub

s isted between them and the poet. In his letters, as i n hisconversat ion , Burns, i n Spi te of all his pride, did someth i ngto accommodate h imself to h is company and hewho didwri te the seri es of letters addressed to Mrs Dunlop, Dr

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13 8 MEMOIR or BURN S .

to God that I came under the apostl e James’s descriptionthe prayer of a righteous man avai l eth much In tha tcase, madam, you should welcom e i n a year full of blessi ngs everything that obstructs or disturbs tranqu ill i ty and

self-enj oymen t, should b e removed , and every pleasure thatfrai l human ity can taste, should be you rs. I own myselfso l i ttl e a Presbyterian , that I approve of set t imes and

seasons of more than ordinary acts of devotion , for breakingin on that habi tuated rou tin e of l ife and though t, wh ich isso apt to reduce our existence to a kind of insti nct, or ev ensometimes , andwi th some m i nds, to a state very l i ttl e super ior to m ere mach i n ery.

Th is day,—the fi rst Sunday of May,—a b reezy, blue

Skyed noon sometim e about the beginn ing, and a hoary

morn ing and calm sunny day about the end of autumn ;these, time ou t of m i nd, have been wi th me a kind of hol iday. I bel ieve I owe th is to that glorious paper i n the

Spectator,’ The Vis ion of Mi rza —a p iece that struckmy young fancy before I was capable of fixing an idea to aword of three syllables : On the 5th day of the moon ,wh ich , according to the custom of my forefather, I alwayskeep holy , after hav i ng washed myself, and.

offered up mymorn ing devotions, I ascended the h igh h i ll of Bagdat, inorder to pass the rest of the day i n medi tati on and prayer.

’

We know noth i ng, or next to noth ing, of thesubstanceor structure of our souls, so cannot accoun t for those seemi ng capri ces in them that on e should be particularly pleasedvi th th is th i ng, or struck wi th that, wh ich , on m i nds of adifferen t cast, makes no extraordinary impression . I havesome favouri te flowers i n spring, among wh ich are the

mountai n-daisy , thehare-bell , the fox-glove, thewi ld bri errose , the budding bi rch , and the hoary hawthorn , that Iv i ew and hang o ver wi th parti cular del igh t. I never

,hear

t he loud, soli tary wh istl e of the curl ew, i n a summer noon ,or thewi ld m ix ing cadence ofa troop of grey plover, i n an

autumnal morni ng, wi thout feel ing an elevation of soul l ikethe enthus iasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear

MEMO IR or BURNS . 13 9

fri end , to what can th is be owi ng ? Are we a piece ofmach i n ery, wh i ch , l ike the B ol ian harp, passi v e, takes t heimpression o f the pass i ng acciden t ? Or do th ese workingsargue som eth i ng wi th i n us abov e the trodden clod ? I ownmyself part ial to such proofs of those awful and importan treal i ti es—a God that made all th i ngs—man’s immaterialand immortal nature—and a world of weal or wo beyonddeath and the grave.”

Few,i t is to b e hoped, can read such th i ngs as these

wi thout del igh t none, surely , that tas te the elevated pleasure they are calculated to i nspire, can turn from th em tot he well-known issue of Burns’s h istory without b eingafflicted . It is difficu l t to imagin e anyth i ng more beauti ful,more noble

,than what such a person as Mrs Dunlop m igh t

at th is period b e supposed to contemplete as t he probabletenor of his future l ife. What fame can br i ng of happinesshe had al ready tas ted he had overleaped, by the force ofhis gen i us, all the pai nful barri ers of soci ety ; and therewas probably not a man in Scotla nd who would not havethought h imself honoured by seei ng Burns under his roof.He had i t i n his own power to place h is poetical reputa tionon a level w ith the very h igh est names, by proceeding inthe same course of study and exertion wh i ch had originallyraised him i n to publ ic notice and adm iration . Su rroundedby an affectionate fam i ly, occup i ed but not engrossed bythea gricultural labou rs i n wh ich his youth and early manhood had del igh ted

,commun ing wi th Nature i n on e of the

lovel i est districts of his nat ive land,and, from t ime to tim e,

producing to theworld som e immorta l addition to his verse,

- thus advanci ng in years and in fam e, with what respectwould no t Burns have been thought of how ven erable inthe eyes of his contemporar i es—how hallowed, i n those ofafter gen erat ions, would have been the roof of Ellisland,the field on wh ich he bound every day after his reapers,”

the solemn r iver by wh ich he del ighted to wander ! The

plai n of Bannockburn would hardly have been holierground.

140 MEMOIR OF BURNS.

CHAPTER X.

HISTORY or BURNS IN DUMI‘

BIES .

Dame Life, tho’ fict ion out may trick her,

And in pastegems andfripp’ry deck her,oh ! flick

’ring, feeble, and unsicker

I’ve found her still,Ayewav

’ring, like theWillow wicker,

’Tween good andill.

WE come now to the las t scene of Burns’s even tful anddeplorable l i fe, and h ere, as i n most cas es , I must followDr Currie, as I cons ider the first in tell igence

,even from

the field of battl e, always the m os t co rrec t, al though I donot know by what means i t has come. Hitherto Bu rns,though addict ed to excess in socia l part i es , had abs ta i nedfrom thehabi tual useof strong liquors, and his consti tutionhad not suffered any permanen t inj u ry from the irregulari

t i es of his conduct. In Dumfries , t emptations to the sin

that so eas ily beset him,

”con tin ua lly presen ted themselves ;

and his i rregula ri t i es grew by degrees i n to hab i ts. Th esetemptations unhappily occurred during his engagemen ts inthe business of his Office, as well as during his hours oflaxation and though he cl early foresaw the consequenceof y i elding to them, his appeti tes and sensat ions, wh i chcould not preven t the dictates of his j udgmen t , finally triumphed over the powers of his will . Yet th is victory wasnot ob ta i ned wi thout many obstinate struggles, andat t im estemperance and vi rtu e seemed to have ob ta i n ed the mas

tery. Bes ides his engagements i n the excis e, and the so

ciety i nto wh ich they led, many ci rcumstances cont ributedto themelancholy fate OfBurns. His great celebri ty madeh im an Object of i nt erest and curios i ty to strangers, and fewpersons of cult ivated m i nds passed th rough Dumfri es wi thout attempting to see our poet, and to enjoy the pleasureofhis conversation . As he could not receive them under

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142 MEMO IR or BURNS .

source Of Dee and would have s taid t ill ‘the pass ing

Spirit ’ had appeared, had we not resolved to reach Kenmore that n igh t. Wearr i ved as Mr andMrs Gordon weresi tti ng down to supper.

Here is a genu in e baron ’s seat. The' castle , an old

bu ilding, stands on a large natural moat. In front, ther i ver Ken wi nds for several m i les th rough themost ferti leand beaut iful holm, t il l i t expands i nto a lake twelve m i leslong, the banks of wh i ch, on the sou th, presen t a fine and

soft landscape of green knolls, natural wood, and here andthere a grey rock . On the north , theaspect is great, wild,and, I may say , tremendous. In short, I can scarcely con

ceive a scene more terribly roman tic than the castl e of

When Mary laid her down to sleep,Her though ts on Sandy far at sea ;

When soft and low a voice was heardSay, Mary, weep no more for me !

She from her pillow gently raisedHer h ead, to ask who there m igh t be ;

She saw young Sandy sh ivering stand,With visage pale and hollow e

’e :

0 , Mary dear ! cold is my clay,

It lies beneath a stormy sea ;

Far, far from thee, I sleep in death ,So, Mary, weep no more for me !

Three stormy nigh ts and stormy daysWe toss

’

d upon the raging main,

And long we strove our bark to save,Bu t all our striving was in vain.

Even then, when horror ch ill’

d my blood,My heart was fill

’

d wi th love for theeThe storm is past, and I at rest,So, Mary , weep no more for me

O maiden dear, thyself prepare,We soon shall meet upon that shore

Where love is free from doubt and careAnd th ou and I sh all part no more .

Loud crow’

d the cock, the shadow fled,No more of Sandy could She see

But soft the passing Sp iri t said,Sweet Mary, weep no more for me

MBNOIR or BURN S . 143

Kenmore. Burns th i nks so h ighly of i t that he meditatesa descrip tion of i t i n poetry . Indeed, I bel i eve he has be—rgun the work. We spen t three days wi th Mr Gordon ,whose pol ished hospi tal i ty is of an original and endeari ngkind . Mrs Gordon ’s lap-dog ‘ Echo ’

was dead . She

would hav e an ep i taph fo r h im . S e veral had b een made.Burns was asked for on e . Th is was setti ng Hercules toh is distafl

'

. He disl iked the subj ect ; but, to please the

lady, hewould try . Here is what he produced

In wood and wild, yewarbling throngYour heavy loss deplore ;

Now half extinct your powers of song,Sweet Echo is no more.

Ye jarring, screech ing th ings around 1Scream your discordant joys ;

Now h alf your din of tuneless soundWi th Echo silent lies. ’

We l eft Kenmore, and wen t to Gatehouse . I tookh im themoor- road, where savage and des olate regions extended wide around . The Sky was sympatheti c wi th the

wretchedn ess of the soil,—it became lower i ng and dark .

The hollowwi nds sigh ed, the l igh tn i ngs gleamed, the thunder rolled . The poet enj oyed the awful scen e : he spokenot a word

,b ut seemed rapt i n meditation . In a l i ttl e

wh i l e the rai n b egan to fall,—it poured i n floods upon us

For th ree hours did thewi ld elemen ts rumble their belly

full upon ou r defenceless heads. Oh , oh !’

twas foul.We go t u tterly wet ; and, to revenge oursel ves, Burns ihsisted at Gatehouse on our gett i ng u tterly drunk.

From Gatehouse, we wen t n ex t day to Ki rkcudbrigh t ,th rough a fine coun try. But h ere I must tell you thatBurns had got a pai r ofj emmg boots for the j ourn ey, wh ichhad been thoroughly wet , andwh i ch had been dri ed i n such

a manner that i t was not poss ibl e to get them on aga i n .

The brawny poet tri ed force, and tore them to sh reds. Awhifiling vexati on of th is sort is more trying to the temperthan a ser i ous calam i ty. We were going to Sai n t Mary

’

s

N 2

144 MEMO IR or BURNS.

Isl e, the seat of the earl of S elki rk, and the forlorn Burnswas discomfited at the thought of his ru ined boots. A s ickstomach and a headach l en t thei r aid, and theman of versewas qu i te accable’. I attempted to reason wi th him. Mercyon us, howhe did fumeand rage ! Noth i ng could reinstateh im in temper. I tri ed various expedi en ts, and at last hiton one that succeeded. I showed him the house ofacross the bay ofWigton . Aga inst wi th whom hewas offended , he expectorated his spleen , and regai n ed a

most agreeable temper . He was i n a most ep igrammatichumour i ndeed ! He afterwards fell on h umbler gam e.There is on e whom he does not love. He hada pass i ng blow at him

Wh en "Edeceased

,to the devil went down,

’

Twas noth ing would serve h im but Satan’s own crownThy fool’s head, quoth S atan, that crown shall wear never

,

I grant thou’

rt as wicked, bu t not quite so clever. ’

Well , I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright along wi thour poet, wi thout boots. I carri ed the torn ru ins acrossmy saddle i n Spite of his fulm i nat ions, and in con tempt ofappearances andwhat is more, Lord S elki rk carri ed themi n his coach to Dumfri es . He insisted they were worthmending.

We reached Kirkcudbright about one o’clock . I hadprom ised that we should din e wi th on e of the fi rs t men inour coun try , J. Dalzell . But Burns was i n a wi ld and oh

streperous humour, and swore hewould not di n e whereheshould be under the smallest restrai n t . We prevai led ,th erefore, on Mr Dalzell to dine wi th us i n the i nn , andhad a very agreeable party. In the ev en ing we set out forS t Mary

’

s Isl e. Robert had not absolutely rega i ned the

m ilkiness of good temper, and i t occurred once or twice tohim , as he rode along, that S t Mary

’

s Isl e was the seat of aLord yet that Lord was not an aristocrat, at l east i n hissense of theword . We arri ved abou t e igh t O’clock

, as the

fami ly were at tea and coffee. S t Mary’

s Isle is one of the

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146 n en ora or BURN S .

and exci ted the hopes Of men i n every corner of EurOpe,

Prej udice and tyranny seemed abou t to disappear fromamong men , and the day

- star of reason to rise upon a be

n ighted world. In the dawn of th is beautiful morn ing, thegen ius of French freedom appeared on our southern horizon wi th the countenance of an angel , but speedily assum

ed the featu res of a demon , and van ished i n a shower Of

blood .

Though pre v i ou sly a Jacob i te and a caval i er, Burns hadshared in the origi nal hopes enterta i ned of th is as to n ish i ngrevoluti on , by arden t and b en evolen t m i nds . The n ov el tyand the hazard of the at tempt medi ta ted by the Fi rst, orConst i tuent Assembly, served rathe r, i t is probabl e , to re

commen d it to his dar ing t emper and theunfettered scopepropos ed to be gi v en to e ve ry ki nd of talents , was doubtlessgrat i fy i ng to the feel i ngs of conscious but i ndignan t gen ius.

Burns foresaw not them igh ty ru in that was to be the imm ediate consequence of an enterprise, wh ich , on its

'

com

mencement , prom ised so much happi ness to the humanrace . And even afte r thecareer of gui lt and Ofblood commenced, he could not immediately, i t may be presumed ,wi thdraw his partial gaze from a peopl e who had so latelybreathei the sen tim en ts of un i versal peace and ben igni ty,or obl i terate i n h is bosom the pictures of hope and ofhapp in ess to wh ich those sentiments had gi v en bi rth .

Under these impress ions, he did no t always conduct h ims elfwi th the c ircumspecti on and prudence which h is dependentsi tuation seemed to demand. He engaged i ndeed in no

popular associations, so common at the t ime of wh ich wespeak but i n company hedid not conceal h is opin ions Of

public m easures, or of the r eforms requ i red i n the p racticeof our governmen t : and som etimes, ih -his soc ial and nu

guarded moments , he u ttered them wi th a wild and nu

j ustifiable vehemence. Informat ion of th is was given to theBoard of Excise , wi th the exaggerat i ons so gen eral in suchcas es . A superior officer i n that departmen t was au thorized to i nqu i re in to his conduct. Burns defended h imself

MEMO IR or BURNS . 147

in a l e tter address ed to on e of the Board , written wi thgreat i ndependence of Spiri t, and wi th more than his ac

customed eloqu ence . The officer appoin ted to i nqu i re in toh is conduct gav e a favourable report . His steady fr i end,Mr Graham of Fin try, i n terposed his good offices i n h is behalf ; and the impruden t gauger was sufl

'

ered to re ta i n h isS i tuation , bu t given to understand that h is promotion wasdeferred, andmust depend on h is future behaviour.Th is circumstance made a deep impress i on on them i nd

Of Burns. Fame exaggerated h is m isconduct, and repre

sented h im as actually dism iss ed from his Office and th isreport induced a gentleman of much respectab il i ty to propose a subscripti on i n h is favour . The Offer was refusedby our po et i n a le tte r Of great el evat ion of sent imen t, i nwh ich he gi ves an accoun t of thewhol e of th is t ransaction ,and defends h imself from the imputation of disloyal sen tim en ts on the on e hand, and on the other, from the chargeof havi ng made subm iss ions for the sake of his office, nuwort hy of his character.

The part ial i ty of my coun trym en , he obs erves , “ hasbrough t me forward as a man of gen ius, andhas gi v en mea character to support . In the poet I have avowed manlyand i ndependen t sent im ents , wh ich I hope have been fou ndi n the man . Reasons of n o less we igh t than the support ofa wife and ch i ldren , have po in ted out my pres en t occupat ion as the only el igibl e l i ne of l ife wi th i n my reach . S tillmy hon est fame is my deares t concern , and a thousandtimes have I t rembled at the idea of the degrading ep i th etsthat mal ice or misrepresen tat ion may aflix to my name .

Often i n blas ti ng anti cipat ion have I l isten ed to som e fu tu rehackn ey scr ibbler, wi th theh eavy mal i ce of savage stupid i ty,exul ti ngly asserting tha t Burns, notwi thstanding thefanfarona de Of i n dependence to be found i n his works, andafter having been held up to publi c v iew, and to publ icest imat ion , as a man of some gen ius, yet, qu i te des t i tute ofresou rces wi th i n h imself to support his bo rrowed dign ity ,

dwi ndled in to a pal try exciseman , and sl unk out the res t of

148 MEMOIR or BURNS .

h is i nsignificant ex istence in them eanest of pursu i ts , andamong the lowest of mankind.

“ In your illustrious hands , S ir, perm i t me to lodge myst rong disavowal and defiance of such slanderous falsehoods .

Burns was a poor man from his b i rth , and an exciseman byn ecess i ty : bu t—I will say i t ! the sterl ing of his hones tworth , poverty could not debase, and h is i ndependen tBri tish spi ri t, oppression migh t bend, but could not subdue.

”

It was one of the las t acts of h is l ife to copy th is letteri n to his book of manuscripts , accompan i ed by some addit ional remarks on the same subj ect. I t is not surpris ing,that at a season of un iversal alarm for the safety of theconsti tu tion , the i ndiscreet express ions of a man so powerful as Burns, Should have attracted notice . The t imes certainly requ ired extraordinary v igilance i n those in trustedwith the adm i n istration of the government, and to insurethe safety of the consti tut ion was doubtless thei r fi rst duty.

Yet generous m i ndswil l lamen t that th ei r measureS '

Ofprecaution should have robbed the imaginat ion of our poet ofthe last prop on wh ich h is hopes of independence rested,and by imbi tter ing h is peace, have aggravated those excesses wh i ch were soon to conduct h im to an un timelygrav e.Though the veh emence of Burns’s temper, i ncreased as

i t Often was by stimulating l iquors, m igh t lead him i ntomany improper and unguarded express ions, th ere seems noreason to doubt of his attachment to our m ixed form ofgovernment. In his common -place book, wh ere he couldhav e no temptation to disgu ise, are thefollowi ng sentimen ts .

Whatever m igh t be my sen timents of republics, anci en tor modern , as to Britain , I ever abj ured the idea. A const itution , wh ich, i n its origina l p r inciples , experi ence hasproved to be every way fitted for our happin ess, i twould bei nsani ty to abandon for an untri ed v isionary th eory.

”In

conform i ty to thes e sentiments,wh en the press i ng nature

of publ ic afl'airs called i n 1795 for a gen eral arm ing of the

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50 MEMO IR o r BURNS .

i n i ntercepting the descen t of the smuggl i ng vessels . Onthe 27th Of February, a suspicious- looking brig was discovered ih the Solway fi rth , and Burns was on e of theparty whom

'

the superin tendent conducted to watch hermoti ons. She got in to shallow water the day afterwards

,

and the offi cers were enabled to discover that her crewwer enumerous, armed, and not l ikely to y i eld wi thout a struggle.

L ewars, an exciseman , and an i n timate friend of the poet,was accordingly sen t to Dumfri es fo r a guard of dragoons .

M r Crawford h imself proceeded on a sim i lar errand toEccl efechan , and Burns was l eft wi th a few men under hiscommand to watch themotions of the brig. Burns beingthus left on a l evel sal t marsh, on a cold day, with noth i ngto dri nk, man ifes ted a great deal Of restl ess impat i ence, and,after cast in g his eyes a hundred times along the road leading to Dumfri es for his fri end Lewars, he turned on h ish eel , andwi th a sm ile said, I th ink thedeil's away wi

’

the

exciseman .

” Mr Crocket,hearing this, sai d i t would make

a good owerword for a song, and advised him to make on eon Lewars for his delay. Burns took the h i n t, and soonafter reci ted to them that l i ttle li vely ranting song, beginn ing

The deil cam fiddling th rough the town,An

’

danced awa wi’

the exciseman .

”

Lewars arr ived Shortly after wi th his dragoons, andBurns,l eading them on sword i n hand, was the firs t to board the

brig, when ,the crew, losi ng heart, subm i tted . The vessel

was condemned and sold, together wi th all her arms and

stores, the nex t day at Dumfries, by publi c auction .

Burns had behaved bravely h ere h is conduct was muchapplauded , and there is l i ttl e doub t that h is advancem en twould n o t only have been certa i n , but as early as poss ible .But mark our poet’s imprudence, and wonder at h is incons istency. From the stores of the captured vessel he purchased four carronades from his own purse, n ever very wellfilled, and these he sen t a presen t to theFrench convention .

And, moreover, there was a letter accompany i ng them re

MEMO IR or BURNS . 5 1

ques ti ng that body to accept of th em as a mark of his h ighes t adm i rat ion and respect. Th ink of that, Mr Brook.

But both the presen t and the l etter were in tercepted at

the customhouse of Dover, theguns reta i n ed, and the l etterre turned to the Board of Excise h ere . Now, really, unlesshe had i n tended to follow the pattern of Pau l Jones, th iswas u tter madn ess ; andwas, no doubt, the principal c i rcumstancewh ich brough t him under suspicion , and afterwards l ed to the i n vesti gati on i n ques t ion . Subsequen t toth is, i n a large m ix ed company, he refused to drink the

h ealth of Mr Pi tt, and l eft the room in h igh i ndignat ion ,because the company refused to take his substi tute The

heal th of a far greater man , George Wash i ngton .

”There

was noth i ng equ ivocal i n th is, and the poet at the sam et im e a servant under Mr Pi tt’s go vernmen t .But , furthermore , at another pr i vate party, a capta i n i n

h is Maj esty’

s serv ice gav e as a toast, Success to ou r armsi n the presen t war when Burns echoed i t i n a loud exul ti ng voice Yes ; may ou r success be equal to the j usticeof our cause. The capta i n was en raged, and call ed him a

scoundrel , alluding very forcibly both to his own si tuationand that of Burns. The latter, rash as hewas, p ruden tlystood rebuked

, andwalked off, perceiving that he had oncemore acted i ndiscreetly and comm i tted h imself. His letterto th e i r kind and generous en tertai n er, n ext day, expressesth is feel ing i n the poet’s accustomed powerful manner

DEAR S IR,—I was , I know, drunk last n igh t, bu t I amsob er th is morn ing. From the expressions the capta inmade use of to me, had I had nobody

’

s welfare to care forbu t my own,

we should certa i nly have come, according tot hemann er of theworld

,to the n ecess i ty of murdering on e

another abou t the busin ess . The words were such as , Ibel i eve, end i n a brace of p istols but I am sti ll pleased toth i nk, that I did not ru i n the peace and welfare of a wi feand ch ildren i n a drunken squabble . Further ; you knowthat the report of certa i n poli ti cal Op in ions being m i n e,has already once b efore brough t me to the very br ink of

152 MEMO IR or BURN S .

destruction - I dread les t las t n igh t’s bus iness may be ihterpreted the same way. You, I beg, will take care topreven t i t . I task your wish for Mrs Burns

’

s welfare, wi th

the task Ofwai ting on every gentleman who was pres en t tostat e this to him , and, as you please, Show th is l etter.”

There have been various i nsi nuat ions regarding Burns’sconduct h ere. That he acted wi th his usual overb earingprecip i tancy, i n thefirst i nstance, is too man ifest b ut

, bad

he followed up the rash words by call ing the gentl eman ou tto a duel, i t would have been downrigh t madness. I haveh eard Mr Hill, who was presen t, relate every word thatpassed. I am not sure of the capta i n’s name, - it was ei therM‘Murdo, or th ere was a Mr M‘Murdo i n terfered to keeppeace—bu t whoever i t was, he regretted i t sore afterwards,and e i ther made or sen t an apology to the poet.Wi th thes e facts ascerta i n ed and before our eyes,—and

there is n o doubt that there were fre quen t ebu ll i tions ofthe same sort ,—how can we wonder

,that, at such a period,

the Board of Excise called h im to accoun t —and I stil lhave no h es i tat ion i n sayi ng, that, i f any person but RobertBurns hadbeen guilty of so many imprudencies ,—had givenso many demonstrat ions of democrat ic feel ings,—he wouldhave been b roken at once . The exact resul t of that ihves tigat ion is somewhat i nvolved i n obscu ri ty, and, had i tnot b een from the bard’s own l etters , would n ever haveb een h eard Of. I have often h eard Mr G ray relate wi thwhat i ndi gn i ty Bu rns spoke of thematter to h im ; andMrG ray was noth i ng beh ind him i n that for, being a viol en tdemocrate h imself, he n ever spoke of the Board of Excisetaking Burns over the coals for his glorious pol i ti cal pr i nciples, but b e abso lu tely got i n to a rage. According toBurns

’s account of thematter, he had pl eaded his own ex

cuse wi th temper, and testified h is regret for any offens i veexpress ions b e had rashly used,—bu t at the same t im emai n tai ned h is r igh t to the freedom of his own though ton wh i ch hewas at once admon ished, that, as a servan t ofthe state, i t was his bus i n ess to act , not to th ink. At th is

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154 MEMO IR or BURN S .

Professor Wilson to b egin on on e of these, and get hisbrother James , or Robert Jam ieson , set

'

fairly to loggerh eads wi th Mr Gray, and th en the dust rose. Th ere wasanoth er who was worse than any of them , for he n everwould y i eld an i nch , and always kept repeati ng the sam eargumen ts. Th is was a Mr Irv i n e, better known by the

profane name of G ’

s wh i t tle. He would have arguedagains t them eri ts of any of the poets of Mr Gray

’

s idola tryfor a whole n igh t, provided he did not get drunk before i twas half don e, wh i ch be gen erally did ; but I have heardh im persisti ng in try i ng to repeat thesame argum en ts wh enh is eyes would n ei th er open nor his tongue articulate.We must therefore dism iss Mr Gray

’

s ebull i t ions of ragewi th a sm i le : th ey were born of the most generous and

ben evolen t of all feel ings, and for the credi t both of thewri ter and the poet, I i n tend copy i ng someth ing fromhim by and by, wh i ch no oth e r can copy from the originalbut mysel f ; and i n them eantime, before we give up thatbusi n ess of the Excise inqtury, wh ich seems to be regardedby all as form i ng a parti cular era i n Burns’s l ife, I shal lr evert to i t once more . And be i t remembered, that thesecomm iss i on ers of Excise were th emselves subordinate Offi

cers of thegovernmen t, and strictly respons ible for all thosethat serv ed under them . That they did try the experimentof l en i ty, to a certai n extent, appears fai rly made out thatthey could hav e been j ustified i n tryi ng i t to a farth er extent, is, at the leas t, doubtful . But with regard to the

governmen t i tself, I must th i nk wi th Lockhart, that i t wasi n excusable i n not placing that i n im i tabl e natu ral gen i us atleas t above the terrors of absolute wan t, wh i ch , throughl i fe

,seem to have haunted him l i ke a host of demons, over

clouding thesplendou rs of his gifted spi ri t. A small annualp ension would hav e b een a fo rtun e h ere

, and would havea ttach ed a man whose pen was worth ten thousand swords.

I have often wondered how Wi lliam Pitt o v erlooked th isfor hewas a great adm i rer of poetry, and of the poetry ofBurns i n particu lar ; and i f I thought i t was on pol i ti cal

MEMO IR or BURN S . 155

grounds that be n eglected him , and suffered him to s i nkdown to the grave i n poverty and dej ection i n the primeof l i fe

,I

.should th i nk the l ess of that great m i n ister as long

as I l i v e. It would have been a glory to any m i n ister toha v e ra ised up the head of the pr i n ce of S cottish poets toa l i ttle i ndependency, and the l i ttl e difference i n th ei r pol it i ca l est imates would have doubled the honour of the giftb estowed. But h is ki ng and his coun try , to the i r eternaldisgrace , suffered the t ime to pass over wh ich can never berecall ed. The poet asked for b read, and they gave him a

ston e.Though I must quote from Mr Gray wi th cau tion , and

warn my readers to receive i t i n the sam e manner, yetthere are some absolute facts i n the followi ng statemen twh ich cann o t b e con troverted . Burns was en thusiasti callyfond of l iberty, says he, and a lover of the popular par t ofour const itu tion but he saw and adm i red the deli cate andj ust proporti ons of the pol i t i cal fabri c, and noth ing couldb e further from h is aim than to l ev el with the dust thev en erable p ile reared by the labou r and the wisdom Of

ages. That provisi on of the consti tu tion , however, bywh i ch i t is made to con tai n a self- correcting p ri nciple , ohtained no i nconsi derable share of his adm i rati on . He was,therefore, a zealous advocate of const i tu t ional reform . The

n ecess i ty of th is he Often supported i n conversation wi thall the en ergy of an i rresist ible eloquence bu t there is noevidence that he e v er wen t farther. He was a m ember ofno poli t i cal club . At the t ime, wh en , in certai n soci eti es,themad cry of revoluti on was raised from on e end of thekingdom u nto the other

, his voi ce was n ever heard i n thei rdebates, nor did he ever support thei r Op in ions i n wri t ing.

Though l im i ted to an i ncom e wh i ch any other man wouldhave cons idered poverty, he refused £50 a-

year , Offered toh im for a weekly article, by the propri etors of an opposit ion paper ; and two reasons, equally honourable to h im,

i nduced him to rej ect th is proposal . His i ndependentspi ri t spurned the idea o f becom ing the h i rel ing of a party,

0 2

156 MEMO IR or BURNS .

and whatever may have b een his opin i on of the men and

m easures that then prevai led, he did not th ink i t r igh t tofetter the Operations of that governmen t by wh i ch hewasemployed .

These are known facts, —all save Mr G ray’

s all egedsons for h is refusi ng the £50 a-

year, wh ich I regard as r igmarole stud‘

,—~and I mai n ta i n that Burns was n ei th er doing

j ust ice to h imself nor h is fam i ly i n refusing that £50 a-

year ;and for all the fuss that hemade abou t th em here, whenhe had the offer of n early doubl ing h is i ncome i n a mosthonourable and consci en tious way, he though t proper,through pride o r som e unaccoun table wh im, to refuse i t.It was Mr Perry of the Morn ing Chronicl e who made himthe offer, on the suggest ion of his fri end Mr M i ller of Dal

swi n ton , who , wi thout doubt, made the application wi ththe most k ind in ten tion . Mr Perry was an enl igh ten ed ,good-natured man ,

—from the sam e country as the fatherof Burns,—and though he took a decided part in pol i ti cs

,

cared l ess abou t them than any man in London . Mr

S t ewart of the Couri er and he were won t to take thei rwi n e together every n igh t, and concert thei r dreadful attacks ou each other nex t morn ing. Does any man supposethat M r Perry ever m eant or des i red his countryman , theflower of her bards, to take a pol i tical part i n his paper ?I can assure them he n ever did. He m erely wanted hispaper to be honoured by a few of those imperishable layswh i ch Burns was heap ing 0 11 oth ers for noth ing . Nay, the

fi rst appearance of them i n his paper was all he asked ; andwere they any theworse of that to e ither Mr Thomson or

Mr Johnson Fetter the Operations of the government insooth , and becom i ng the h irel ing of a party ! I have no

pati ence wi th such stuff. Is every man who wri tes for a

periodical publ icat ion the h i rel ing of a party ? or could a

S cott ish song fetter the Operations of the government ?The truth is that Perry was both a r i ch and a l iberal man,and wished to do his poor bu t i llustrious countryman a

favour, andBurns was a gowk to refuse i t. The Shackling

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158 MEMOIR OF BURN S.

For some years before Burns was lost to his coun try, i tis suffic i en tly plai n that he had been , on poli tical grounds,an obj ect of suspicion and distrust to a large port ion of thepopulat ion that had most opportun i ty of observ ing h im .

The mean subalterns of party had, i t is very easy to sup

pose, del igh ted ih decry ing him on pretexts , good, bad, andi ndifferen t, equally—to thei r superiors ; and h ence ,—whowill no t wi ll ingly bel i eve i t —the temporary and loca lpreval ence of those extravagantly i nj ur ious reports , the

essence of wh i ch Dr Cu rri e, no doubt, though t i t his duty,as a b iographer, to extract and ci rculate.

The un timely death of on e who, had he l ived to any

th i ng l ike the usual term Of human existence, m igh t havedon e SO much to increase his fame as a poet, and to purifyand dign ify h is character as a man, was, i t is

'

too probabl e,hastened by his own i n temperances and imprudences but

i t seems to be extremely improbable, that, even if his manh ood had been a cou rse of sai n tl ike v i rtue i n all respects,the i rri table and nervous bodily consti tution wh ich he ihherited from his father, shaken as i t was by the to ils and

m iseri es of his i ll-starred youth , could have susta i n ed to

anyth i ng l ike the psalm ist’

s‘allotted span,’ the exhausting

exci temen ts of an in tensely poeti cal temperamen t. S i ncethe first pages of th is narrat i ve were sent to the press, Ihav e h eard from an old acquai n tance of thebard, who oftenshared his bedwi th him at Mossgi el , that even at that earlyperiod

, when in temperance assuredly had had noth ing todo wi th thematter, those om i nous symptoms of radical diso rder i n the digest ive system, the

‘

palp i tati on and suffo

cat ion ’

ofwh ich Gilbert speaks , were so regularly his nocturnal visi tan ts, that i t was his custom to have a great tubof cold water by his bed-s ide, in to wh i ch heusually plungedmore than once i n the course of the n ight, thereby procu ri ng instant, though but shortl ived rel i ef. On a fram e thusoriginally constructed , and thus early tr i ed with most severeaffl icti ons, ex ternal and i nternal , what must not have been,under any subsequent course of circumstances, . the effects

MEMO IR OF BURNS .

of that exquis i te sens ib il i ty of m i nd, but for wh i ch the

world would n ever have heard anyth i ng e i th er of the sins,or the sorrows, or the poetry of Burns .

The fates and characters of the rhym i ng tribe,’ thus

wri tes the poet h imself to M iss Chalmers i n 1793 , ‘ oftenemploy my though ts when I am disposed to be melancholy.

Th ere is not, among all the martyrologies that ever werep enn ed

, so rueful a narrat ive as the l i ves of the poets. Inthe comparative v i ew of wretches, the cri terion is not whatthey are doomed to suffer, but how they are formed to bear .Take a being of ou r kind, give him a stronger imaginati onand a more del icate sensib i l i ty, wh i ch between them wi llever engender a more ungovernable set of passi ons, thanare the usual lot of man ; implant in him an i rres ist ibleimpulse to some i dle vagary, such as , arranging wild flowersin fantas ti c n osegays,—tracing thegrasshopper to his haun tby his ch i rpi ng song—watch i ng the frisks of the l i ttl e m innows i n the su nny pool ,—or hunting after the i n trigues ofb utterfl i es : i n Short, send him adrift after some pu rsu i twh i ch shall e ternally m isl ead him from the paths of lucre

,

and yet cu rse h im wi th a keener relish than any man l ivingfor the pleasures that lucre can purchase ; lastly, fill up themeasu re of his woes by bes towing on him a spu rn ing senseof his own dign i ty, and you have created a wigh t n early asm iserable as a poet.’ In these few short sen tences, as i tappears to me, Burns has traced h is own characte r far betterthan any on e else has done i t S i nce. But wi th th is lotwhat pl easures were n ot m i ngled To you, Madam,

’

he

proceeds, I n eed not recoun t the fa i ry pleas ures themusebestows to coun terbalance this catalogueofevils. Bewi tchi ng poetry is l ike bewitch ing woman She has i n all agesb een accused of m isl eading mankind from the counsels ofwisdom and the paths of prudence, i nvolving them i n dithcult ies, bai ti ng them wi th poverty, branding them wi th infamy, and plun ging them i n thewh i rl i n g vortex of ru i n ;yet , where is theman bu t must own that all our happin esson earth is not worthy the name, compared wi th themany

160 MEMOIR or BURNS .

p leasures, the nameless raptures, that we owe t o the lovelyQ ueen of the h ear t of man !’

What is a poet asks on e well qual ified to answer hisown question . He is a man endowed wi th more l i v elysensib il i ty, more en thusiasm and tenderness , who has a

greater knowledge o f human natu re, and a more comprehensive sou l, than are supposed to be common among manki nd ; a man pleased wi th his own pass ions and vol iti ons, andwho rej oices more than other men i n the spiri tof l ife that is i n him ; del igh ting to con template s imi larvoli t ions and passions as man ifested i n the goings-on of theun iverse, and hab i tually impelled to create them where hedoes not find them . To these qual i ti es he has added a

disposi t ion to be affected, more than other men, by absen tth ings, as i f they were present an ab il ity of conj u ring upi n h imself passions wh ich are far i ndeed from being thesame as those produced by real events, yet (especially inthose parts of the gen eral sympathy wh i ch are pleas ing and .

del ightful) do more n early resemble the passions producedby real events than any th ing wh i ch , from themotions oftheir own m inds m erely, other men are accustomed to feeli n themselves ”? So says on e of the rare beings who havebeen able to susta i n and enj oy, through a long term ofhuman years, the tear andwear of sensibi l i ti es, thus qu ickened and refined beyond what falls to the lot of the ordinary brothers Of their race—feel ing more than others candream of feel ing, the j oys and the sorrows that come tothem as i ndividuals

,and fill ing up all those blanks whi ch

so largely i n terrupt the agitation of common bosoms —withthe almost equally agi tating sympath i es of an imaginat ionto wh i ch repose would b e death. It is common

_ to say ofthose who o ver i n dulge th emselves in mater ial st imulan ts ,that th ey livefast ; w hat wonder that the career of thepoet’s th i ck-com ing fanci es should, i n the immense maj ori tyof cases, be rapid too

Preface to the second edition ofWordsworth ’s Poems.

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162 MEMO IR or BURNS.

preached from the text of his own errors and whose wisdom , beautiful as a flower, that m igh t have risen from seedsown from above, was , in fact, a scion from the root ofpersonal sufferi ng. Whom did the poet i n tend should b ethough t of as occupyi ng that grav e over wh i ch , after modestly setting forth the moral discernment and warm affectionsof its poor inhab i tant,’ i t is supposed to be i nscrib ed, that

Though tless folli es laid h im low,And stam

’

d h is name ? ’

t o bu t h imself,—h imself anticipati ng the too p robabl eterm ination of his own course ? Here is a si ncere and

solemn avowal—a publ ic decla rati on from h is own wi ll—a

confess i on at once devout, poeti ca l, and human—a h istoryin the shape of a proph ecy ! What more was requ i red ofthe biographer than to put his seal to thewri t ing

,t est i fy i ng

that the foreboding had been real i z ed, and that the recordwas au then tic

“ In how far the ‘ thoughtl ess folli es’ of the poet didactually hasten his end, i t is needless to conj ecture. Theyhad their share, unques tionably, along wi th other i nfluenceswh i ch i t would be i nhuman to character ise as mere folli essucb, for example, as that gen eral depressi on of sp i r i ts,wh i ch haunted him from his you th, and, i n all l ikel ihood,sat more h eavily on such a being as Burns, than a man ofplai n common sense m igh t guess,—or even a casual exp ression of discouraging tendency from the persons onwhose good wi ll all hopes of substan tial advancem en t i nt he scal e of worldly promotion depended,*—or that p art ia l

He was subject to fits of abstraction and forebodings forsome years prior to th is period. Mr Findlay, h is instructor in h isofli cial duties as an excise officer, inform s us, that one nigh t whenhewas at h is house drinking tea, he became of a sudden restlessand m elancholy ; and, leaning h is head upon h is hand, he sa id,

I h ave been th ink ing Of .what is to become of poor Jean and the

weans,if any th ing should happen to prevent me prov iding for

them —but, S ir,” sa id be, h is eye kindling as he spoke, I haveit a though t has struck me if poverty should dare to enter mydoor, I’ll compose songs ; and as Jean has a capital voice, she’lls ing th em, and the deevil

’

s in’

t ifwe hae as the first o’

t

MEMOIR or BURNS . 163

exclus ion from the species of soci ety our poet had been a ccustomed to adorn and deligh t, wh i ch , from however inadequate causes, certa i nly did occur dur i ng some of thelatter years of his l i fe . All such sorrows as these must haveacted wi th twofold harmfuln ess upon Burns harass i ng, i nthe first place, on e of themos t sensi tivem i nds that everfi lled a human bosom, and, alas ! by consequence, temptingto additional excesses - impell ing on e who , under o therci rcumstances, m igh t have sough t and found far other consolat ion , to seek too often for i t

In fleeting m irth , that o’er the bottle lives,In the false joy its insp i ration gives,And in associates pleased to find a friendWith powers to lead th em , gladden, and defend,In all those scenes where transient ease is found,For m inds whom S ins oppress, and sorrows wound.

”

Thesame ph i losoph i cal poet tells us, thatWine is like anger, for i t makes us strong;

Blind and impatient, and i t leads us wrongThe strength is quickly lost, wefeel the error long.

’

But a short p eriod was destined for the sorrows and the

errors equally o f Burns .

How he struggled aga inst the t ide of his m isery, le t thefollowi ng let ter speak—It was wri tten February 25th , 1794,and address ed to Mr Alexander Cunn ingham

, an eccen tricbeing

,but generous and fai thful i n h is fri endship to Burns,

and, wh en Bu rns was no more, to his fam i ly.

Canst thou m i n ister,’ says the poet, ‘ to a m i nd diseased Canst thou speak peace and rest to a soul test ona sea of troubles, wi thout on e fri endly star to gu ide hercourse, and dreading that the n ext surge may o verwhelmher ? Canst thou give to a frame

,tremblingly al iv e as the

tortures Ofsuspense , the stab il i ty andhardihood of therockthat braves the blast ? If thou canst n ot do the l eas t ofthese, why would

’

st thou disturb me i n my m iseri es, withthy i nqu i ri es after me

Crabbe’s Edward Shore, a tale in wh ich the poet has Obviously h ad Burns in h is v iew.

164 marrow. or BURNS .

For these two months I have not been able to l ift apen . My const i tuti on and frame were, ab origine, blas tedwith a deep i ncurable ta i n t of hypochondria, wh i ch poisonsmy existence. Of late, a n umber of domest ic vexations,and some pecun iary share in the ru in of thes et imes—losses, wh i ch, though trifl i ng, were yet what I couldill bear, have so i rr i tated me, that my feel in gs at t im escould only b e envi ed by a reprobate spi ri t l isten ing to thesen tence that dooms i t to p erdi tion .

Are you deep i n the language of consolat ion I haveexhausted in reflect ion every top ic of comfort. A heart a t

ease would have b een charmed wi th my sen timen ts and

reason ings bu t as to mysel f, I was l ike Judas lscari o tpreach ing thegospel hem igh t mel t andmould the heartsof those around him, but his own kept its nat i v e incorrigibility. S t il l there are two grea t p illars that hear us up,

am id the wreck of m isfo rtune and m isery. The ONE iscomposed of the difl'erent modifications of a certai n n oble,s tubborn someth ing i n man, known by thenames ofcourage,forti tude , magnan im i ty . The OTHER is made up of thosefeel ings and sen timents, wh i ch, however the sceptic may

deny, or the enthus iast ic disfigure them , are yet, I am convinced, original and componen t parts of the human soul ;those senses of them ind, i f I may be allowed the express ion , wh ich conn ect us wi th, and l i nk us to, those awful ohscure real i ti es—ah all-powerful and equally beneficent

God—and a world to come, b eyond death and the grave.The first gives the n erve of combat, wh i le a ray of hopebeams on the field the las t pours thebalm of comfort i n tothe wounds wh ich time can n ever cu re.

I do not remember, my dear Cunn ingham, tha t you and

I ever talked on the subj ect of rel igion at all. I knowsome who laugh at i t, as the trick of the crafty FEW, to l eadthe u ndiscern ing MANY ; o r at most as an uncerta i n oh

scurity, wh i ch mankind can n ever know anyth i ng of, andwi th wh ich they are fools i f they give th emselves much todo . Nor would I quarrel wi th a man for his i rreli gi on,

.

any

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166 mmrom or BURNS .

Burns had i n those closing years of his l ife to struggle almost continually wi th pecun iary difficult ies, than wh i chnoth i ng could hav e been more l ikely to pou r b i ttern ess intolerable i n to the cup of

’

his existence. His l ively imaginat ion exaggerated to i ts elf every real evil ; and th is among

,

and perhaps above , all the rest ; at least, in many of hisl etters we find h im alluding to the probabil i ty of his beingarrested for debts , wh i ch we now know to have been ofvery tr ivial amoun t at theworst, wh i ch we also know he

h imself l ived to discharge to the utmost fa rth i ng, and in

r egard to wh i ch i t is impossibl e to doubt that his personalfri en ds in Dumfri es would have at all t imes been ready top reven t the law taking its ul timate course. Th is last cons iderat ion , however, was on e wh i ch would have given slen

der rel i ef to Bu rns. Howheshrunk wi th horror and loathi ng from the sense of pecun iary obligation , no matter towhom,

we have had abundan t i ndications already .

”

Of the i ncreas ing i rri tabil i ty of our poet’

s temperamen t,am ids t those troubles, external and i n ternal, that precededh is last i lln ess, his l etters furn ish proofs, to dwell on wh ichcould only i nfl ict unnecessary pai n . Let on e examplesuffice. S unday closes a period of our cu rs t reven uebusin ess, and may probably keep me employed wi th mypen un ti l noon . Fine employment for a poet

’

s pen ! HereI sit , al together No vemb erish, a d m elange of fretfuln ess and m elancholy ; not enough of the one to rouse meto pass i on , nor of the other to repose me in torpor ; mysou l flouncing and fluttering round her tenemen t, l ike a

wi ld finch,caugh t am id the horrors of wi n ter, and

'

newly

thrust i n to a cage. Well, I am persuaded that i t was ofme the Hebrew sage prophes i ed, when he foretold—J Andbehold, on whatsoever th is man doth set his heart, it shalln ot prosper Pray that wisdom and bl iss be more frequentv isi tors of R. B.

’

Towards the close of 1795, Burns was, as has beenpre viously mentioned, employed as an acting Supervisor ofExcise . Th is was apparently a step to a permanen t si tua

MEMOIR or BURNS . 167

t on of that h igher and m ore l ucrati ve class ; and fromthence, th ere was every reason to b el i eve the ki nd patronage of Mr Graham m ight el evate him yet farth er . Thesehopes, however, were m i ngled and darken ed wi th sorrow.

For four mon ths of that year, his youngest ch i ld l in geredthrough an i lln ess ofwh i ch every week prom ised to b e thelas t ; and Shewas finally cu t offwh en the poet, who hadwatched her wi th anx ious tendern ess, was from hom e onprofessi onal busi n ess. Th is was a severe blow, and his

own n erv es, though as yet he had not taken any seri ousalarm abou t his ai lmen ts, were i ll fi tted to wi thstand i t.

There had n eed,’ hewri tes to Mrs Dunlop , 15th December, there hadmuch need be many pleasures ann exedto the states of husband and father, fo r God knows th eyhav e many pecul iar cares . I cannot describ e to you the

anx ious, sleepl ess hours th ese ti es frequen tly giv e me. Isee a trai n of h elpless l i ttl e folks meandmy ex ertions allth e ir stay ; and on what a bri ttl e th read does the l i fe ofman hang ! If I am h i p t off at the command of fate—eveni n all the v igou r of manhood as I am , such th i ngs happeneveryday—gracious God ! what would become of my l i ttl eflock ! ’

Tis here that I envy you r people of fortun e. A

father on his death-bed, taking an e v erlast ing leave of hisch i ldren , has i ndeed wo en ough ; but theman of competen t fortu ne l eaves his sons and daugh ters i ndependencyand fri ends ; wh i le I—but I Shall run distracted if I th i n kany longer on thesubj ect.

’

To the sam e lady, on the 29th of them on th , he, afterm en tion ing h is supervisorsh i p , and say i ng that at last hispol i ti cal sins seemed to b e forgiven him—goes on i n th isom inous ton e What a trans i en t bus i n ess is l i fe ! Verylately I was a boy ; bu t t

’oth er day a young man ; and Ial ready b egi n to feel the r igid fibre and st iffen ing j oin ts ofold age com ing fast over my fram e .

’ We may trace them elancholy sequ el i n th ese extracts .

3 ls t J anuary l 796 .—I hav e lately drunk deep of the

cup ofafllict ion. Theautumn robbed meofmy only daughP 2

168 MEMOIB. OF BURNS .

te r and darling ch i ld, and that at a dis tance too , and so

rapidly, as to put i t ou t of my power to pay the las t du ti esto her. I had scarcely b egun to recov er from that shock ,wh en I became mys elf the v ictim of a most severe rheumat i c fever, and long thedie spun doub tful unti l, after manyweeks of a s ick-bed, i t seems to have tu rn ed up l i fe, and Iam begi nn ing to crawl across my room, and once i ndeedhave b een before my own door in the stree t.

Wh en pleasure fascinates the m ental sigh t,Affl iction purifies the visual ray ,

Religion hails the drear the untried nigh t,That shuts, for ever shuts life's doub tful day.

But a few days after th is, Burns was so exceedingly impruden t as to j oi n a fes t iv e c i rcle at a tavern dinner, wherehe remai n ed till abou t th re e i n themorn i ng. Theweatherwas sev ere, and he, being much i n tox icated , took no pre.caut ion in thus expos i ng his deb il i tated frame to its influence. I t has been sa id , that he fell asleep upon the snowon h is way home . I t is certai n , that n ext morn ing b e

_

wass ensible of an icy numbn ess th rough all his j oin ts—that h isrheumat ism return ed wi th tenfold force upon h im—and

that from that unhappy hour, h is m ind b rooded om i nouslyon the fata l issue . The cou rs e of medicin e to wh i ch besubm i tted was v i ol en t confinemen t, accustomed as he hadbeen to much bodily exercise, preyed m iserably on all his

powe rs he drooped vis ibly, andall thehopes of his fri endsthat h eal th would re turn wi th summ er, were destin ed todisappo intment.

4th J une —I am i n such m iserable heal th as tob e u tterly in capable of showi n g my loyal ty i n any way.

Ba ckt as I am wi th rh eumat isms, I meet ev ery face wi th a

greeting like that of Balak andBalaam , Come, cu rse meJacob and com e defy me Israel .

”

7th J uly—I fear the voice of theBard will soon be

h eard among you no more . For these eigh t or ten mon ths

The b i rth -day of George III.

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170 MEMO IR or BURNS .

seemed al ready touch i ng the br ink of etern i ty. His firstsal u tat i on was, Well, madam , hav e you any commands forthe o th er world ?’ I repl ied that i t seemed a doub tful casewh i ch of us should b e there soonest, and that I hoped hewould yet l i ve to wr i te my ep i taph . ( I was then in a poorstate of heal th .) He looked i n my face wi th an air of greatk indn ess

,and expressed h is concern at seeing me look so

i ll,wi th his accustomed sensib i li ty. A t table he ate l i ttl e

o r noth i ng, and he complai ned of having en tirely lost theton e of h is s tomach . We had a long and ser ious conversat i on abou t h is presen t S i tuat ion , and the approach ing term ination ofall his earthly prospects . He spoke of his deathwithout any of the ostentation of ph i losophy, butwi th firmn ess as well as feel ing—as an even t l ikely to happen verysoon

, and wh ich gave him concern ch i efly from l eaving hisfour ch i ldren so you ng and unprotected, and his wife in so

i n terest ing a si tuat ion—in hou rly expectat ion of lyi ng-ih ofa fifth . He ment ion ed , wi th seem i ng pride and satisfacti on ,the prom ising gen ius of h is eldest son,

and the flatteringmarks ofapprobat ion hehad r eceiv ed from his teachers, anddwel t part icularly on his hopes of that boy

’

s future conductand meri t. His anx iety for h is fam i ly seem ed to hangh eavy upon h im, and the more perhaps from the reflectionthat he had no t don e them all the j ustice hewas so wellqual ified to do . Pass i ng from th is subj ect, he showedgreat concern abou t the care of his l i terary fame, and part icularly the publicat ion of his posthumous works. He sai dhe was well aware that his death would occasion som enoise, and that every scrap of his wri ting would be rev ivedagai nst him to the inj ury of his future repu tat ion : thatl etters and verses wri tten wi th unguarded and improperfreedom, andwh i ch he earnestly wished to have buried i nobl ivi on , would be handed about by idle van ity or mal evolence, when no dread of his resentmen t would restra i nth em , or preven t the censures of shrill- tongued mal ice, orthe i ns idious sarcasms of envy, from pouring forth all thei rvenom to b last his fame. He lamen ted that he hadwr i tten

MEMO IR OF BURNS ,

many epigrams on persons agai nst whom he entertained noenm i ty, andwhose characters he should be sorry to wound ;andmany i ndifferen t poetical pieces , wh ich hefeared wouldnow, wi th all thei r imperfecti ons on th e ir h ead, b e th rustupon the world. On th is accoun t he deeply regr ettedhav i ng deferred to pu t his papers i n to a state of arrangem en t, as hewas now qu ite i ncapable of the exerti on . The

con v ersat ion was kept up wi th great evenn ess and an imat ion on his s ide . I have seldom seen his m i nd greater ormore collected. Th ere was frequently a considerable degree of vivaci ty in h is sall i es, and they would probably havehad a greater sha re, had not the concern and dej ect ion Icould not disgu ise, damped thespir i t of pl easan try heseemed not unwi ll ing t o indulge. weparted abou t sun—set onthe even ing of that day ( the 5th of July, 1796 the nextday I saw him again , andwe parted to m eet n o more

I do not know the exact date of the followi ngTo Mrs Bu rns .

—‘B row,Thursday—My dearest Love,I delayed wri t ing un ti l I could tell you what effect seabath ing was l ikely to produce . I t would be inj ust ice todeny that i t has eased my pai ns, and I th i nk has strengthen ed me but my appeti te is st i ll extrem ely bad. No fleshnor fish can I swallow : porr idge and m i lk are the onlyth in gs I can tas te. I am very happy to h ear, by M iss JessL ewars, that you are all well. My very best and kindestcompl imen ts to her and to all the ch i ldren . I wi l l seeyouon Sunday. Your affectionate husband, R. B.

’

There is a very affecting letter to Gilbert, dated the

7th , i n wh i ch the poet says, I am dangerously i ll, and no t

l ikely to get b etter . God keep my wife and ch i ldren .

’

On the 12th hewrote the l etter to Mr George Thomsonabove quoted, requesting £5 ; and, on the sam e day, hepen n ed also the followi ng,—the las t letter that he everwrote

,—to his fri end Mrs DunlopMadam , I have written you so often , wi thout receiv

i ng any answer, that I would not trouble you again , butfor the c ircums tances i n wh ich I am . An illness wh ich

172 MEMO IR or BURNS .

has long hung about me, i n all probab il i ty wi l l speedilysend me beyond that bou rn e wh ence no traveller retu rns.

’

Your fri endsh i p , wi th wh i ch for many years you honou redme, was a fri endsh ip dearest to my soul . Your con versat ion, andespecially you r correspondence, were at once h ighlyen tertai n ing and i nstructi v e. Wi th what pleasure did Iuse to break up the seal ! The remembrance yet adds on epulse more to my poor palp i tat ing heart .

0 11 the 18th , despai r ing of any benefi t from thesea, our

poet came back to Dumfri es. Mr Allan Cunn ingham,who

saw h im arri ve, ‘ visibly changed in h is looks, being wi thdifliculty able to s tand uprigh t, and reach h is own door,’

has gi v en a striking p icture , i n on e of his essays, of thestate of popular feel ing i n the town during the short spacewh i ch i n terven ed b etween his return and h is death .

Dumfri es was l ike a besi eged place . It was known hewas dyi ng, and the anxi ety, not of the ri ch and the learn edonly , bu t of themechan ics and peasants, exceeded all

'

be

l i ef. Wherev er two or three peopl e stood togeth er, thei rtalk was of Burns , and of him alon e . They spoke of hish is to ry—ofh is person—ofh is works— ofhis fam ily—ofhis

fame—and of his un timely and approach ing fate—wi th a

warmth and an en thusiasm wh i ch wil l ever endear Dumfri esto my remembrance . All that he said or was say i ng—the

opin ions of the physi cians, —(and Maxwell was a kind and

a skilful on e,)—were eagerly caugh t up and reported fromstreet to street, and from house to hous

'e.

’

His good humour (Cunn ingham adds) was unruflled,

and h is wit n ever forsook him . He looked to one of hisfellow-volunteers wi th a sm i l e , as he stood by the bed- s idewith his eyes wet , and said, ‘ John , don ’t l et the awkwardsquad fire over mel He repressed wi th a sm i le the hopesof his fri ends, and told them he had l i v ed long enough .

As his l ife drew n ear a close, the eager, yet decorous, solicitudeof his fellow- townsmen increased. I t is the practiceof the young men of Dumfr i es to m eet i n the streets duringthe hours of remission from labour and by these means I

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174 nan ora OF BURNS .

procession , and not a few travelled from great distances towi tn ess the solemn i ty. The streets were l i n ed by the fencible infan try of Angus-sh i re, and the cavalry of theCinqu ePorts , then quartered at Dumfri es, whose commander, LordHawkesbury, (late earl of L i verpool ,) al though he had al

ways decl in ed a personal i n troduc ti on to the poet,* ofli

ciated as on e of the ch i ef mourners. The multi tude whoaccompan i ed Burns to the grav e wen t step by step ,’ saysCunn ingham ,

‘wi th thechiefmourners. Theym igh t amoun tto ten or twelve thousand . Not a word was heardIt was an impressi ve andmourn ful s ight to seemen of allranks, and persuas i ons, and opin ions, m ingl ing as brothers,and stepping s ide by S ide down the streets of Dumfr i es,wi th the remains of him who had sung of thei r loves

,and

j oys, and domest ic endearmen ts, wi th a tru th and a tendern ess wh ich none perhaps have si nce equalled . I could

,

i ndeed , have wished the m i l i tary part of the process ionaway. The scarlet and gold,—the banners displayed, —them easu red step

,and them i l i tary array, -wi th the sounds of

martial instrumen ts of musi c , had n o share i n increasi ngthe solemni ty of the burial scen e, and had no connect ionwi th the poet . I looked on i t then , and I consider i t now,

as an i dle osten tati on ,—a pi ece of superfluous state—wh ichm igh t hav e b een spared , more especially as his neglected,and traduced, and i nsulted spiri t had experi enced no kindn ess i n thebody from those lofty people who are now proudof being numbered as his coevals and countrym enI found myself at the brink of the poet

’

s grave, i n to wh ichhe was about to descend for ev er. There was a pauseamong themou rners, as i f loath to part wi th his remains ;andwhen hewas at last lowered, and the fi rst shovelful ofearth sounded on his coffin l id, I looked up and saw tearson many cheeks where tears were not usual . The volun

teers j ustified the fears of thei r com rade, by three raggedand straggling volleys. The earth was h eaped up, the

So Mr Sym e informed Mr M‘Diarmid.

MEMO IR or BURNS . 175

green so rl laid over him, and themulti tude stood gaz ing onthe grave for some m i n utes’ space, and then m elted si len tlyaway. The day was a fine. one,

- the sun was almost wi thout a cloud

, and not a drop of ra in fell from dawn to twi

l ight . I notice th is , not from any concurrence in the com

mon superstit ion , that happy is the corpse wh i ch the rai nrai ns on ,’ but to confut e the pious fraud of a religiousmagaz in e, wh i ch made heaven express its wrath, at the

i n term ent of a profan e poet, i n thunder, i n lightn ing, andi n rai n .

’

“ Duri ngthe funeral solemn i ty Mrs Burns was sei zedwi th the pains of labour, and gave b irth to a posthumousson, who qu ickly followed his father to the grave. MrCunn ingham describes the appearance of the fam i ly, whenth ey at last em erged from th ei r hom e of sorrow Aweepi ng widow and four helpl ess sons they came i nto thestreets i n thei r mou rnings , and publi c sympathy was awakened afresh . I shal l n ever forget the looks of his boys, andthe compass i on wh i ch th ey exci ted. The poet’s l i fe hadnot b een wi thou t errors , and such errors, too, as a wi fe iss low i n forgiv i ng ; bu t he was honou red then , and e verafte r, by the unal i enable affection of his wi fe, and theworldrepai d her prudence and her love by its regard and este em .

There was m uch talk at the t im e of a subscript ion fora monument ; but Mrs Burns b egi nn ing, ere long, to 5115

pect that the busi ness was to end i n talk, co vered the gravea t her own expense wi th a plai n tombston e, i nscrib ed sim

ply wi th thenam e and ageof the poet . In 1813 , however,a publ ic m eeting was h eld at Dumfri es , General Dunlop ,son to Burns’s fri end and patron ess , being i n the chai r ; asubscription was opened, and con tributions flowin

gi n t a

pidly from all quarters, a costly mausoleum was at len gtherected on the most elevated s i te wh ich the churchyardp res en ted, Th i ther the remai ns of the poet were solemnlytransferred* on the5th June, 1815 and the spot con tin u es

The original tombstone of Burns was sunk under the pavement of the mausoleum ; and the grave wh ich first received h is

176 n arrow or BURNS .

to be visi ted every year by many hundreds of trav elle rs .

The structure, wh i ch is perhaps more gaudy than m igh thave been wished, bears th is i nscrip ti on In aeternumhonorem ROBERTI BURNS , Poetarem Cal edon ia—3 sui aevi

longe principis ; cuj us carm i na exim ia, patrio sermon e scripta

, anim i magis ardent is v ique ingen u quam arte vel cultuconspicua, facetiis jucunditate l epore afllnent ia, omn ib uslit terarum cultoribus sat is nota ci ves sui necnon pleriqueomnes, musarum aman t issimi memoriamque vi r i arte p

‘oetica tam pre clar i foventesf Hoc MAUSOLEUM super rel iqu iaspoetas mortal es extruendum curavere. Primum hujusaedificii lap idem , Gulielmus M i ller, Arm iger, reipublicae

arch i tecton icas apud Sco tos i n region e Austral i curi o maximus provincial is, Georgio Tertio regnante, Georgio Wal

l iarum Pr incipe summam imperi i pro patre ten en t e, JosephoGass, Arm igero , Dumfrisiaa prasfecto, Thoma F. Hunt,Londinensi arch itecto, posuit , non is Juniis, anno LucisVMDCCCXV, Salut is humanas MDcccx v .

’

Immediately after the poet’s death a subscription wasopen ed for the benefit of h is fam i ly ; Mr M il ler of Dalswi n ton , Dr Maxwell , Mr Syme , Mr Cunn ingham , and MrM‘Murdo, becom i ng trustees for the applicati on of themoney. Many nam es from other parts of S cotland ap

peared i n the l ists , and not a few from England, esp ec iallyLondon and L i verpool . S even hundred pounds wer e inth is way collected, —an addi tional sum was forwarded fromIndia,—and the profits of Dr Cu rri e’s L i fe and edi t ion ofBurns, were also considerable. The r esul t has be en

,that

the sons of the poet rece ived an excellen t educat ion, andthat Mrs Burns con tin ued to reside, enj oyi n g a decen t independence, in the house where the poet died, si tuated inwhat is now, by the_ authori ty of the Dumfries magistracy,called Bu rns’ S treet, u ntil the day of her death .

”

For the honou r of two i ndi v iduals I may m en tion an

anecdote here. I was once‘

a steward an unworthy on e,remains is now occup ied, according to her own dying reques t, bya daugh ter ofMrs Dunlop.

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178 MEMO IR or BURN S .

O he was a good-looking fin e fellow l—he was thatrather black an

’ i ll-coloured but he couldna h elp that, ye.

ken . He was a strang, manly lookin’ chap nan e 0

’

yoursh ilp i t m i lk-and-water dandi es , but a sterl ing substantialfallow,

wha wadna hae feared the deil suppose he hadmeth im . An’ then si ccan an e

’

e he had. Aince an he got awee bousy, I never saw sic an e

’

e i n a head. Weel , I followed him an

’lookit at h im a

’the hal e day, an

’ wad fai nhae offered h im a bottle 0

’

win e , or a bowl 0 ’ punch , bu td idna ken how t o do’t , t ill at l ength he gaed in i’ theafte rnoon to drink wi’ Tam Hun ter an’ some mae o’ theman

’

as I ken ’d Tam gayin’

weel , I sen t for him out to takme i n . When Tam tauld Burns wha I was, he held out

his hand and took m i n e , an’ said, Come away, Sandy can

you dri nk any punch ?’ I said I was nae gret steeks at i t

but, for thesake 0’

his company, I was determi ned to spenda crack ewe that n ight . Why, that

’

s spoken l ike a man,’

sa id he. I see, Hunter, there’

s some smeddum i n the oldshepherd yet .

’ Weel , he gat maistly a’ to say h imsel

’

,for

,

0 hewas a fine hearty fallow ; but at l ength he began tobreak some j okes on our tenets about original S in . Ithough t i t was time to tak h im up then , an

’

sae I set tillh im, an

’

, as I thought, took h im r igh t sharp by the neb forth rowing any disparagemen t on that doctrin e . He listenedand lookit long wi thout sayi ng ought ; but, when he didwaken on me, he h eld my argumen ts very cheap ; 0 he

h eld them ch eap . He set a’ the folks i n a roar of laughin’

twenty .t imes over at me an’

my original sin , ti ll I wasblyth e to h in g down my head an

’ laugh l ike the t est, an’

gi e him a’

the argumen t to himsel’fi?

Burns was too fond of indulging his profane wi t on such

topicS ,'

wh ich , i t is plain, he but ill understood : but , notwith

standing h is powers of raillery, he did not always succeed in

silencing h is Opponen ts by turning the laugh against them . One

Sabbath morning, when he and h is brother Gilbert were goingt o Tarbolton parish church , they got into company with an old

man , a Moravian, travellingto Ayr. At that time theOld andNewL igh t dispute, already referred to, was making a great noise in

MLMOIB o r BURNS . 9

But j ust when we war at themerries t, Mr Sm i th , an’

M r Robson , an’

twa Dumfri es chaps, cam e i n an’ took him

away frae us to gang hame w1 them. However, they go tnae farther than Brownhill that n igh t, wh ere th ey made a

n igh t o ’

t .

The very n eist Tho rnh i ll fai r I keep i t a sharp look-outfor him t ill I fand him but there was ay e saemony h i ngi n

’

a bou t h im,tha t i t was lang or I could get '

a word 0’h im .

An’ then I kend, i f aiuce he got housed, i t was ten to on ei f I saw h is face that day agai n : sae. I drew as n ear him as

“

I could t il l at l ength he go t his e’

e on me standin’ girnin’

i’

the outer r ing. He h eld out his hand di rectly an’ took

hand 0’

m i n e, bu t wi thou t ever looking at me t ill he haddon e speaki ng. Then he turn ed to me, an’

says, Weel ,how’

s a’wi

’

ye, Sandy an’

how are a’

about MitchelslackCome, tell us a

’ vour news, an’

how you hae settled abouto riginal S in .

’

Ah ! Mr Burns, Mr Burns, I hae a craw to pook wi’

you about that, quo’ I an’

, afore I forget, com e awa i n toJohnn i e Mu i r’s, an’ I

’ll gi e you a bottle 0 ’ Sherry win e ; forI n ever l ike a dry subj ect .’

It is the only sensibl e remark I hae heard the day ,

Sandy,’

says he, an’ there’s never be another word abou t

it .’

Sae i n we gangs an’ gets thewin e, an’

hewas sae pleasan t that I wadwi ll ingly hae pai d a guinea

'

to hae got himkeep i t to mysel

’

. But i t wasna lang t ill in comes Pro vost‘Whigga

'

m o’ the Sanquhar. Are you engaged, Mr Burns,’

sa id he. Troth am I, pro vost, and tha t very seriously,

’

the country , and Burns and the old man, entering into conversation on the subject, differed in their opinions about it, the old

m an defending the principles of the evangelical party , or Old

L ight. and Burns those of theModerates , as they were called, or;New Ligh t. The disputants at length grewvery warm in the

debate, and Burns finding, th at, with all h is eloquence, he couldmake noth ing of h is antagonist, became acrimonious, and tauntingly exclaimed, Oh ! I suppose I have met with the ApostlePaul th is morning. No,

”—replied the old Moravian coolly,you h ave not met theApo stle Paul ; bu t I th ink I h ave met

with one of those wild beas ts with wh ich he fough t at Ephesus. ”

180 MEMO IR or BURNS .

said he ; ‘ for, to t el l the t ru th, th is worthy old shepherdhas converted me to thebel i ef of origi nal sin.

’ I know ofno man who needs to trouble his head less about that than

you, Burns,’ sai d the provost. Why so , S ir what would

you i nsi nuate by that remark ?’

sa id Burns. Merely that

you have such a superabundance of actual s ins to answerfor, that you need in nowise to trouble your head about

.

original s in .

’ Do you hear that ! Sandy said Burns.Thank you, provost bu t, for all the number of my S ins,I know on e, and a ch i ef magistra te too, who wil l coun theads an

’ tails wi th me at a fai r confess ion . Come,try

Sandy’

s bottle 0 ’

Sherry.

’

The provost sai d—He merely wanted to gi e Burns a

bottle 0 ’ wine and a bowl 0 ’ punch , an’ that, s i nce he foundhim i n such good company, hewould j o in us. Weel , hecam

’ i n , an’ hecam’ i n , t i ll the room was fu’ an’ i lk ane

wad be th is, an’ i lka ane wad b e that, t ill the si ll er wasgaun l ike sklate-s tanes , an

’

thewin e an’

the punch as gin

they had been naemai r than water. S ic an i th er afte rnoon0’

fun and laughin’ I n ever wi tnessed, an’ n ever will wit

ness agai n ; bu t Mr Burns keepi t th em a’ down ; i t was

nae mat ter what s ide he took, for thei r argumen ts, whencompared wi’ his, were nae better than dust and sand compared wi’ goud. An’ ayenow an

’ then hegaeme the t i therwipe about original s in , qnhill I durstna Open my mou thin defence o’t .

”

Wha t did hesay abou t it, Saunders ? 0 , hesa id mnckle

nonsense abou t i t. I canna tell yewhat he said about i t ;for he was a queer clever chap , an

’ sai d some far wau rth i ngs than a’ that yet th ey hada smack o

’ gen i us i n them,

an’ though they couldna be ca

’

d common sense, they wereoften far aboon i t .

By degrees the hal e o’

the chaps got drunk, an’ slippitaway ane after another. But what I fear was his wars tfaut, he couldna l eave the bowl , an

’ I was determ i ned noto l eave him saewe sat on , an’ sat on , t ill after m idn igh t,an

’ then were shown i nto a bed- room, an’ our bowl an’

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182 m om or BURNS .

descr ip tion , and as n ear h is own words as I can recollecthewas a most worthy, t r uthful , and devout man, and h ighlyresp ected by all ranks . I h eard h im once tell ing these ad

ventu res wi th Burns before M r Harkn ess , h is broth er, ands ister, and, as usual , commending h is good andmanly looks.

Mr Harkness said he had seen him often , and consideredh im a low blackguard-looking fellow : on wh ich Saundersadded, Ah ! na, na, maister ; hewasna that M issHarkness avouch ed the truth of her brother’s assertion .

S irWal ter Scott says,—bu t he saw him in h is very bes tdays,—that “,his person was strong and robust his mannersrus tic, not clown ish a so rt of dign ified plai nness and sim

plicity, wh ich recei ved part of its effect, perhaps, from one’s

knowledge of his extraordi nary ta l en ts . His features are

represen ted in Mr Nasmith’s picture bu t to me i t conveysthe idea tha t they are dim in ished, as ifseen in pe rspective.I th i nk his countenancewas more mass i ve than i t looks inany of thepo rtra i ts. I would have taken the poet, had Inot known what hewas, for a very sagacious farmer of theold Scotch school ; i. e. none of you r modem agriculturis ts,who keep labourers for their drudgery but thedouse gudeman ,

who held h is own plough . There was a strong ex

p ress ion of sense and sh rewdness i n all h is l in eamen ts .

The eye alon e, I th i nk, i ndicated the poetical characte rand temperament . I t was large and of a dark cas t, wh i chglowed ( I say, l i terally, glowed) when he spoke with feeli ng or i n terest. I n ever saw such another eye in a humanh ead, though I have seen the m ost d istinguished men ofmy t ime. His conversati on expressed perfect self-confidencewithout the sl igh test p resumption. Among themen who

were the most learn ed of their t ime and coun try b e express ed h imself with perfect firmness , bu t wi thou t the l easti n trusive forwardn ess ; andwhen he differed i n op in ion , hedid not hes i tate to express i t fi rmly, yet at the same t imewi th m odes ty .

Th is is all I can tell you about Burns . I have only toadd, that his dress corresponded wi th his manner. He was

MEMO IR OF BURNS . 183

l ike a farmer dressed i n h is bes t to dine wi th the La i rd .

I do not speak i n ma lam p artem , wh en I say, I n ever sawa man i n company wi th h is superi ors i n s tat ion and infor

mation , more perfectly free from e i ther the real i ty or theafl

'

ecta t ion of emba rrassm en t . I was told, but did not ohserve i t, that his address to females was extrem ely deferent ial, and always wi th a tu rn ei ther t o the pathet i c o rhumorous, wh ich engaged th ei r atten tion part icularly.

’ Ihave heard the late duchess of Gordon remark th is—I donot know anyth ing I can add to thes e recollections of fortyyears s i nce.”

Professor Walker says I was not much struck wi thh is fi rst appea rance, as I had previously heard i t descr ibed .

His person, though strong -and well-kn i t, and much super ior to what m igh t b e expected in a ploughman , was stillrather coarse i n its outl i ne. His statu re, for wan t of s i tt ingup, appeared to be only Of them iddle s i z e, bu t was ratherabove i t . His motions were firm and decided ; and, thoughwithou t any pret ensi ons to grace, were, at the same t ime,so free from clown ish restrai n t, as to Show that hehad not

always been confined to the soci ety ofhis profess ion .

~

Hiscountenancewas not of that elegan t cas t wh ich is most frequen t among the upper ranks ; but i t was manly and in

telligen t, andmarked by a though tful gravi ty wh i ch shaded,at t imes, in to sternn ess . In his large dark eye the moststri king i ndex of his gen ius res ided. It was full of m ind

,

and would have been s ingularly express ive under themanagement of onewho could employ i t wi th m ore art for thepu rpose of express ion .

Hewas plai n ly, but properly dressed, in a styl e andway,between theh oliday costume of a farmer, and that of thecompany with wh i ch he now associated. His black hai r,wi thou t powder, at a t imewhen i t was very gen erally worn ,was t i ed beh i nd, and spread upon his forehead. Upon thewhole, from his person , physi ognomy, and dress , had I meth im n ear a sea-port , and been requ i red to guess his condi tion , I should have probably conjectured h im to be

184 MEMO IR or BURNS .

the master of a merchan t vessel of the most respectableclass .

In no part of his mann er was th ere the sl igh test degre eof afl'ectation, nor could a stranger have suspected, from anyth ing i n h is behav i ou r or con versati on , that he had been forsome months the favouri te of all the fash i onable ci rcles ofa metropolis.

“ In conve rsat ion hewas powerful .* His conceptions andexpress i ons were of corresponding vigou r, and on all sub

jects were as remote as possibl e from common places.

Though somewhat authori tative, i t was i n a way wh i ch gavel i ttl e offence, andwas readily imputed to his i n experi encei n those modes of smooth i n g dissen t andsoften ing asserti on ,wh ich are importan t characteristics of pol ished manne rs .

After breakfas t I requested him to communicate some ofh is unpubl ished p i eces, and he reci ted his farewell song tothe Banks of Ayr, i n troducing it wi th a descripti on of thecircumstances i n wh ich i t was composed, more striking thanthe poem i tself.

I paid part icular atten t ion to his reci tation , wh ich wasplai n , slow, articulate, and forcible, but without any elo

quence or art . He did not always lay the emphasis withpropriety, nor did he humour the sen timen t by the variations of his voice . He was standing, during the t im e, wi thh is face towards thewi ndow, to wh i ch, and not to his auditors, he directed his eye, —thus depri v ing h imself of any addit ional effect wh ich the language of his composi tion m igh t

An intelligent old lady ofDumfries told me She was exceedingly anx ious, when a girl _of about twelve years of age, to see

Burns, and h ear h im speak . She got a m erchant to gratify herdesire, by taking her behind the counter in h is shop, wh ich Burnswas in the h ab it of frequenting, and came usually about the samehour each day. On the occasion in question, he came to the

shop, accompanied with som e other persons. He Spoke twice asmuch as any of the others, andwhatever the top ic Of conversationwas , the poet was despera tely in ea rnest,

—bold and animated, h iseye flash ing and burning all the tim e. Th is gives one no bad

idea of h is ordinary m anner. He must have been prodigious inconversation, when he laid h imself out for i t.

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186 MEMOIR OF BURNS .

fond ~ i ndulgen t'

paren t —aud th ese social Vi r tues of l i feare no t to b e overlooked i n a man, far less i n a poet.

The stars may from th eir orb its bend,The mountains rock—the heavens rendThe sun’s last ember cool and quiver,But th ese shall glow, and glow for ever.

That he hadan i ncon trollabl e passion for the other sex , Iam obl iged to adm i t ; bu t what would have been the use

of h im wi thout that ? Wi thout that, we should n ever hav ehad ei ther a Byron , or a Burns, nor some oth ers who shal lb e nameless. I hold i t as an i ncontrovertible apothegm,

that exactly i n proportion to a poet’

s veneration of the fai rsex , so wil l b e the order, the spi ri t, and the Splendour ofh is verses

O 1‘

had i t no been for the flushOfmaiden’s v i rgin flame,Dear beauty never had been known,And never had a nameBut aye since that dear th ing ofblameWas modell

’

d by an angel frame,The power of beauty reigns supremeO

’

er all the sons ofmen , &c.

A man cannot help hav i ng the bump Ofamativeness, andwhen he has i t, he cannot ge t qu i t of i t. I wish Wal te rTodwould go to London , and feel the bump of the presentRobert Burns and then gi ve us an essay i n theagriculturalJournal , what hewould do if he had i t ? I Should l ike exceedingly to see such an essay . If Charles Gordon " wouldadvertise a good prem ium for thebest mode of res isting theimpulse of amat i ven ess, wi th drawings of themach i nery, Iam sure Todwould win i t . I t would be a much pleasanterstudy than the pressure of peat moss, or the louping- i l l i nsh eep, wh i ch he knows as much about as I know abou tgeometry . But to be serious Burns was framed wi th im

pet uous passi ons, wh i ch b e deeply deplored ; but I shal lalways regard him, as not only a great, but a good man .

Th e respectable secretary to the Highland Society of Scot

MEMO IR o r BURNS .

’

187

Burns has by the’

greate r part of his b iograph ers beenaccused of i nve t erate diss ipati on and drunkenness. DRUNKENNES S ! they know l i ttl e about drunkenness who accusepoor Burns of i t. I must first quote what thes e redoubted annota tors assert and i f I do not refute th em from better ev id ence, let my appellat ion no more b e the Ettri ck Shepherd .

Dr Curri e says , that,“ endowed by

'

nature wi th greatsens ibi li ty of n erves , Burns was, in his corporeal, as well ashis men tal system, l iable to inordinate imp ressions t o feverof body as well as of m i nd. Th is predisposi tion to disease,wh i ch stric t temperance in diet, regular exercise, and soundsleep, m igh t have subdued, hab i ts Ofa very differen tnaturestrengthen ed and i nflamed . Perpetually st imulated by al

cohol i n on e or other of its various forms, the i nordinateactions of the circulati ng system became at l ength hab itual ;the process of n utr i ti on was unable to supply thewas te, andthe powers of l ife began to fail. Upwards of a year beforeh is death, there was an eviden t decl in e i n ou r poet

’

s personalappearance, and though h is appeti te conti nued unimpaired,hewas h imself sensibl e that his consti tution was s inking .

In his momen ts of though t he reflected wi th the deep est t egret on his fatal progress, clearly foreseeing thegoal towardswh ich he was hasten ing, withou t the strength of m i ndn ecessary to stop, or ev en to slacken his cou rse . His tem

per now becam e more i rr i table and gloomy ; he fled fromh imself i n to society, often of the lowest ki nd. And insuch company, that part of the convivial scen e, in wh i chwine increases sensib il i ty and exci tes ben evolence

, was

hu rri ed over, to reach the succeeding part, over wh i ch un

controlled passion generally pres ided. He who sufl'

ers the

pollu ti o n of i n ebriation , how shal l he escape oth er pollution But l et us refra i n from themen tion of errors overwh ich deli cacy and human ity draw the veil .”

S o you say, Dr Curri e ; bu t h ighly as I respect and vencrat e you , I’ll prove you to have been m is i n formed . Heron

,

who knew more Of the matter personally than any of the

188' MEMO IR o r BURNS .

o th er b iographers of Bu rns, says In Dumfries his dissipat ion became sti ll more deeply habi tual . He was hereexposed more than in t he coun try, to b e sol ici ted to share

the r iot of the dissolute and the idl e. Fool ish young men,

such as wr i ters’ apprentices , young surgeons, m erchan ts’

clerks,'

andhis brother excisem en , flocked eagerly abou t him ,

and from tim e to tim e press ed him to dri nk wi th th em, thatthey m igh t enj oy h is wicked wi t. The Cal edon ian Club ,too , and the Dumfri es and Galloway Hun t, had occas i onalm eetings at Dumfri es after Burns came to res ide there, andt he poet was of cou rse i nvi ted to Share thei r hospi tal i ty,and h es i tated no t to accep t the i nv i tati on . Themorals oithe town were, i n consequence of its becom i ng so much thescen e of publ ic amusement

,not a l i ttl e corrupted, and,

though a husband anda fath er, Burns did no t escape sufl‘

er

i ng by the gen eral con tam i nat ion , i n a manner wh i ch Iforbear to describe . In the i n tervals between his differen tfi ts of i n temperance, he suffered the keen es t anguish of remorse andhorr ibly afllict ive foresigh t. His Jean b ehavedwi th a degree of maternal and conj ugal tenderness and prudence, wh i ch made him feel more b i tterly the e v i ls of hism isconduct, though they could not reclaimSo says poor Heron . I wish he had b een no worse .

We shal l see. Th is posi t i on fi rst going abroad gai n edground l ike fi re set to h eather, andwas quoted and harpedupon by every rev i ewer i n the kingdom . Now, before goi ng further, le t me j ust quote on e letter,wh ich is a suffici en tanswer to all th ese ins i nuations and a thousand more .Hear, then , what the am iable and accomplished Mr Findlater says, who was Burns

’

s immediate superior, as collectorin the Dumfri es distri ct My connecti on wi th RobertBurns comm enced immediately after his adm issi on i n to theExcise, and continu ed to thehou r of his death. In all thatt ime, the superi n tendence of his behav i ou r, as an officer ofthe revenue, was a b ranch of my especial provi nce, and i t

Heron’s L ife ofBurns.

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190 MEMO IR or BURN S .

ven ture to say, hewas n e ver seen otherwise than attent iveand affect ionate to a h i ghNow I accoun t th is evidence not to b e refuted, and th is

I take to b e precisely the case as i t stood with Bu rns . Bu t

was th is the l east l ike the case Ofa hab i tual drunkard ? wasth is l ike a man contin ually s timulated by alcohol ? Nonsense ! Burns was no more a drunkard than I am ; nay, Icould take a bet that , on ,

an average, I drink double ofwhat he did andyet I am acknowledged, both i n Scotlandand England, as a most temperate and cau tions man and

so I am . I appeal to the ch i ef of M‘Leod, the duke ofArgyl e, and my Lord Sal toun . Now, why I should b eal lowed to dri nk twice as much as Burns, and b e accounteda temperate man ; nay, a model to walk by in drinking ;and he shou ld , for taking a random house, be accounted a

.drunkard, is what I canno t comprehend.

The fact is, that those who accuse Burns of drunkenness,know noth i ng about the h isto ry of drunkenness i n S cotlandat all. Let them, then , look at the character of the Baronof Bradwardine i n on e age, and of h igh j inks i n anothe r by.S irWal ter S cott, and hewi l l find the ep itome of dri nkingin those ages drawn to thevery l ife . About the begi nn ingof the last cen tury, and for some time prev ious to that,dri nk ing, among the nobil i ty and first- rate gentry of Scotland, was carri ed to a very great height. The late Provost.Creech of Edinburgh hadmany good'

stories illust ratwe ofthat age, but wh i ch I remember so imperfectly I dare hardlyv enture to tell any of th em . There was one Angus-sui t ela i rd went to v is i t another. The v isi to r was the lai rd ofBalnamoon, commonly called Bonnymoon ; hewould drinknoth i ng bu t claret . SO his fri end George made up a grea t

.number of bot tles of hal f-brandy and half-claret, knowingthat the lai rd would stick to his number. He did so, and

commended the win e greatly ; but sat on wi th h is fr i en dthree days and two nigh ts wi thou t perceiving i t, all the

Lockhart’s L ife ofBurns, pp . 3 3 9, 3 40.

.MEMO IR or BURN S .

19 1

t ime i n A t the end of the th i rd dayB onnymoon fa i l ed, grew pale, and sunk back on his cha ir.Come, lai rd, fil l your glass th is wi l l n ever do O,

George—I :can—do—no more—for you .

”Then you

had better go to bed.

”0 ,no —I n e v er sl eep—from

h om e . Never—stay from hom e a—n igh t : So

off wen t the lai rd wi th his servant’

behind him , both oncapi tal horses . The n ight was dark and stormy, and, i nr id i ng o ver a waste, ofl

’

went the la i rd’

s hat . John gallopedafter i t, and sei zed i t l ean i ng on a furz e bush . John , th isis not my hat at all ; goandlook for the r igh t on e .

”

Thereis very l i ttl e wal e o

’

cockit hats here the n igh t, you r hon.Our.

’

3 I say, John , th is is no t my hat . It wou ld hold twoh eads l ike m i n e. I’l l b e bu t i t has taken the wigawaywi th i t . After long

‘

groping, John got thewigon anothe rfurz e bush , and handed i t to hismmaster.

“ John , th is isnot my wig j ust look at i t : th is is not my wig at all

( he had pu t i t on wi th thewrong s ide foremost.)“ ‘

Ah

gu id fai th , your honou r, i f there’

s l i ttl e wale o'hats , there’s

-nae wal e o’ wigs at a’

, here , the n igh t.” They rode on ,a nd on comingn

to the North Esk, the laird’s horse dasheddown h is head to drink , and ofi

’

wen t the lai rd, head foremost, in to t her iver, wi th a prodigious plunge. He soon

,

however, set up his head. John , what was that ?” I

d inna ken . I though t i t had been you r honour .“ John ,

I dinna understand th is . Get up , your honour, you’ll

maybe unders tand it by and by.

”

Thus, from the nob il i ty i t descended to the lawyers, and.all the secondary gentry and exactly at the t ime thatBurns l ived i n N i thsdale, when the yeomanry lwere em

bodied as gen tlemen volunteers, the hard-drinking beganamong. the farmers, to an ex ten t, wh i ch, even

.

at this day,can hardly gai n credi t . Bu rns being a volunteer h imself,was constantly exposed to the company of th is j ov ial class,and I know myself, themanwho would not take h is glassat that period, was despised, and n ever i nv i ted to social

.part ies . . Hard-drinkingwas a t that period the order of theR 2

192 MEMO IR or BURNS .

day. A party of farmers n ever. met wi thout getting gloriously drunk . I have known i nstances, and I can

‘ prove

i t, of a club of farm ers, meeting on the even ing Ofa marketday, on thewes t border, and on parting - that n igh t e igh tn igh ts, several of them never kn ew b ut i t was the even ingof the same day they met . I kn ew all these even persona lly, and no man ever though t of denom i nat ing them dru nkards. Poor unhappy Burns ! hewas any th i ng but a hab itual drunkard, though, i n his hou rs of h i lar i ty, he had not

the power of stopping i n time.He is, furthermore, accused of keeping low company.

Low company ! I have always wondered what th ese gratuitous b iographers m eant by that term. Do th ey meanthe peasantry Of S cotland ? It sets th em well, i ndeed, tocharacteriz e us by such terms. Now, I n ever h eard thatBurns h eld any i ntercou rs e wi th any class below that.Burns was a native of the cot h imself. His stat ion in l ifen ever raised him much above that class and i t would havebeen a shame for him to have cas t them off, and lookeddown upon them . But hiswas not the sp irit to do so he

knew their i nherent qual i t ies too well, and pr ized them too

h ighly, to regard them as l ow company.

Bes ides , a poet does not b elong to any class of soci ety.

He is the ch i ld of natu re ; a fre e den iz en of the realm of

his people, and all class es have the same equal claims uponh im. I must iden t i fy myself wi th Burns h ere for his j ust ificat ion. I , l ike him, was a son of the lowly cot, andamong the shepherds and cottagers I am happy to th i s dayI v isi t them, si ng wi th them, tell s tory about wi th th em,

and drink wi th them at sheep-markets and on fai r-days .

If my b iographer should term th is keeping low company,they know l i ttl e abou t i t. Aga i n , in theSoci ety of farmers,I am on e of th em ;

‘

we are all as brothers andamong the

first nob il i ty of theland I am equally at my ease : so tha treally I feel I belong exclusively to no one class of society.

I shal l now give a few extracts from the commun icat ionof my friend Gray, firs t sen t me for TheSpy,

’

on the20th

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194 MEMO IR or BURNS .

enemy to the consti tu t ion of his coun try, merely becausehe disda i n ed to make h imsel f the h i rel ing of men in power.

T hey persecuted him with a rancour that a imed at noth i ng Sho rt of his ru in . Devoi d of the common feel i ngs ofh uman i ty, they endeavou red by slanders, cal umn ies , and

m isrepres en tat i ons, to rob him of a scanty i ncom e, insuffic i en t to supply thewants of a num erous fam i ly of in fan tch i ldren, whom he loved wi th all the ardou r of an en thu

siast ic and gen erous nature. Yes, they tried to cas t himo ut on thewide world, i n a s tate of absolute wan t, t ill thecruelty ofmankind, degradat ion, and poverty, Should breakhis manly heart, and crush h im prematurely i n to the tomb .

Now, brother G ray, th is i s r eally dreadful . Ou r arm i esswore terribly i n Flanders, but noth ing to th is . But th i sis noth i ng to what’s com i ng.

No ! th is is no ideal case andwhat i s worse than th is,calumny has, with unweari ed r igour, pursued him even be

yond the grave. Wh il e the divine ton es of his lyre werel isten ed to wi th rapture and deligh t, the author was permit ted to p erish unpi ti ed and unheard ; and no one was

found to adm i n ister that rel i ef wh ich m igh t have prolongedthe l i fe of the greates t ornam en t of his coun try. And,b ehold , after death , a comb ination arises to depress himben eath the common s tandard of moral v i rtu e, whom all

agree i n exal t ing far above the common s tandard of in tellectual excell ence. The man, from whose tongue the

poison of slander n ever flowed,—who was ever ready to

cas t the vei l of chari ty over the fai l ings of a brother,—toaid him i n distress, —and

.

to gran t to kindred gen i us theduemeed of p raise,—is branded wi th meanness and crimeswh i ch his erect and manly soul abhorred, and representedas the disgrace of his kind. But gigan tic gen ius was aloneh is crime . His unbending i n tegri ty is a satire on men offeeble and selfish m i nds, whose opin ions are taken up orlai d as ide as conven i ence or i n teres t may prompt.

Ev ery story to his disadvan tage, every mal evolen t tale,is now collected with a mal i gnan t industry wh i ch galls the

MEMO IR or BURN S . 195

generous heart to con template wh i l e every'

instance ofgenerosi ty,—Of strong and manly i ndependence,—everyexert i on of v i rtue-wh i ch raises a man above the herd ofmankin d,—is carefully suppressed.

He is repres en ted as brut ifiedanddebased by v ice ; butI kn ew him well, and have Often been wi th him i n hisscenes of m errimen t, pass ing with him the social hou r ; andI aver, that he n e ver was the low degraded wretch wh i chhis en em ies have represen ted him to be, —whose creed on

the subj ect has b een adopted from hearsay repo rts Of the

mal i cious. They themselves knew noth ing abou t the inh eren t qual i t i es of theman . I have been del igh ted by theconstan t flash es of a bri ll ian t wit , playful or caust i c as theoccasion requ ired but never disgusted by any th i ng coars e,vi cious, or vulgar. I have not unfrequen tly enj oyed wi thhim themorn i ng walk—! saw him clear and uncloudedwas aston ished by the exten t and prompti tude of his informat i on ,—by his keen i nspection i n to human charac ter,—by the natu ral, warm , and energetic glow of his elo

quence,—and by the dari ng fligh ts of his imagination . I

have often seen him port ray with a penci l dipped i n the

colours of the rai nbow,every th ing fai r, great, or sublime,

i n human character or nature at large ; and alongs t wi ththos e, I ever h eard him the zealous advocate of human i ty,religion, virtu e, and freedom. On th es e occas ions I haveh eard him quote theEngl ish poets, from Shakspeare downto Cowp er ; wh ile their fines t passages seemed to acqu irenew beauty from his en erget i c rec i tation . His coun tenanceon th ese occas ions would b righ ten

,and his large dark eyes

would Sparkl e wi th del ight . At oth er t imes he wou ld rollth em over the pu rple tin ts of themorn ing Sky , or thevariedb eauti es of a fine landscape wh i l e hewould bu rst ou t in togl owing descri ptions, o r enthus ias tic st rai ns of adorat ion,worthy of the royal Heb rewbard.

Often , too, have I seen him i n the bosom of his ownfam ily, superin tending the educa tion of a son,

—explain i ngto his boy the beauties of the English poets , or pouri ng on

196 .MEMOIR OF‘

BURN S .

h is soul a'

lov e Of the grea t and subl ime in character, asthey exist i n the immortal pages of Gibbon , Hume, orRobertson yet all th is happen ed i n the days of the poet

’

s

degradat ion . Are these l ike the sen timen ts ,— th is l ike theconversa t ion or ton e of m i n d of a man brutified and debased by vice ? ,

No, n o ; the poe t, l ike other men , had

frai l ties wh ich led h im occasionally i n to deviations from tha tpath whi ch h is own m ind told him he ough t to tread. Hewas sometimes the sport of arden t and impetu ous passi ons,of passions wi ld andstrong, wh ich too often accompany h ighgen ius ; but his heart was st ill pure and i ncorrupted, andto counterbalance h is fai l i ngs he possessed many splendidvi rtues . All that I crave for him now is j ust ice ; for why ofsuch a man should we set down augh t i n mal i ce ? Let hisv i rtues and vices be fai rly balanced, and le t him be acqu itted or condemned as the scal e shal l preponderate. Th is isdue to themost profligate of mankind, —to the ty ran t whohas trampled under foot the r ights of nati ons ; andshall i t beden i ed to him,

whose sweet delin eations of p iety and v i rtueare destined to del ight and improve futu re ages, and provethat these feel ings were the hab i tual i nmates of his soul .But as thepoet was a prodigy of gen i us, so his en em i es arenow try ing to make h im out a prodigy of v i ce . Slander i sadded to slander, and falsehood to falsehood, ti ll such a picture is drawn of the immortal hard, as not in one featureto resemble the original . Th is is an unpreceden ted proceeding,

—what ques t ion of property or r igh t was ever decided on the ev idence of hearsay report ? And shall thesonof gen ius, theman whose subl im i ty Of soul forms the connect ing l ink between men and angels shall he, I say, bethus filched of h is good nam e, and that too, when his elmquence can no more b e exerted i n his own defence ? But

thes e cal umn i es aga inst thememory of my fri end andmostadm i red poet, I wi ll repel till the day of my death ; andtruth

'

will ultimately prevail, and the cal umn i es wi ll be remembered only to the disgrace of thei r i nventors .

”

Hones t Gray,—though th is may be regarded as an ex

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198 MEMO IR OF BURN S .

The character of Bu rns, i ndeed, is a theme that cannoteasily b ecome either ~ trite or exhaus ted, andwil l ‘ probablygai n , rath er than lose , i n its d imensions, by the distance to.wh i ch i t is removed by time. I t has been said that n o manis a hero to his valet, and th is is probably tru e, but

‘

the

fault is at l east as l ikely to b e thevale t’

s, as theh ero’s for

i t is cer ta i n , that to the vulgar eye, few th ings arewonderful that are not distan t. I t is difficul t to bel i eve that themanw hich we see, the mere

’

man‘

toiling on '

at ou r S ide,through the poor j ostl i ngs -of ex istence, can poss ibly bemade of finer clay than ou rselves. It is then ce rtai n , thatuntil all thecompan ions of Burns’s pilgrimage aregon e,—ti llall of whom hewrote, and wi th whom be associated, shal lhave become i nvisible i n thedarkn ess of thepas t,—or remainonly vis ibl e, by l ight borrowed from h is j uxtaposi t ion , itwi ll b e diflicult to measure h im by any tru e standard,—Or

to es t imate what he really was, and did, in the eighteenthcen tury, for h is coun try and the world. I t wi l l . i ndeed bedifficult, but st ill a fai r p roblem for future h istorians, andrepeated attempts wi ll gi ve as repeated approximat ions,for i t i s qui te man ifest, that the problem of Burns’sb iogra

phy has no t yet been adequately solved. Th is is not forlack of local facts or documen ts, though of . these we are,

at every step forward , receiving some fresh access ions bu ti t is to the l imi ted and imperfect applicat ion of them to thegreat end of biography . Th is notion may appear

'

ex trava

gan t b u t i f .an indiv idual is really of co nsequence enoughto have h is l ife and charac ter recorded for publ ic remembrance, surely thepublic ough t to b e acqua in ted wi th all theinward Springs and relations of his character. Howdid theworld and man’s l ife, from his parti cular pos i tion

, repreo

'

sent themselves to his m i nd ? How did co- existing ci rcums tances modify him from wi thout, and. these from with i n ?Wi th what endeavou rs, and wi th what efficacy; rule. over

them ; and wi th what resistance,'

andwhat suffering s inkunder them In

'

one word, what, and how, produced,‘

was

the effect of soci e ty on him What, and how produced,

MBMO IR OF BURNSJ

was his effect on soci ety ? He who Should answer thesequesti ons, in regard to any i ndividual, would'furn ish a

model of perfect ion for b iography.

Few i n d i v iduals , i ndeed, can deserve such a study .and

many l i ves wil l b e wri tten , and, for the gratificat ion of innocen t curiosi ty, ough t to b e wr i tten , and read , and for

gotten , wh ich '

are not,” i n th is sense , b iographies. But

Burns is one of those few i ndiv iduals, and .such a study,wi th such a resul t, he has not yet Ob ta i ned. The contributions wh i ch follow can b e bu t scan ty and feeble, but theyare offered with good wi ll, and hopes that they will meetwi th acceptance from those for wh om they are i n tended .

Burns first came upon theworld as a prodigy, andwas,’

i n that character, en terta i n ed by i t, i n t he usual fash i on ,wi th loud, vague, tumu l tuous wonder, speedily subsiding .

i n to censure and n eglect, ti l l h is early andmost mournfuldeath agai n awaken ed an enthusiasm fo r him, wh ich,especially as there was now noth i ng to be don e, and muchto b e spoken , has prolonged i tself to ou r t imes. It is true,‘

the ‘ n in e days’

have elapsed long ago , and the very continuance of th is clamou r proves that “

Burns was n o _com

mon wonder.’

Accordingly, even in sober j udgmen ts, where,as years passed by, he has come to rest more exclusi vely onhis own i n tri nsi c m er i ts, andmay now b e well n igh shornof that casual radiance ; he appears not only as a trueBri t ish Poet, but as one of themost considerable Bri tishmen of the eigh teen th cen tu ry. Let i t n ot b e obj ected,that he did li ttl e. He did much , i f we consider whereandhow. If thework performed was small

,wemust remember

that he had his very -

materials to discover ; for - them etalhe wrough t i n , lay under the desert, where no eye bu t h ishadguessed its existence and i t may almost b e sai d hehad;wi th his ownhand , to conduct even the tools for fash ion ingi t for he found h imself i n the deepest obscuri ty, wi thou t

‘

help, wi thout instruct ion , wi thout model , orwi th modelsonly of them eanest sort. An educated man stands, as i t

‘

were,’ i n them ids t -Of a boundless a rsenal and magaz in e,

200 MEMO IR or BU RNS .

fill ed wi th all theweapons and engines wh i ch man ’s skillhas been able to devise from the earl i es t t ime ; and he

works accordingly , wi th a strength borrowed from all pastages. How different is h is state,who stands on theOuts ide o fthat storehouse, and feels that its gates must be storm ed, orrema i n for ever Shut aga inst him . His means arethecommones t, or the rudest. Themere work done, i s no m easureof his strength. A dwarf beh i nd his steam engi ne may re

move moun ta ins ; but no dwarf wi ll hew them down w i ththepick-axe; andhemust b e a Ti tan that hurls them abroadwi th his arm .

It is i n th is las t shape that Burns presents h imself. Bo rni n an age themost prosai c Bri ta i n had yet seen , and i n a

condition themost disadvan tageous, where his m ind, i f i taccomplished augh t, must accompl ish i t under the con ti nualp ressure of bodily toil ,—nay, of penu ry, and despondingappreh ensi on of thewors t ev ils,—andwi th no furtherancebu t such knowledge as dwells in a poor man's but, and therhym es of a Fergusson or Ramsay, of b eauty. he s i nks notunder all th ese impedimen ts. Through the fogs and darkness of that obscure regi on his eagle eye discerns the truerelat i ons of the world and of human l ife, he grows i n toi n tellectual strength and trai ns h imself to i ntellectua l expertness . Impelled by the i rrepress ibl e movement of h isinward spi rit , he struggles forward in to the general vi ew,

andwi th haugh ty modesty lays down before us, as the fru i tof his labou r, a gift wh ich t ime has now pronounced imperishable. Add to all th is, that his da rksome, drudgingch ildhood and youth, was by far the kindliest era of hiswhole l ife , and that he di ed in his th i rty-seventh year ; andthen ask i f i t is strange that his poems are imperfect, andof smal l extent,—or that h is gen ius atta i n ed no mastery inits art ? Alas ! his sun shone up through a

.

t rop ical tornado, and the pal e shadow of dea th ecl ipsed i t at noon .

Shrouded in such baleful vapours, the gen i us of Bu rns wasn ever seen in clear azure atmosphere, enl igh ten ing the

world ; but some beams from i t did by fits burst th rough,

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202 MEMO IR or BURN S .

cogn ised i t. TOthe i ll-starred Burns was given the powerof making man’s l ife more v en erab l e ; bu t that of wiselyguiding his own was not given . Desti ny, or rather his ownfaul ts and the faults of oth ers, proved too hard for him ;

and that spi ri t that m igh t have soared, could i t hav e bu twalked , soon sank to the dust, —its glorious faculti es trodden unde r foot i n the blossom ,

—and died , wemay almostsay, wi thou t ever hav i ng l ived. And

'

so kind and warm a

soul ! so full of inborn riches,—Of lov e to all l iving and

l ifeless th ings ! How his heart flows out in sympathy o verun i versal natu re, and i n her bl eakest provinces discerns ab eauty and a mean i ng ! The daisy falls not unheededunder h is ploughshare, nor the ruined n est of that weecow

’

ring t imorous b easti e, cast forth , after all its prov iden tpa ins, to thole thesl eety dribble and cranreuch cauld. The

hoa ry v isage of wi n ter del igh ts him : he dwells, wi th a sad

and oft-return ing fondness, on these scenes of solemn desolation ; bu t the voice of the tempest becomes an anthemto his ears. He lo ves to walk i n the sounding woods ; fori t raises his though ts to Him that walketh on the wi ngs ofthe wi nds . The sou l of a t ru e poet needs bu t to b e struck,and the sound i t y i elds wi ll b e m elody.

But , observe him ch i efly as he m i ngles wi th his brothermen. What warm , all-comprehending feel ings ! Whatt rustful , boundless lov e ! What gen erous exaggerat ion ofthe beloved obj ect ! His rusti c fri end , h is nut-brownmaiden

,are no longer m ean and homely, bu t a hero and a

queen whom he prizes as the paragons of the earth . The

rough scen es of Scottish l ife are n ever seen by him i n any

Arcadian illus i on but sti ll , i n the rude construction , i n thesmoke and to i l o f a too harsh real i ty, are still lovely toh im . Poverty is i ndeed his compan ion , but love also and

courage . The s imple feel ings, the worth , the nobleness,tha t dwell under the straw roof, are dear and venerable toh is h eart ; and thus, ov er the l owest pro v i nces of man

’

s

ex istence,he pou rs the glory of his own soul , and they rise ,

i n shadow and sunsh i ne, softened and br ightened in to a

. MEMO IR or BURN S . 203

b eau ty wh i ch other eyes discern not i n the h ighest. He

has a j ust self-consciousn ess wh ich too often degeneratesi nto p ride—yet it is a noble pride, not for offence but defence ; no cold suspicious feel ing, bu t a frank and socialon e. The peasan t bears h imself, wem igh t say, l ike a kingi n ex ile—he is cast among t he low, and feels h imself equalto the h ighest,—yet he claims no rank, that non e may be

disputed to him . The forward he can repel, —the supercilious he can subdue—pre tens ions of wealth or ancest ryare of no ava i l with him : there is a fire in that dark eye

under wh i ch the insolen ce of condescens ion cannot thri ve.

In his abasemen t, i n h is extrem e n eed, he forgets not fo ra momen t the maj esty of poetry and manhood ; and yet ,far as he feels h imself above comm on men, hewanders notapart from th em , but m ixes warmly i n the i r i n terests ; nay,throws h imself i n to thei r arms, and, as i t were

,entreats

them to l ove h im . I t is moving to see how, i n his darkestdespondency, th is proud be ing stil l seeks rel i ef from fr i endsh i p, unbosoms h imself often to the unworthy, and, am i dtears, stra ins to h is glowi ng h eart a heart that knows onlythe nam e o f fri endsh i p . And yet hewas qu ick to l earna man of keen v isi on , before whom common disgu isesafforded no concealment. His understanding saw throughthe hollowness of accompl ished decei vers, but then th erewas a gen erous credu l i ty i n h is heart . Thus i t was thatou r poet showed h imself among us, wi th a soul l ike an

E ol ian harp, i n whose strings thevulgar wi nd, as i t passeththrough them , changed i tself i nto articulate m elody ; andth is was b e for whom the world found no fit ter b usin essthan quarrell i ng wi th smugglers and v in tn e rs, - computingexcise duti es upon tall ow, and gauging ale barrels . In

such to ils was that m igh ty sp iri t sorrowfully wasted, and a

hundred years may pass on before such another is given us

to was te .

Burns, i n the course of ten distracted years, has l eft inswhat makes up five respectabl e volumes ; bu t th ere can beno doub t that these are only a poor mutilated fract ion of

s 2

204 ME “40 1 11 OF BURNS .

what was i n him, bri ef, broken gl impses of a gen i us thatcould never Show i ts elf complete—that wan ted indeed all

th i ngs for completeness,—cul ture, l e isure, true efl'

ort , nay,

even length of l i fe. His poems are, with scarce any except ion, mere occas ional effus ions, pou red forth wi th l i ttl epremeditation ,—expressing, by such means as offered, thepass i on , opin ion , or humour of the hou r. Never, i n one

i nstance, was i t perm i tted him to grappl e wi th any subj ect,wi th the full coll ection of his S trength, to seiz e and mouldi t i n the concentrated fire of gen i us. To t ry by the strictrul es of art such imperfect fragmen ts , would b e at onceunprofi tabl e and unfai r. Neverthel ess, there is someth ingi n these poems wh ich forb ids the most fast idious studentof poetry to pass them by. S ome sort of enduring qual i tythey must have for, after fifty years of thewi ldest vicissitudes i n poetic taste, they sti ll conti nu e to b e read,—nay,

to be more and more eagerly read, —and more and moreextensively : and th is, not only by l i terary virtuosos, and

that class upon whom transi tory causes operate morestrongly ; but by all classes , down to the most hard, nu

l e ttered, and truly natural class, who read bu t l i ttl e, andespecially no poetry, except b ecause th ey find pleasure i ni t. The grounds Of so S ingular and wide a populari ty,wh ich extends, i n a l i teral sense . from the palace to the

cottage, and over all r egi ons where ou r language is known ,are well worthy of i nqu iri ng into . After every j ust deduct ion

,these works certai n ly con tai n some rare excellence,

andwhat that qual i ty is deserves som e consideration .

In one word, then , i t is the truth of nature that is inthem. Here are no fabulous woes or j oys, - no hollow,

fan tasti c sen timental i t i es,—no wire-drawn rep in ings, ei theri n though t or feel ing. The passi on that is traced beforeus has glowed i n a l iv ing heart. The Op in ion he u tte rshas r isen i n his own understanding, and been a l igh t to hisown steps. He never wri tes from hearsay, but from sigh tand experi ence they are the scenes that he has l i ved and

laboured am idst wh ich he describes. Those scenes, rude

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206 n en ora o r BURN S .

A strong efi’

ort after excellence wi ll sometimes exhaust itself ou a mere shadow of success, i nstead of the substanceand hewho has much to unfold

,will sometimes unfold i t

themost imperfectly.

Byron , for i nstance, was no common man yet , i f weexam i n e his poetry wi th th is v i ew, we Shal l find i t far fromfaul tl ess. Generally Speaking, we wi ll say i t is not tru epoetry. It is poetry of the imagiuat ion, not of the heart.He en terta ins us wi th st rong vulgar l iquors, stimulating tothe taste, but soon term inating i n disl ike or nausea. It is

not from the pure and divin e fountai n of the soul that wedrink there. His Harolds and Gionrs are not real men,nor even poetical ly consisten t and conceivable men . All

those characters of his, and that of the author that sh in esth rough them , areman ifes tly put on for the occas ion . Theyconsist, not of a natural or poss ibl e mode of being, but ofsometh ing i n tended to look much grander than nature.All th es e stormful agon i es, that volcan ic heroism, superhuman con tempt, and moody desperation , wi th so muchscowling, and te eth-gnash i ng, andother sulphurous humou rs,is much more l ike the brawl ing of a player i n some paltrytragedy wh ich is to las t th re e hou rs, than the bearing of aman in the busin ess of l ife wh ich is to las t threescore and

ten .

Perhaps the lat ter part of Don Juan is the only th in gapproach ing to a S i ncere work that he ever wrote,—theonly work where he showed h imself i n any measure as hewas , and even seemed so i nten t on his subj ect as for momen ts to forget h imself ; yet Byron hated th is vice, andhad declared formal war agai nst i t i n words

'

: so difficult isi t for the strongest to reach th i s primary attai nment, wh ichm igh t seem the s impl es t of all, merely for them in d to readi ts own consciousnEss wi thou t m istakes, without errors,ei ther volun ta ry or wilful . Now, there is no poet of thesame susceptib il i ty as Burns . He comes b efore us fromthe fi rst

, and ab ides wi th us to the last, with a total wan tof all afl

'

ectat ion. He i s an honest man and an honest

arr-more. or BURNS. £207

wri ter. In h is successes and h is fai lu res,—ia his greatn essand his l i ttl en ess,—he is ever cl ea r, simpl e, and true—andn ever gl i tters w i th any lustre, but that wh ich is purely hisown . Th is is one of the h igh es t v irtu es. In fact, i t is theroot of all other v irtues, wh ether l i terary or moral .

It is n ecessary, however, to men tion , that th is allusion‘only relates to the poetry of Bu rns for many Ofhis letters,and other fracti ons of prose composi tion , by no means deserv e th is p raise. In these there is no t the same naturalt ru th of style ; but, on the con trary, someth ing not onlyst id', bu t strai ned and twisted . A certa i n h igh-flown inn

flated ton e, the st ilti ng emphasi s of wh ich contrasts i ll wi ththe firmness and S implici ty even of his most rugged and

poor verses . But , even wi th regard to th ese letters, i t isbut fair to state that there are two excuses for Burns. The

firs t is his comparati ve deficiency of language for,though

he always wri tes with singu lar force, yet he is not mas terof Engl ish prose so much as of S cottish verse that is

, not

master of i t i n proport ion to the depth and vehemence ofhis matter. These letters very Often strike the reader asthe effort of a man to express someth ing wh ich he has noorgan fi t for exp ress ing.

“But there is a second andweigh t i er excuse to be foundi n the peculiar i ty of Burns

’

s social rank. His correspon

dents are Often men whose relation to him he has neveraccurately ascertained, whom, therefore, he is e i ther forearm ing h imself against, or else unconsciously flattering

, byadopting the styl e wh i ch he th i nks wi ll pl ease them.

Atall even ts, we Should remember that these faul ts, even inh is l etters, are not the rul e bu t the exception . When e verhe writes, as on e would ever wish to do, to trusted fri ends,and on real i n teres ts, his styl e is simple, vigorous, express ive, somet im es even b eautiful . His letters to Mrs Dunlopare un iformly excell en t .

His poetry, agai n , has another pecul iar m erit, wh i chdisplays i tself i n his perfect indifference as to subj ects, andthe power he has of making all subj ects in teresting. The

208 MEMO IR or BURNS .

ordinary poet, l ike the ordi naryman , is for ever seeki ng, i nexternal ci rcumstances, the help wh ich can .only b e foundin h imself. In what is fam i l iar, andnear

'

at hand, hediscernsno form nor comel iness,—home is not poetical, but prosai cto him . I t is i n som e past, distan t, con ventional world,that he looks for the abodes of poetry. Were b e there,and not here

,i t m igh t b e well wi th him ; but hence our

i n term inable array of rose-coloured novels, and i ron-ma i l edep ics, wi th their local i ty not on earth , but

' i n som e oth ersphere, wi th the i nhab itan ts of wh ich our natures have noth i ng ia common . Hence our vi rgins of the sun and ourkn igh ts of the cross, mal icious Saracens i n turbans and

copper-coloured ch i efs i n wampum,—and so many other

truculen t figures from the h eroi c times, and the heroiccl imates, who , on all hands, swarm i n our poetry. Peaceb e wi th them ! But yet, as a great moral ist proposedp reach ing to the men of th is country, so would we fai np reach ‘

a sermon to the poets on the duty of stayi ng at

home . Let them be assured that heroic ages , .and heroic

cl imates, can do l i ttl e for them. That form '

of l i fe is tood ifferent from, and too far above, our own to haVe any at

tractions'r for us ; and i f i t hav e any, they must be of the

most trans i ent sort . ‘

FOr, wi l l not our own age he an

anci ent on e some t ime,’

and have as quai n t a costum e toother ages as former ages have to us ? Does Homer interest us now because hewrote ou t of what passed i n hisnati ve Greece, and two centuries before hewas born ; orbecause he wrote of what passed in God’s world, and inthe heart of man, wh ich is the same after th i rty centuri es ?Let our poets look to th is for they may depend on th is,that, though thei r feel ing he ever so much finer, truer, andthei r v ision keen er and deeper than other men, they havenoth ing to fear, e ven from themeanest subj ect, -and theyhave noth i ng to hope, bu t, at most, an ephemeral favourfrom t he h ighest.

A tru e poet can never have far to seek for a subj ect.The elemen ts of his art are i n him and around him on

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210 MEMOIR or BURNé.

difficulty , i f he have but eyes to see i t wi th . Wi thouttask m igh t be hard ; but, hap pily, every

poet is born i n theworld, and sees i t e i ther wi th , or agai nsth is wil l, every day and every hour that he l i ves. In everyhut and hamlet where men have t hei r abode,—in the

crowded ci ty, and the splendid saloon ,. human nature is

al ike —and themysterious workings of man’

s heart,—thetru e ligh t and the i nscru table darkn ess of his destiny, areal ike man ifested. Human nature, then , is the great schoolof poetry and i t is of no consequence from what rank ordegree the vi ew is taken for do not the elemen ts of allhuman vices , and all human virtues,—the pass ions at onceof a Borgia and a Lu th er,—l i e wri tten in stronger or fai n terl ines, i n ' the consciousness of e very ind ividual bosom thathas practical , honest, self-examinat ion ? Truly, th is sameworld, wi th all its vari ed hues of virtu e and vice, may be asclearly seen from Mossgiel or Tarbolton , as ever i t wasbrought to l ight at Crockford’

s, or even i n the Thuilleriesi tself.

But sometimes st ill harder requis i ti ons are la id on thepoor aspi ran t to poetry ; for i t is h inted that he shouldhav e been born two centuri es ag o, i nasmuch as poetry soonafter that date van ished from the earth, and became n olonger at tai nable by men . Nonsense such cobweb speenlat ions have now and th en overhung the field of l i terature

;

but they obstruct not the growth of any on e plant there.The Shakspeare, or the Burns, unconsciously, and merelyas hewalks onward, brushes them away . In human cal

culation , every gen ius may be supposed an imposs ib il i ty til lhe appear, because, though we see the material of whi cht he m ind is composed, we cannot perceive what the workman is to frame ou t of i t. It is not thematerial , but t heworkman that is wan ting. It is not thedark place , but thedim eye. A S cottish peasan t’s l ife was the rudest andm eanest of all l i ves, till Burns became a poet i n i t, and a

poet of i t, found i t a man'

s l ife, and therefore sign ifican tand interesting to men. A thousand battle-fields remai n

MEMOIR or BURN S . 211

unsung, but thewounded hare has not perished wi thout itsm emorial —a balm of m ercy yet b reath es on us from its

dumb agon i es, because a poet was there ! Our hallowe’

en had passed and repassed, i n rude awe and laugh ter,si nce the era of theDruids ; bu t no m i nd, t ill Burns, discern ed in i t all thematerials of a Scottish idyl Nei th er wasthe Holy fai r any counci l of Trent or Roman j ubilee ; yet ,n evertheless, supersti tion , and hypocrisy, and fun , havingbeen prop i tious to him , in th is man ’s hand i t became apoem,

i nst inct wi th satire, . and genu in e wi th com i c l ife.Let the true poet b e given , and let him be placed wh ere hewi ll true poetry wi ll not b e wan ti ng.

But i ndependently of th is essen tial gi ft of true poeticfeel ing, there is a certai n rugged, sterl ing worth, pervadeswhatever Burns has wri tten . A vi rtu e, as of green fieldsandmoun ta i n b reezes, dwells i n his poetry,—it is redolen t ofnatural l i fe, and of handy, na tu ral men . There is a decis iv estrength i n him , and yet frequently a sweet nat ive gracefuln ess. He is tender, and he is vehemen t ; yet wi thou tconstra in t

,or any v is ible effort . He m elts the h eart, or

inflames i t wi th a power wh ich seems habituala nd fam il iarto him . We see i n him the gen tleness, though tremblingp ity, of a woman , wi th the deep earnestness, the force andpass ionate ardour of the h ero . Tears li e i n him, and consuming fi re

,as l ightn ing, lurks i n the drops of the summer

cloud. He has a consonance . i n his bosom ,fo r every note

of human feeling the h igh and the low,—the sad and the

l udicrous,—the mou rn ful and the j oyful, arewelcome inth ei r turns, to bis all-concei v i ng sp iri t . And th en

,wi th

what a prompt and eager force hegrasps his subj ect,be it

what i t may ! How he fixes, as i t were, the full image ofthematte r i n h is eye, full and clear i n every lineament , andcatches the real type and essence of i t, among a thousandacciden ts and superficial c ircumstances, - no on e of wh i chm isl eads him ! If there is’

aught of reason or truth to be .

discove red, th ere is n o soph istry, no vain , su rface logic detai ns him z—quick, resolute, unerring, he p i erces in to the

212 m ore or BURNS .

marrow of the question , and speaks his verdict wi th an em

phas is tha t cannot be forgotten . Is i t of descri ption somev isual obj ect to b e represented No poet, of any age o rnation , is more graph i c than Burns. The characteristi cfeatures disclose themselves to him at a glance. Thre el i n es from his hand, andwe have a l ikeness,—and i n thatrough dialect, i n that rude, often awkward metre, so clearand defin i te a l ikeness , that i t seems l ike a master l imnerworki ng wi th a burn t stick, and yet the bu r in of a Retschi s not more express ive o r exact. .

Th is clearness of s igh t wemay call the foundation of alltal en t for, in fact, unless we see ou r obj ect , how shall weknow how to place or prize i t i n our understanding, ou rimagi nation, or our affections ; yet i t is not i n i t sel f, perhaps,a very h igh excellence, but capable of being un i ted indifferently with thestronges t, or wi th ordinary powers. Home rsu rpasses all men i n th is qual i ty ; but strangely enough, atno great distance below h im, areR ichardson andDefoe. Itbelongs i n tru th to what is called a l i vely m i nd , and gives n osure indicat ion of the h igher endowmen ts that may ex is talong wi th i t. In all the three cases men tioned, i t is combinedwi th great garruli ty, - thei r descrip tions are detai led,ample, and tedious ly exact. Homer’s fire bu rsts throughfrom t im e to t ime as by acciden t ; but Defoe and R i chardson have no fire, only a clear i ns igh t i n to the goings on ofnature . Burns, aga i n , is . not more disti ngu ished by the

clearn ess , than by the impetuous force ofhis conceptions , —ofthe strength , the p iercing emphasis, wi th wh ich he though t,his emphas is of express ion may give a humble, b ut ther eadies t proof. \Vho ever uttered sharper sayi ngs than his ?who ever uttered words—words more memorable, e i ther bythei r burn ing v ehemence, thei r cool v igour, or their lacon i c p i th ! A s i ngl e phrase depicts a whole subject—a

whole scen e . Our Scottish forefath ers, he says, struggled .

forward i n the battl e field, red-wa t shod, giv ing in th ison e term , a full visi on of horror and ca rnage, perhaps toofrigh tfully accu rate for art . In fact,

‘ one of the l eading

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214 MEMO IR or BURN S .

ence, a love toward all nature, that i nsp ires h im,—that

opens his eyes to herbeauty, andmakes him eloqu‘ent in herpraise. There is an old say i ng, and a true on e, that lovefurthers knowledge bu t above all, i t is the l i v ing essenceof that knowledge wh i ch makes the poet, the fi rst principleof the existence, i ncrease, and energy of poetry i n the soul .Of Burns’s ferv id afi

'

ect ion ,-his generous, all-embracing

love,—there remai ns therefore no doubt, - it being the granddistinction of h is nature, seen equally in word and deed, i nh is l ife and i n his wri t i ngs .

“ It were easy to enumerate examples of th is ; for wepercei ve that i t is not in man only, bu t all that envi ronshim i n thematerial andmoral un i verse, that is love i n hiss ight. The hoary hawthorn—the troop of grey plo versthe sol itary curlew,

—all are dear to him ,—all l ive . i n th is

earth along wi th h im , and to all he is kn i t as i n mysteriousbrotherhood. How touch ing is i t, for i nstance, am id the

gloom of personal m isery that broods over and aroundh im

, yet , am i d the storm , he th i nks of the cattl e, the s i llysh eep, andtheweeharmless bi rdi es Yes ; the tenan t of themean and lowly but has the heart to p i ty all these. Th isis worth a whole volume of hom il i es on mercy, for i t is thevoice of mercy i tself. Burns l ives i n sympathy, and feelsthat noth ing that has ex istence can be i ndifferen t to him .

He even pi ties the very de il wi thout knowi ng, I am sure,that my uncle Toby had been beforehand th ere wi th him .

He is the father of curses and l ies,’ said Dr S lop , and is

cursed and damned al ready I am sorry for i t,’

said myuncle Toby. A poet wi thout love, were a physi cal andm etaphysi cal imposs ib il i ty.

Th is same principl e of lo v e, wh i ch is the great characterist ic of Burns, often mani fests i tself i n a th in n er disgu ise,i n the shape of humour. Every where indeed, in his sunnymoods , a full buoyant flood of m i rth rolls thro ugh h ism i nd,—he rises to the h igh , and stoops to the low, and is

brother and playmate to all natu re. He has a bold and

i rresistible faculty of caricature th is is drollery rather than

flMEMO IR OF BURNS . 213

h umour. A much tenderer sportfulness dwells i n him thanth is, and comes forth h ere and there i n e van escen t andbeautiful touches, as i n his address to the mouse, or thefarmer’s auld mare, or in poor Mai l i e, wh ich last may b ereckoned his happ iest effort of th is kind. In these p iecesthere is a humou r as fin e as that of S terne, andyet altogeth erdifferent

,or iginal, pecul iar, -in one word, the humour of

Burns .

Of the tenderness, the playful pathos, and many otherkindred qual i ti es of Burns’s poetry, a great deal more m ightb e wri tten but i t is now t ime to qu i t th is part of the sub

ject ,—for to speak of his i ndividual wri tings adequately, andwith any detail, would far exceed the l im i ts of a si ngleessay. But, as already h i n ted, wemust not look upon any

of his p i eces as, i n strict cri t ical language, deserving the

name of poems. They are rhymed eloquence ,—rhymedpathos— rhymed sense if we will, yet they are seldomessentially melodious, aer ial, or truly poetical . Tam o

’

Shan

ter i tself, wh ich enj oys such a h igh degree of favou r, doesnot appear, does not at all appear, to come under th is lastcategory . I t is not so m uch a poem, as a pi ece of sparklingrhetoric . The hear t and body of the story st ill l ies hardand dead . He has not gon e back , much less carri ed us

back in to that dark , earn est, wondering age, when the tradition was bel i eved, andwh en i t took its rise. He doesnot attempt by any new-modell ing of his supernatural ware

,

to strike anew that deep, myster ious chord of human naturewh i ch once responded to such th i ngs, andwhi ch l ives i n us

too, andwi ll for ever l ive and v ibrate, though i n s i lence , orvibrat ing wi th far other notes, and to far differen t issues.

The tal e is certai nly all externally green and l i v i ng

yet , on looking closer into i t, i t has no firm growth , bu t isl ike ivy on a rock,—the pi ece does not properly cohere .

The strange chasm that yawns i n our i ncredulous imaginat ions, b etween theAyr publ ic-house and thegate of Tophet,is no wh ere bridged over ; nay, the idea of such a bridge islaugh ed at and thus the tragedy of theadven ture becomes

T 2

216 marrow. OP BURN S .

a mere drunken phantasmagoria, pai n ted on ale vapours;and the farce alone has any real i ty. Th is is not saying thatBurns should hav e made more of the tradi t ion ; for, i nreal i ty, for strictly poetical pu rposes, not much was to bemade of i t. Nei ther arewe blind to the deep , vari ed, gen ialpower displayed i n what hehas actually accomplished but

we find far more Shakspearean qual i ti es, as those of Tamo’

Shanter have been fondly named, in many of his otherpieces . Nay , we i ncl in e to bel i eve that th is latter m igh thave been wri tten , all but as well , by a man, who, i n placeof gen ius, had only possessed talent .

Perhaps the most strictly poet ical of all h is poems is! he Jolly Beggars the subj ect, to b e su re, is amongs t

the lowest i n nature bu t i t only themore shows ou r poet’

s

gift i n raising i t i n to the domai n of art . To ou r m i nds th ispiece is thoroughly compacted, m elted together, refined,and poured forth i n on e flood of true l iqu id harmony . I tis l igh t, a i ry, and soft of movemen t, yet sharp and precisei n its details . Every face is a portrai t . That raucleCarl in ,’ that weeApollo ,’ that son of Mars ,

’

are all Scott ish, yet ideal . The scen e is at once a stream and the v eryrag

-cas tle of Poosie Nancy.

’

But , further i t seems, i n a considerable degree , com

plete,—a real self-supported whole, - wh ich is t he h ighest

m eri t i n a poem . The blanket of the n igh t is drawn asunder for a moment i n full , ruddy, and flam i ng l igh t, theseboisterous tatterdemal ions are seen in thei r bo isterous revel ;for the strong pulse of l ife v i ndicates its righ t to gladn esseven h ere, and when the curtai n closes, we prolong the

action wi thout efl'

ort. The nex t day, as the las t, our cai rdand our balladmonger are s inging and soldering. Th ei rbrats and callets are hawking, begging, cheating ; and someo th er n ight, i n new comb inations, they wi ll wr ing from fatean oth er hou r of wassa il and good cheer. I t would bestrange, doubtless, to call th is the best of the wri tings ofBurns wem ean only to say, that i t seems to us the mostperfect of its kind, as a p iece of poetical composi tion ,

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218 marrow or BURNS .

selves together, in the m edi um of harmony, as Venus rosefrom the bottom of the sea. The story, the feel i ng, is nottold but suggested not sa i d or spouted i n rhetorical com

pleteness and coherence, but sung i n fitful gushes, i n glowi ng tin ts, i n fan tasti c breaks, - ih warbli ngs, not of thevoiceonly , bu t of thewhole m i nd . We cons ider this to be theessence of a song, and that n o songs, s i nce the l i ttl e careless catches, and, as i t were, drops of song, wh i ch ShakSpeare has here and there Sprinkled over his plays, fulfilth is condi tion i n n early the sam e degree as most of Burns

’

s

do . Such grace and truth of external movement, too , presupposes, in general , a corresponding force and truth ofsen timen t and inward mean ing. The songs of Burns are

not more perfect in the former quali ty than i n the latter.Wi th what tendern ess he s ings ! yet wi th what vehemenceand en ti reness ! There is a p iercing wai l i n his sorrow,

and the purest rapture i n his joy : he burns wi th the sternest ardour, or laughs wi th the loudest or slyest m i rth and

yet he is sweet and soft, sweet as the sm i le when fondlovers meet, and soft as thei r parti ng tear.’ If we furthertake into accoun t the immense vari ety of his subj ects,how,

from the loud, flowing revel i n Will i e brewed a peck0’ Maut ,’ to the st ill , wrapt enthusiasm of sadness forMary i n Heaven ,

’—from the glad, kind greeting of AuldLangsyne ,

’ or the com i c archness of Duncan Gray,’ to the

fire- eyed fury of Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,

’—hehas found a tone andwords for every mood of man

’

s heart .It wil l seem a small praise if we rank him as the fi rst of allour song wr iters ; for we know not wh ere to find on e worthy of be ing second to him . I t is on h is songs, as we bel i ev e

,that his ch i ef influence as an author wil l b e found to

depend ; nor, i f our Fletcher’

s aphorism be tru e, may weaccount th is a small i nfluence . Le t memake the songs ofa people ,

’

said he, andyou shall make their laws .

’

Surely,i f ever a poet m igh t hav e equalled h imself wi th l egislators,i t was Burns . His songs are al ready part of the mothertongue, not only of Scotland, but of Britai n , and of the

MEMOIR or BURN S . 219

m i ll ions that,i n all the ends of the earth, speak a Bri tish

language . In but and hall, as the h earts of men unfoldthemselves i n the joy andwo of existence, the nam e, t hevoice of that joy or wo, is the nam e and voice wh i ch Burnshas given them . S trictly speaking, perhaps no Brit ish man

has so deeply aflected the though ts and the feel ings of somany men as th is sol i tary and al together private individual ,wi th means apparen tly the humbl es t .

Our l i te rature grows no more i n water, but in mould,andwi th the true racy v i rtues of thesoi l and cl imate . How

m uch of th is change may b e du e to Burns, o r to any otheri ndiv idual, i t m igh t b e difficul t to est imate . Direct l i teraryim i tation of Burns was not to b e looked for ; but his example , in the fearl ess adoption of domestic subj ects, couldnot but operate from afar ; and cer tai nly i n no heart didthe lo ve of country ev er burn wi th a warmer glow than i nthat of Bu rns . A t ide of S cottish prej udice ,—as he mo

destly calls th is deep and gen erous feel i ng—had beenpou red along h is v e ins, and he fel t that it would boi l theret ill the floodgates were shu t i n everlast i ng rest . I t seemedto him as he could have don e so li ttl e for his coun try, and

yet would so gladly hav e don e i t, one smal l provi nce stoodopen for him .

—that of Scottish song,—and how eagerly he

entered i t ! how devotedly he labou red there ! In his mostto ilsome j ourn ey i ngs th is obj ect nev er qu i ts him ,

—it is thl i ttl e happy val ley of his care-worn heart . In the gloomof his own afliict ion, he eagerly searches after som e l ov elybroth er of themuse, and rej o ices to snatch on e nam e fromthe obl i v i on that was covering i t . These were his earlyfeel i ngs, and th ey abode wi th h im to the end .

But to l eave the m ere l i terary character of Burns,wh i ch has de tained us too long

, we cannot bu t th i nk tha tthe l ife he led, andwas fated to lead, among h is fellow-men ,

is more i n terest ing and more i nstruct ive than any of h iswr i tten works. These poems are bu t l ike l i ttl e rhym edfragmen ts, scattered h ere and th ere i n the grand unrhymedromance of his earthly ex istence ; and i t is only when in

220 mnarora OF BURNS .

tercalated i n th is, at th ei r proper places, that th ey at ta i nthei r ful l m easure of sign ificance : and th is, too, alas ! wasbut a fragment . The plan of a m ighty edifice had beensketch ed,—some columns, porti cos, firm masses of bu ilding

,

s tand completed,—the rest more or less clearly i ndicated

wi th many a far-stretched tendency, wh i ch only studiousand fri endly eyes can now trace towards the purposed term i nat ion for thework is broken off i n them iddle, almosti n the beginn ing

, and rises among us beaut iful and sad,

at once unfin ish ed and a ru i n . If chari table j udgmen t wasn ecessary i n estimating his poems, and j ustice requ i red thatthe aim and theman i fest power to fulfil i t mus t often beaccepted for the fulfilmen t ; much more is th is the casewi th regard to h is l i fe,—the sum and result of all his en

deavours,

-wh ere his difficul ti es came upon h im, not i ndeta i l only,but i n mass ; and so m uch has been left unaccompl ished, nay, was m istaken and altogeth er marredfor, on a cu rsory v i ew of his l ife , we see at once that i tcons ists but of on e era, and that the earl i est . We havenot youth , manhood, and age,

—bu t youth alon e ; for, tot he end , we discern no decisi ve change i n his character.In his th i rty- seven th year he is sti ll, as i t were, i n youth :wi th all that resoluten ess ofjudgment , that penetrating ihsight, and si ngular maturi ty of i n tellectual power, exh ibi tedi n his wr i ti ngs, he ne ver attai ns to any clearn ess regardingh imself. To the last he n ever ascertai ns h is pecul iar aim,

e ven wi th such dist inctness as is common among ordinarymen and, therefore, n ev er can pu rsue i t wi th that si ngl en ess of wi ll wh i ch i nsures success and con ten tment to suchmen .

It is evident, that, to the las t, hewavers between two

purposes : glory ing in his tal en t as a true poet, he yet cannot consen t to make th is his ch i ef and sol e glory, and tofollow i t as the on e th i ng n eedful, through poverty and

r ich es, th rough good or evi l report. A farm eaner ambi tionst ill cleaves to h im. He must dream and struggl e

.

abou t arock of i ndependenc e

,wh ich, natural and adm i rable as i t

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222 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

th rough l ife, as i t m igh t have appeared, far more s implys i tuated ; yet, i n h im too, wecan trace no such adj ustment,no such moral manhood, but , at b es t, and that only a l i ttl eb efore h is end

,the beginn ing of what seemed such .

By much the most striking i nc iden t in Burns’

s l ife ish is j ourn ey to Edinbu rgh but perhaps a still more importan t on e was his residence in Irvin e , so early as his twentyth i rd yea r. Hitherto his l ife had been poor and toi l-wornbut otherwise not original, and, wi th all its distresses , byno means unhappy. In h is paren tage, deduct ing ou twardcircumstances, he had e very reason to reckon h imself fort unate. His father was a man of a thoughtful, i ntense,earnest character, as the best of our peasants are, valuingknowl edge, possessi ng some, and, what is far b etter and

rarer, open -m i nded for more —a man wi th a keen insigh tand de vou t heart,—reverend towards God , and, therefore,fri endly and fearless towards all that God has made —inone word, though but a hard-handed peasant, a completeand fully unfolded man . S uch a fath er is seldom found i nany rank of soci ety, and was worth descending far i n tosoci ety to seek . Unfortunately hewas very poor : had hebeen ev en a l i ttl e richer

,almost ever so l i ttl e, thewhol e m ight

have issu ed far oth erwise. M igh ty even ts turn on a straw.

The cross ing of a brook decides the conquest of theworld.

Had th is Wi ll iam Burness'

s small se ven acres of nu rseryground anywise prospered, the boy Robert had b een sentto school ,—had struggled forward, as so many weaker mendo

,to some un iv ers i ty,—come forth , not as a rustic wonder,

but as a regular well -tra i n ed in tellectual workman , and

changed the whole course of Bri tish l i terature ; for i t layi n h im to have don e th is. But the nursery did not prosp er

,- pov erty sank h is whol e fam i ly below the h elp of even

our cheap school system Burns remai n ed a hard-workingploughboy, andBri t ish l i teratu re took i ts cours e . Nevertheless, i n th is rugged scen e there is much to nourish h imi f he drudges, i t is wi th his brother, and for his father andmother whom he loves, andwould fai n sh i eld from want.

MEMOIR OF BURNS .

Wisdom is not ban ished from th ei r poor hearth , nor thebalm of natu ral feeli ng. The solemn words , L et us worsh ip God,

’are h eard th ere from a pri est- l ike fath er . If

threaten ings of unj ust men throwm oth er and ch i ldren i ntot ears, th es e are tears, not of gri ef only, but of hol i est afl

'

ec

t ion . Every h eart i n that humbl e group feels i tsel f closerkn i t to every other, and, i n th ei r hard warfare, th ey are

there together a l i ttl e band of brethren . Nei th er are suchtears, and the beauty that dwells i n th em, th ei r only portion . L igh t vis i ts the hearts , as i t does the eyes, of alll i ving . There is a force i n th is youth , too , that enables a

man to trample on m isfortun e, nay, to b ind i t under hisfeet to make h im Sport .

Th us, from the first, there was a bold, warm, buoyan thumour of character given to our bard,—that so the th i ckcom i ng shapes of evi l arewelcom ed wi th a gay, fr iendlyi rony, and, i n thei r closest pressure, hehates no j ot of heartor hope . Vagu e yearn ings of amb iti on fai l n ot as he growsup . Dreamy fanci es hang like cloud citi es around him .

The curta i n of existence is slowly r ising i n many-colouredsplendour and gloom ,

—and the auroral l igh t of firs t lo v e isgilding his hori zon , and themusi c of song is on his path .

We know, from the best evidence, that, up to th isperi od, Burns was happy ; nay, that he was the gayest,brigh te

'

s't, most fan tast ic, fascinat ing being to b e found on

the face of the earth ,—more so even than he ever afterwards appeared . But now, at th is early age, he quits thepaternal roof ; goes forth in to looser, louder, more excitingsoci ety ; and becom es i n i t iated in those diss i pat ions, thosev i ces , wh ich a certa i n class of ph i losophers hav e asserted tobe a natural preparat i ve for en tering on acti v e l i fe,—a kindof mud bath, i n wh i ch the youth is, as i t were, n ecess i tatedto steep , and, we suppose, cleanse h imself, before the realtoga of manhood can be lai d upon him . We shal l not dispu te m uch wi th th is class of ph i losoph ers : we hope th eyarem istaken for sin and remorse so eas ily bese t us at all

stages of l ife, and are always such i ndifferen t company, that

224 MEMO IR OF BURNS .

i t seems hard we should , at any stage , he forced and fated,not only to m eet wi th th em, but to y i eld to th em, and evenserv e for a term i n thei r leprous Armada. We hope i t isnot so .

Clear we are, at all events, i t cannot b e the trai n ingon e rece i ves i n th is serv i ce , but only our determ i n ing tobreak from i t, that fits us for true manly action . We be

com e men , not after we have been dissipated , and disappointed in the chase of false pleasure ; but after we hav eascertai n ed, i n any way, what impas sabl e barr iers hem us

i n through th is l ife, and howmad i t is to hope for content

m ent to our i nfin ite souls from the gifts of th is extremelyfin i te world . That a man m ust b e suffici en t for h imself,and that, for suffer ing and enduring, th ere is no remedybut stri v ing and doing. Manhood b egins when we have inany way made truce wi th n ecess i ty ; begins, at all events ,wh en we have surrendered to n ecessi ty, as the most partonly do but b egi ns, j oyfully and hopefully, when we havereconciled ourselves to n ecessi ty, and thus i n real i ty triumphed o ver i t, and fel t that i n necess i ty we are free .

Surely such lessons as th is last ,—wh ich, i n on e Shapeor other, is the grand lesson for every morta l man,

- are

better learn ed from the l ips of a devout mother, i n t he

looks and acti ons of a devou t father, wh i le the heart is yetsoft and plian t

,than i n coll ision wi th the sharp adaman t of

fate,attracting us to sh ipwreck us, when theheart is grown

hard, and may b e broken before i t become con tri te. Had

Burns continu ed to learn th is as hewas already learn i ng i tin h is fath er’s cottage, hewould have learn ed i t fully, wh i chhe n ever did , and been saved many a blas ting aberration ,many a bi tte r hour and year of remors eless sorrow.

There is another fatal ci rcumstance in Burns’s h istory ,that at th is t ime, too , he becam e i nvolved i n the reli giousquarrels of his distri ct,— that he was enlisted and

‘postedas the figh ting

-man of the New L igh t pri esthood, i n thei rh ighly unprofi table warfare. At the tables of these freem i nded clergy he learned much more than was n eedful for

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226 MEMO IR or BURNS .

h im, to gaze on h is sun, and to Show h im sympathy, honour

, and affection . Burns’

s appearance among the sagesand nobles of Edinburgh, must be regarded as one of themost s ingular phenomena of modern l i terature,—almos tl ike the appearance of som e Napoleon among the crownedh eads of Europe for i t is nowise as a mockery-king thathe wi ll suffer h imself to be there placed,—set there by.

favour, and for som e transi en t purpose ; but he standsthere on his own bas is

,-cool

, unaston ished, —holding h is.

equal rank from Nature herself, - pu tting forth no claimwh i ch there is not strength in h im , as well as about him,

to vindicate .

The farth er we remov e from th is scen e themore s ingular i t wi l l seem to us. Detai ls of the exterior aspect of i tare al ready full of in terest. Bu t the conduct of Burnsunder th is dazzling blaze of favou r,—the calm, unaffected,manly manner, i n wh ich he not only bore i t, but es t imatedits value,—has b een j ustly regarded as the best p roof thatcould really be given of his real v igour and i n tegri ty ofm ind. A l i ttl e natu ral van i ty,—some touch es of hypocrit ica l modesty,- some glimmerings of afl'ecta tion, at leas tsome fear of being though t afl

'

ected,—we could almost havepardoned in any man ; but n o such i ndication is to b etraced h ere . In h is unexampled s i tuation the young pea.

san t is not a momen t p erplexed ; so many strange ligh tsdo not confuse him, do not lead him as tray. Neverthel ess,we cannot but perce ive that th is wi n ter did him great andlasting injury. A somewhat clearer knowledge of men’saffairs—scarcely of th eir characters,—it did afl

'

ord h im

but a sharper feel ing of fortune’s arrangemen ts, i n thei rsocial destiny, i t also left wi th h im . He had seen the'

gay

and gorgeous arena i n wh ich the powerful are l earned . toplay th ei r par ts nay, had h imself stood i n them idst of i t ;and he felt, more b itterly than ever, that h ere hewas buta looker-on ,

and had no part or lot i n that splendid gam e.From th is t ime a j ealous, i ndignan t fear of social degradat i on takes possess ion of h im, and perverts, so far as aught

MEMO IR OF BURNS . I

could pervert, his pri vate conten tm ent, and his feel in gs towards h is r icher fellows. It was clear enough to Burnsthat he had talent enough to make a fortun e , or a hundredfortunes, could he bu t hav e r igh tly willed th is . It wasclear, also, that hewi lled someth i ng far difl

’

eren t , and therefore

,

could not make on e . Unhappy i t was for him thathe had not power to choose the one and rej ect the oth er

,

but must hal t for ever between two opin ions, - two obj ects ,—making short and unsteady advancemen ts towards ei ther.But so i t is wi th many men we long for them erchandise

,

yet would fa i n keep the price, and to stand chafl’

eringwi thfate, i n v exat ious altercat ion, t i ll n igh t com e and ou r market is o ver .

The l i terati of Edinburgh , at that period, were, i ngeneral, more noted for clearness of h ead than warmth ofh eart, wi th the exception of the good old Blacklock , whoseh elp was too in effectual . Scarcely one among them seemst o have looked at Burns wi th any th i ng l ike true sympathy,or i ndeed, much otherwise than as a h ighly curious th ing.

By the great, also, hewas treated i n the customary fash i on ,enterta i n ed at thei r tables, and dism issed . Certai n modicaof pudding and praise are from t ime to t ime gladly exchanged for the fascination of his presence, wh i ch exchangeonce effected, the bargai n is fin ished, and each party goesofl

’

his several way . At the end of th is strange season ,Bu rns sums up his gains and his losses, and medi tates onthe chaotic future. In money he is somewhat r icherfam e, and the Show of happin ess, i nfini tely r i cher bu t i nthe substance of i t, as poor as ever nay, much poorer

,fo r

h is h eart is now madden ed still more w i th the fe ver ofm erely worldly amb ition , and th rough long years thediseasewil l rack him wi th unprofi table sufferings, andweaken hisstrength for all true and nobler a ims.

“Wh at Burns was n ext to do, or what avow,—how a

man so ci rcumstanced, was now to gu ide h imself toward histrue advan tage,—m igh t, at th is t im e, hav e b een a questionfor thewisest ; and i t was a qu est ion wh i ch hewas left al

U 2

228 arsmora or"

BURN S .

together to answer for h imself. Of his learn ed and r ichpatrons, i t had not struck any of them to turn th ei rthoughts on ce on so tri v ial a matter. Wi thout cla im ingfor Burns the p raise of perfect sagacity, wemust say thath is Excise and farm scheme does not appear an un reasonable one , and that we Should be at a loss , e v en now, to dec ide on one much better. Some of h is adm i rers , i ndeed ,are scandal iz ed at his ever resolv ing to gauge, andwouldfa in hav e had him apparen tly l i e sti ll at the pool, t i ll theSp i ri t of patronage should st i r the wat ers, and then h ealwith on e plunge, all h is worldly sorrows . We fear suchcounsellors knew bu t l i ttl e of Burns, and did no t cons iderthat happiness m igh t in all cases be ch eaply had, by wai t ingthe fulfilment of golden dreams, were i t n ot that i n the ihterim the dreamer must perish of hunger . I t reflectscredi t on the manl in ess and sound sense of Burns that hefelt so early on what grounds hewas standing, and preferredself-help , on the humblest scal e, to dependence and i nact ion

,though wi th the h0pe of far more splendid possib il i

t i es. But even these possib i l i ti es were n ot rej ected in h issch em e

,—hem igh t expect, i f he had any fri end, to r ise, i n

n o long period , i n to som eth i ng even l ike opul ence and

leisure ; wh il e agai n , i f i t chanced that he had no fri end, hecould stil l l ive i n securi ty, and, for the rest, hedid not pretend to borrow honou r from any profession . We th i nkthen , that h is sch em e was honest and well calculated , butall turn ed on the execu tion of i t . Doubtless i t fai led , butnot, we beli ev e , from any v i ce i nh eren t i n i tself. Nay,afte r all, i t was no fai lure of external m eans, but of in ternal ,that overtook Burns . His was no bankruptcy of the pu rse ,but of the soul , for, t o his las t day he owed no man any

th i ng.

Meanwh i le, he'

h egins well wi th two good and wiseactions . His donat ion to h is mother was munificent , froma man whos e incom e had lately been seven pounds a-

year,and was worthy of h im , and yet no more than worthv,

Generous also , andworthy of him, was his treatmen t of the

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23 0 MB'

MorR or BURNS .

tempt of others and con tempt of h imself,—Burns was soonno longer regai n ing his peace of m i nd, bu t fast los i ng i t forever. There was a hollowness at the heart of h is l ife, forh is consci ence did not approve of what hewas do ing.

Am id the vapours of unwise enj oyment, of bootl ess remorse, and angry disconten t wi th fate, his true loadstar—a

l i fe of poetry wi th poverty, nay, wi th fam i n e , i f i t must beso , was too often altogether h idden from his eyes and yet

hesa i led a sea, where , wi thout some such gu ide, there was norigh t steering. Meteors of French poli t ics rise before him,

but these were not his stars, -anacciden t th is wh i ch hasten ed, bu t did not originate h is worse distresses. In the

madconten tions of that t ime, he comes i n coll isi on wi th certa i n official superiors,—is wounded by them ,

—cru elly lacerated we shou ld say, could a dead mechan ical implemen ti n any case b e called cruel ,—and sh ri nks, in i ndignan t pai n ,i n to deeper seclusion ,—in to gloom i er moodin ess than ever.His l ife has now lost its un ity. I t is a l ife of fragmen ts,l ed

,wi th l i ttl e aim beyond themelancholy on e of securing

its own con tinuance, i n fits of wild false joy, when suchoffered, and in black despondency, when they passed away.

His character before theworld begins to suffer ; calumnyis busy wi th h im , for a m iserable man makes more en em i esthan friends . Some faul ts he has fallen i n to, and manym isfortunes but deep crim i nal i ty is what he is accused of,and they that are not wi thou t sin , cast the first ston e at

h im . For he is not a well-wisher to the French Revolut ion

,—a Jacob ite, and therefore in that on e act , gu i l ty of all.

Thes e accusations, pol i t ical andmoral, i t has si nce appeared,were false enough , but theworld h esi tated l i ttle i n creditingthem . Nay, h is convivral Mecaenas

’

s th emselves were notthe last to do i t.

There is some reason to beli eve, that, i n his later years,the Dumfri es aristocracy had partly withdrawn themselvesfrom Burns, as from a tai n ted person no longer worthy ofth ei r acquai n tance . That pai nfu l class s tat ion ed in all

provincial c i ti es, beh i nd theoutmost breastwork of genti l i ty,

MEMO IR or BURN S . 23 1

there to stand s i ege, and do battl e agai nst the i n trusi ons o'

f

grocerdom and grazierjdom , had actually seen dishonour i nthe soci ety of Burns, and branded h im wi th th eir veto ;had, as we vulgarly say , cu t h im . Alas ! wh en we th i nkthat Bu rns now sleeps wh ere b i tter i ndignati on can nolonger lacerat e his h eart, and that most of those fai r dam esand frizzled gentlemen l i e at h is s ide, wh ere the breastworkof gen ti l i ty is qui te thrown down ,who would not S igh overthe th i n delus i ons and fool ish toys that d iv ide h ear t fromheart, and make man unm erci ful to his brother !

It was not now to b e hoped that the gen i us of Burnswould ever reach to maturi ty, or accompl ish augh t worthyof i tself. His spi ri t was jarred i n its m elody, -not the softbreath of natural feel i ng, b ut the rude hand of fate was nowsweeping over the strings, and yet what harmony was sti l li n him, and what mus i c even i n h is discords ! How the

wild ton es had a charm for thesimplest and thewisest , andall men felt and kn ew that h ere was on e of the gi fted .

Som e bri ef pure momen ts of poetic l i fe were yet appoin tedhim in the composi t ion of his songs. We can understandhow he grasped at th is employment, andhow,

too, hespurned all other reward for i t, bu t what the labour i tself brough thim ; for the soul of Burns, though scathed and marred,was yet l iv ing i n its ful l moral strength, though sharplyconscious of its errors and abasemen t. And h ere, i n h isdesti tu t ion and degradati on , was on e act of seem i ng noblen ess and self-devotedness l eft ev en for him to perform . Hefel t too, that wi th all the though tless foll ies that had lai dh im low, and stai n ed his nam e, theworld was unj ust andcruel to him , and he s i len tly appealed to anoth er and a

calmer t im e. Not as a h i red soldi er, bu t as a patriot, wouldhe str i v e for the glory of his country ; so he cast from h im

the poor S ixpence a day, and served zealously as a volun

teer.Let us not grudge h im th is last l uxury of h is existence.

Let him not have appealed to us i n vai n . Themoney wasnot necessarv to him ; he struggled through without i t .

23 2 aresrora o r BURNS .

Long s ince these gu ineas would hav e been gone , and now

t he h igh -m indedn ess of refus ing them wi ll plead for him i nall h ea rts for ever .

“We are now arrived at the crisis of Burns’

s l i fe, formatters had now taken such a shape wi th h im as cou ld notlong conti nue . If improvem ent was not to be looked for,nature could only, for a l im i ted tim e, mai n ta i n th is darkandmadden ing warfare aga inst the world and i tself. “Teare not medically i n formed whether any con tinuance of

yea rs was at th is period probable for Burns whether hisdeath is to b e looked on , i n som e sense, as an acciden talevent, or only as the natural consequence of a long seri esof even ts that had preceded. The latter seems to b e thel ikel i er opin ion , and yet i t is by n o m eans a certa in on e.At all e v en ts , as we have said, some change could not b ev ery distant . Thre e gates of del i v erance, i t appears to us,

were open to Burns ; clear poetica l acti v i ty, madness, ordeath . The first , wi th long l ife , was still poss ibl e, thoughnot v ery probable for physi ca l causes were b eginn ing tob e concerned i n i t ; and yet Burns had an i ron resolution,could he have bu t seen and felt, that n ot only h is h ighes tglory, but h is fi rst duty, and them edicin e for all his woes,lay h ere . The second was st ill less probable, for his m i ndwas ev er among the clearest and thefirmest . So the m ilderth i rd gate was open for h im, and he passed, not softly butsteadily , i n to that still coun try, wh ere the ha i l-showers andfiery storms of mal ice do not reach , and the h eav i est ladenway

-farer at l ength lays down h is head .

Contemplati ng the sad end of Burns, and how he sunk,-unai ded by any real h elp , unch eered by any wise sym

pathy, -gen erous m i nds have som et imes figured to themselves, wi th a reproachful sorrow

,that much m igh t hav e

b een don e for h im —that by counsel , tru e affection , andfri endly m i n istrat ions, he m igh t hav e b een saved to h imself and the world . We ques t ion wh ether th ere is notmore tendern ess of heart than soundness of judgmen t i nthese suggestions. It seems dubious to us whether the

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23 4 MEMOIR or"

BURN S .

of him. We have al ready stated ou r doubts wh ether di rectp ecun iary help, had it been offered, would ei ther have beenaccepted, or proved i n any degree effectual i f i t had. We

shall readily adm i t, however, that much m igh t have beendone for Burns ; that many a poisoned arrow m ight havebeen warded from his bosom ,

—many an entanglemen t i nh is path cu t off by the hand of the powerful

,—and l igh t

and heat, shed upon him from h igh places, would hav emade h is humble atmosphere more gen ial ; and the softesth ear t then breath i ng m igh t hav e l i ved and died wi th somefewer pangs . Nay, we shall gran t farther,—and for Burnsi t is gran ting much ,— that, wi th all his pride, he wouldhave thanked, even to exaggerat ion i n grati tude, any one

who had cordially befri ended h im . Patronage, unless oncecursed, needed not to have been twice so : at all even ts,the poor promotion he des i red in h is call ing m igh t hav eb een granted. I t was his own sch em e, and, therefore, l ikel ier than any other to have been of service. All th is i tm ight hav e been a luxury, nay, i t was a duty, for our nob ility to havedone . No part of all th is, however, did anyof them do, or apparen tly attempt, o r even wish to do .

So much is granted agai nst them ; but what, then , is theamoun t of the i r blam e ? S imply that they were men ofthe world, andwalked bv the principles of such men thatth ey treated Burns as other nobles, and other commonershave done other poets : as the Engl ish did Shakspeare as

King Charles and h is caval i ers did Butl er ; as King Ph i l i pand his grandees did Cervantes . Do men gather grapes ofthorn s or, shall we cu t down our thorns for only y i eldinga fence and haws ? How, indeed, could the nobil i ty and

gen try of his nat ive land hold out any help to th is Scottishbard, proud of his name and country ?

'

orwere the nob ili tyand gentry so much as able r ightly to help themsel ves ?Had they not thei r gam e to preserv e thei r burgh i n teres tto strengthen ; dinne rs, therefore, of various kinds, to eat

and give ? Were th ei r m eans more than adequate to all

th is import ant busi n ess, or less than adequate ? We may

MEMOIR or BURN S . 23 5

depend on i t,less than adequate, i n gen eral . Few of them,

i n real i ty, were rich er than Bu rns, andmany of th em poorer ;for sometim es they had towr ing thei r suppli es aswi th thumbscrews, from the hard hand, and, i n thei r n eed of guin eas ,forget thei r duty of mercy, wh i ch Bu rns was n ev er reducedto do . L et us, therefore, p i ty and forgi v e th em . The

game they preserved and shot , —the dinn ers they ate and

gave,—the burgh i n terests th ey strengthened, —the l i ttl eBabylon s they severally bu i lded by the glory of thei r m igh t,—are all m elted, or fast m el ting back i n to thei r primevalchaos, as man ’

s m erely selfish endeavou rs are fated to do .

And h ere was an act ion , extending, in vi rtue of its worldlyi nfluence, wemay say , th rough all t im e i n v i rtue of its mo

ral nature , beyond all t ime being immortal as the Spi ri t ofgoodness i tself. Th is action was gi ven them to do ; butthe l igh t was not given th em to do i t. Let us pi ty and

forgive them bu t,b etter than pi ty. l et us go and do oth er

wise. Human snflering did not end with the l ife of Burns,—n e ither was the solemn mandate, Lov e on e another

,

’

Bear ye on e another’

s bu rdens,’ gi ven to the ri ch only, bu tto all men . Tru e, we shall find no Burns to rel i eve

,—to

assuage by our aidor our p i ty but celestial natures, groaning under the fardels of a weary l ife, we shall st il l find ;and that wretchedness wh i ch fate has rendered voicel essand tuneless, is not the l east wretch ed but the mos t.

S ti ll we do not th i nk that Burns’s fai lu re l i es ch i eflywi th the world the world, i t seems to us

, treated himwi th more

,rath er than wi th less, kindness than i t usually

shows to such men . It has ev er, we fear, shown but smal lfavour to its teachers. Hunger and nakedness, perils and

rev il ing, the prison , the cross, the poison chal ice , hav e, i nmost t imes, been the market-price wh i ch the world hasoffered for wisdom ,

—thewelcom e wi th wh ich i t has greetedthose who cam e to en l igh ten and purify i t . Homer

, and

Socrates, and the Christ ian Apostles,belong to old days ;

bu t theworld’s martyrology was not completed wi th these.

Roger Bacon and Gal i leo langu ished in pri estly dungeons,

23 6 MBMOIB or BURNS .

Tasso pi ned i n the cell of a madhouse, Camoens died begging on the stree ts of L isbon —so they n eglected, so persecuted th ey the proph ets, not i n Judea only, but in all

places where men have ex isted. We reckon that ev erypoe t of Burns’s order is, or should b e, a proph et and teach erto h is age that he has no righ t, th erefore, to expect greatk indn ess from i t, bu t is rath er bound to do great kindn essto i t that Burns, i n particular, experi enced fully the usualp roport ion of theworld’

s goodness , and that the blame ofhis fai lure lay not ch i efly with theworld, we are thoroughlycon v i nced.

No, no i t lay wi th h imself : i t was h is i nward , not hisou tward, m isfortunes that brough t h im to the dust . Sel

dom , i ndeed, is i t o therwise . S eldom is a l ife morallywrecked, but the grand cu rs e l i es i n som e in ternal mal

arrangemen t ,—som e wan t, l ess of good fortun e than ofgood gu idance . Nature fash i ons no creatu re

,without im

planting ia i t the strength n eedful for its action and durat ion , —l east of all does she so n eglect her masterp iece and

darl ing, the poeti c soul. Nei ther can we bel i eve that i t isi n the power of any external ci rcumstances u tterly to ruinthem i n d of a man ; nay, i f p roper wisdom be giv en him

,

even so much as to aflect its essen tial h eal th and beauty.

The stern est sum total of all worldly m isfortun es is death .

Noth ing beyond that can be wrung in to the cup of humanwo ; yet many men , i n all ages, have tri umph ed o v er death ,and led i t capt iv e,—con v erting its phys i cal v i ctory i n to a

seal and immortal consecration for all that thei r past l ifehad ach i ev ed. What has been don e may be done agai nnay , i t is bu t thedegree, not thekind, of such h eroism , thatdifl

’

ers in different seasons ; for, wi thout some portion ofth is spiri t, not of boisterous dar ing, but of S i len t fearfuln ess,—of self-denial, i n all its forms, —no good man, i n any scen eor time, has ever at ta i ned to be good.

Wehave al ready stated the error ofBurns, andm ourn edo v er it rather than blamed i t . I t was thewan t of uni ty i nh is purposes,—of consistency i n his a ims,—the hapless at

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238 MEMOIR or BURNS .

M i lton rich , or at his eas e, waen he composed ParadiseLost ? ’ Not only low, but fallen from a h eigh t,—not onlypoor, bu t impoverish ed,—in darkn ess , . and wi th dangerscompassed around

,- he sang his immortal song, and found

fi t audi ence,though few. Did not Cervan tes fin ish his

work a maimed soldi er, and i n prison Nay, was not theArnacana, wh ich Spai n acknowledges as its epi c, wri ttenwi thout even the aid of paper ; but on scraps of l eather,as the stout figh ter andvoyager snatched any moment fromthat wi ld warfare ?

And what, th en , had these men wh i ch Burns wan ted ?Two th ings both of wh ich are i ndispensable to such men .

They had a true rel igi ous pr inci ple of morals ; and a si ngle ,not a double aim , i n thei r act iv i ty. They were not selfSeekers and self-worsh ippers, but seekerS

’

and worsh ippersof someth ing far better than self. Not personal enj oym en twas thei r obj ect ; but a h igh , h eroic idea of religi on , ofpatriotism , of h eavenly wisdom,

—ia the one or'

the otherform,

—ever hovered before them i n wh i ch cause theyn ei the r sh runk from suffering, nor called on the ea rth towi tness i t as someth i ng wonderful ; but pati en tly endured,coun ting i t blessedness enough so to spend and be spen t.Thus the golden calf of self- love , however cur iously carved,was not thei r dei ty ; but the i nv isible goodn ess, wh ich alon eis man’s reasonable serv ice . Th is feel ing was as a celestialfoun ta i n , whose streams refreshed into gladn ess and beautyall the prov i nces of thei r o therwise too desolate existence.In a word , they wi lled on e th ing to wh i ch all other th ingswere subordi nated and made subservi en t, and thereforethey accomplished i t . Thewedge will rend rocks, but itsedge must b e sharp and si ngle ; i f i t be double, the wedgeis bruised i n p ieces, andwi ll rend noth ing.

Par t of th is superiori ty th ese men owed to thei r age,i n wh i ch heroism and devotedness were st i ll practised, or,at least, not yet disbeli eved in ; but much of i t l ikewisethey owed to themselves. Burns, agai n, was differentlys i tuated : his moral i ty, in most of its practical points, is

MEMO IR OF BURNS . 23 9

that of a m ere worldly man ; enj oyment, i n a finer orcoarser shape

,is the only th i ng he longs and stri ves for .

A noble insti nct som et im es raises him above th is ; but i tis an instinct only, and only acting for momen ts . He hasno rel igion . In the shallow agewh ere h is days were cast ,rel igion was not discrim i nated i n any oth er way than byits New and Old L igh t forms, and was, wi th these, becomeobsolete i n them i nds of men . His heart, i ndeed, is al ivewi th a trembl in g adorat ion ; bu t th ere is no tru th i n hisunderstanding . He l ives i n darkness and the shadow ofdoubt : h is rel igion is, at best, an anx ious wish l ike thatof Rabelais a great p erhaps.

’

He loved poetry warmly, and i n his h eart —cou ld hehav e but loved i t purely, and wi th h is undiv ided heart, i thadbeenwell . For poetry, as Burns could have followed i t,is but another form of Wisdom , of Religi on —is i tself wisdom and rel igion . But th is also was den i ed him . His

poetry is a stray, vagran t gleam , wh i ch wi l l not b e ex t in

guished wi th i n him ; yet rises not to b e the tru e l igh t ofhis path , b ut is often a wi ld fi re that m isleads h im . It wasnot n ecessary for Burns to b e r i ch to be , or to seem,

i ndependen t ; but i t was n ecessary for him to b e at one wi thhis own h eart, -to place what was h ighest i n his natu reh ighest also i n h is l i fe

,—to seek wi th i n h imself for that

sequence and consistency wh i ch external ev en ts would forever refuse him. He was born a poet ; poetry was the

celestial elemen t of his bei ng, and should hav e b een the

sou l of hiswhole endea vou rs . L i fted in to that seren e e th erwh i ther he had wings given h im to mount, hewould hav en eeded n o other el evat ion . Pov erty, n egl ect, and all ev i l

,

save the desecrat ion of h imself and his art , were a smallmatter to h im . The pride and passi ons of the world layfar beneath h is feet,—and he looked down al ike on n obleand on slav e, on prince and b eggar, and all that wore thes tamp of mam—wi th clear recogn ition , wi th brotherly affection , wi th sympathy, and wi th p ity . Nay , we questi onwh ether, for his cul ture as a poet, poverty andmuch suffer

x 2

240 MEMO IR OF BURN S .

i ng, for a season , were not al togeth er advantageous. Greatmen, i n looking back o ver thei r l ives , have test ified to thateffect . A man l ike Burns m igh t hav e di v ided h is hours between poetry and v i rtuous i ndust ry , - i ndust ry, wh ich all

tru e feel ing sanctions, nay, prescribes, -and wh ich '

has a

beauty, fo r that cause, beyond the pomp of thrones . But

to div ide h is hours between poetry andri ch men’

s banquets ,was an i ll-starred and i nauspicious attempt . How cou ldhe be at ease at such banquets ? What had he to do there,m ingl ing his mus i c wi th the coarse roar of altogether earthlyvoices, andbrighten ing the th i ck smoke of in toxication wi thfi re l en t from Heav en . Was i t h is aim to enj oy l ife ? To

morrow hemust go drudge as an exciseman ! Wewondernot that Burns became moody and i ndignant, and at timesan oflerrder against certai n rules of soci ety but rather thathe did not grow u tterly fran tic, and run a muck agai nstthem all. How cou ld a man

,as falsely placed by his own

or others’ fau l t, ever know conten tm en t, or peaceable dil igence

,for an hou r. What he did under such perverse

gu idance, andwhat he forbore to do , al ike fill 115 wi th as

ton ishment at the natu ral strength andworth of his character

Doubtless there was a remedy for th is perversen essbut not i n others ; only i n h imself ; leas t of all i n i ncreaseof weal th and worldly respectab il i ty . we hope we hav enow h eard enough about the efficacy of wealth for poets,and to make poets happy nay, havewe not seen anotheri nstance of i t i n these v ery days ? Byron ,—a man of endowmen t cons iderably l ess ethereal than that of Burns,was born i n the rank , not of a Scottish ploughman , but o fan English peer . The h igh est worldly honours, the fai res tworldly career, are his by i nheri tance—the r i chest harvestof fam e he soon reaps, i n another prov ince , by h is own

hand ,—andwhat does all th is ava i l h im ? Is he happy ? ishe good ? is he tru e ? Alas ! he has a poet’s soul , and

str ives toward the infinite,— the eternal ,—and soon feelsthat all this is bu t mount ing to the house-top to reach the

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242 MEMO IR or smart s .

and i n what spiri t he attempts i t for the words of M il tonwere tru e at all t imes

,and were n e v er truer than at th is

He who would wri te h ero ic poems, mus t make his wholel ife a hero ic poem .

’ If he cannot so make his l ife,then

l et him hasten from th is arena for nei ther its lofty glori es,nor its fearful perils

,are for him . Le t him dwindl e i nto a

modislr ballad-monger,—l et h im worsh ip and be-sing the

idols of the t ime, —and the t im e wi ll not fai l to rewardhim ; i f, i ndeed, he can endure to l i v e i n that capaci ty .

Byron andBurns could not l i ve as idol-pri ests, but the fi reof thei r own h earts consumed them and better i t was forthem that they could not ; for i t is not in the favour of thegreat, nor of the small , but in a l ife of truth , and i n the

i n expungible ci tadel of his own soul , that a Byron’

s or a

Burns’

s strength must l i e. Let the great stand aloof fromh im , or know how to reverence him . Beau tiful is the

un ion of wealth wi th favou r, and furtherance for l i teraturei t is l ike the costl i est flower-jar i nclosing the loveli est onearth . Yet, l et not the relation be m istaken —a tru e poetis no t on e whom th ey can h i re by money or flattery to b ea m in ister of thei r pleas ures, —thei r wri ter of occasi onalverses, the i r pu rveyor of table wit,—he cannot b e thei rmen ial, he cannot ev en be thei r partisan . At the peril ofboth parti es l e t n o such u nion be attempted . Wil l a

courser of the sun work pati ently i n the harn ess of a drayh orse His lroofs are of fi re, and his path is through the

hea vens , bringing l igh t to all lands ; and wil l he lumber onmud h ighways, dragging ale for earth ly appetites from doorto door ?

But wemust stop short i n th ese cons iderati ons, wh ichwould lead us to boundless lengths. We had som eth i ngto say - on the moral character of Burns, but th is also wemust forbear. We are

'

far from regarding h im as gu iltyb efore theworld,—as gu i l ti er than the average ; nay, fromdoubti ng that he is l ess g ui lty than on e of ten thousand .

Tri ed at a tr ibunal far more rigi d than that where the pleb isca of common civic repu tat ions are pronounced, he has

MEMO IR or BURN S . 243

seem ed to us th ere less worthy of blame than of p i ty and

wonder. Bu t theworld is hab i tually unj ust i n its j udgmen ts of such men unj ust on many grounds, of wh ich th ison e may b e sta ted as the substance . I t decides l ike a courtof law by dead statu tes, and that n ot posi ti vely but n egat ively ; l ess on what is don e, than on what is, or is not ,

don e wrong. Not the few i nch es of deflecti on from the

math emat ical orb i t , wh ich are so easily measured but the

rati o of these to thewhole diameter, consti tu tes the realobservation . Th is orb i t may be a planet,its diameter thebreadth of the solar system ; or i t may be a ci ty h i ppodrom e nay, the ci rcl e of a gin -ho rse , its diameter a scoreof fee t or paws : but the i nches of deflecti on only aremea

sured and i t is assumed that thediameter of thegi n-horse,

and that of the planet, wi ll y i eld thesam e rati o when com

pared wi th them . Here l i es the root of many a blind,

cruel condemnati on of Burnses, Swi fts , Rousseaus, wh ichon e n ever l istens to wi th approval . Granted , the sh i pcomes i n to harbour wi th sh rouds and tackle damaged, and

the p i lo t is, therefore, blameworthy ; for he has not beenall-wise and all-powerful : bu t to know how blameworthy,tell us fi rst wh ether his voyage has been round the globe

,

or only to Ramsgate and the Isl e of Dogs .

“Wi th men of uprigh t feel ing, we are not requ i red toplead for Burns . In p i tyi ng adm i rat ion he l i es ensh rin edin all our h earts, i n a far noble mausoleum than that ofmarbl e n ei th er will h is works, even as they are, pass awayfrom the m emory of men . Wh i l e the Shakspeares and

M i ltons roll on l ike m igh ty r ivers through the coun try ofthough t, beari ng fleets of t raffickers and ass iduous pearlfishers on th eir waves , th is l i ttl e Valchesu foun ta i n wi ll alsoarrest ou r eye ; for th is also ,

is of nature’s own and mos tcunn ing workmansh ip , and bursts from the depths of theearth , wi th a full gush i ng current, i n to the l ight of dayand often wil l the traveller tu rn aside to drink of its purewaters , and muse among its rocks and pin es.

”

Now, though I adm i re Mr Carl isl e’s eloquence and en

244 MEMO IR or BURNS .

thusiasm more than I hav e terms to descr ibe , yet I differfrom h im most decidedly on many poi n ts . Wh en I tookup the arti cle, wh ich occurs i n on e of the numbers of theEdinburgh Rev i ew, I m ean t only to give a few, a very fewquota tions, wh i ch I though t beau tifully and strdngly i llust rat ive of the l i terary character of Bu rns ; but, as I proceeded, I percei ved that I could n ei ther do j ust ice to thepoet nor thewri ter, wi thou t i nsert ing the mai n substanceof the essay and though what I have wri tten , both irr

’

the

m emoi r and thenotes, he often qu i te adverse to the sentim ents cop ied here, I must St i ll make a few further remarksupon i t .In the fi rst place, wi th regard to the meri ts of Tam

o’

Shanter, we are completely at odds, wh i ch he den ies tob e poet ical , or even a poem at all. Now, I accoun t i t aglorious poem, and h ighly poeti cal . I do not th i nk thate ver Burns i n tended to strike anew any of the deep mysterious chords of superst i t ion i n the human heart ; but thathemean t i t merely as a bold, humorous descri ption of somereally natural scen es i n common l i fe, and someperfectlyl udicrous supernatu ral ones and that he accompl ished, toa tee, what he i ntended . I therefore, th ink i t wasmuch toobad, i n th is i ngen ious wri ter, to term i t ‘

a mere drunkenphantasmagoria pai nted on ale vapou rs .

’

Bu t here I amno t afrai d to make my appeal to the publ ic. Aga i n M rCarl isl e , wi th all h is enthusiasm

-

abou t Burns, and abou tpoetry i n general, frequen tly talks of the fai lu r e of Burns,and regards him as a poet of great capab ili ty, who had ac

compl ished noth i ng.* I am as ton ish ed at such a sen timen t

ever hav i ng been cherished by th is wr i ter, and far mo re,that he Should have suffered i t to drop from his pen , after,too

, adm i tting the truth of Fletcher’s axiom . What poet

Hold, Mr Hogg ; fair play l—Mr Carlisle’s sentiment is notthat Burns accomplished noth ing, far from it ; but only that whathe did accomplish was noth ing to what he m igh t have aecomplished, h ad h is capacious m ind been under a purer influence,and h is m igh ty powers been more worthily directed.

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246 M EMO IR or BURNS'.

CHAPTER XIII.

NOTICE S or BURNs’

s FAM ILY , &c. &c.

Hail, wedded Love! mysterious law, true sourceOfhuman oflspring, sole proprietyIn paradise, of all t h ings common else 3By thee adulterous lust was driven from men

Among the bestial herd to range; by thee

Founded in reason, loyal, j us t, and pure,Relations dear, and all t he charitiesOffather, son , and bro ther, first were known.

Perpet ual fo un tain ofdomestic sweet sHere Love reigns and revelsNot in t he bought smile of harlo t s,Loveless, j oy less, unendeared.

I TH INK Mrs Burns had been pretty. In 1804 I wasaccustomed to sit i n the seat n ext to her in the old churchof Dumfri es , and though always a brunette, shewas thensmartly dressed, had fin e eyes, and looked very well. She

had several wooers at that t ime, according to report. Someseven or eight years afterwards , I had a chance of a fewweeks of i ntimate and daily acquai n tance wi th her i n Edinburgh , and scarcely ever met a woman , ei ther h igh or low,

who improved as much on acqua i n tance . She had a greatdeal of good sense and good nature .

The following more deta i led accoun t of th is i n terest ingwoman appeared i n theDumfri es Couri er at the t ime of herdeath and bea rs in ternal marks of being from the eloquen tpen of Mr M‘Diarmid

To the poet, Jean Armou r bore a fam i ly of five sonsand four daughters. Thewhole of the latter died in earlyl ife

, andwere interred i n the cemetery of thei r maternalgrandfather i n Mauchl in e churchyard . Of the sons twodied very young, v i z . FrancisWallace and Maxwell Burns,—the las t of whom was a posthumous ch i ld , born the v eryday his father was buried.

’t Of the sai d fam i ly of n in e,

Shortly after her h usband’

s death Mrs Burns h ad a very re

markable dream, wh ich she sometimes Spoke of to her mo ln

MEMO IR or BURNS . 247

thre e sons alon e survive —Robert, the eldest , a reti redofficer of the Accomptan t -Gen eral ’s Departm ent, S tampoffice, London , now i n Dumfri es ; andWill iam and JamesG l enca i rn Burns, Capta i ns i n theHon . theEast India Com

pany’

s S erv i ce .

“ The term of Mrs Burns’ widowhood extended to

timate female friends as a circum stance not only most vi vidlyimprinted on the m emory, but more prom inently placed beforethe eye of the m ind, than anything that ever occurred to her

during her waking moments . And i t was to th is efi'

ect ,—that

the poet, or rather his Spi ri t, withdrew her curtains, and, aftergaz ing wistfully and solemnly , said that he had been perm ittedt o take a last look of h is widow, and the ch ild he had never before seen .

” The barem ention of such a ci rcumstance may, to

many, appear abundantly idle ; and we of course m erely alludeto it as an impression rootedly entwinedwith our departed friend’

s

m emory, who was by no m eans a superstitious woman .

1 Robert Burns, Jun . , is the reputed author of the followingsong

HA! : ye seen, in the calm deny morning,The red- breast wild warbling sae clear

Or the low-dwelling, snow- b reasted gowan,Surcharg

’

d wi’

mild e’

ening’

s soft tear 90 , th en ye hae seen my dear lassie,The lassie I lo’

e best of a’But far frae the hame 0 ’my lassi e,I’

m monie a lang m ile awa .

Her hai r is thewing o’

the blackb ird,Her eye is the eye 0

’the dove,

Her lips are the ripe blush ing rose-bud,Her bosom’

s the palace of love .

Th o’

green be thy banks, 0 sweet Clutha !Thy beauties ne’er charm me ava ;

Forgive me, ye maids 0 ’

sweet CluthaMy h eart is wi’ her that’s awa.

0 love, thou’

rt a dear fleeting pleasureThe sweetest wem ortals h ere know ;

But soon is thy heaven, b righ t beam ing,O

’

ercast with - the darkness ofwo .

As the moon, on the oft - ch anging ocean,Deligh ts the lone mariner’s eye,

Ti ll red rush the storm s of the desert,And dark billows tumble on h igh .

248 MEMO IR or BURNS .

th i rty- eigh t years, —ih i tself rather an unusual c i rcumstance,—and, i n July, 1796, wh en the bereavemen t oc

cu rred, she was but li ttl e b eyond the age at wh ich the

maj ori ty of femal es marry. But she had too much re

spect for the m emory of her husband, and regard for hisch ildren , to th i nk of changing her name, although she

m igh t have done so more than once, with advan tage ; andwas even careful to secu re on lease, and repai r and emb ell ish , as soon as she could afford i t, the decen t thoughmodest mans ion in wh i ch he died. And h ere, for morethan th i rty years , Shewas v is i ted by thousands on thousands of strangers, from the peer down to i ti nerant sonnetteers , —a class of persons to whom she never refused an

audi ence, or d ism issed unrewarded . Occas i onally, duringthe summer mon ths, shewas a good deal annoyed ; but Shebore all i n pat i ence, and al though natu rally fond of qui et,seemed to consider her house as open to visitors, ~ and its

m istress, i n some degree, the property of the public .* But

the at ten tions of strangers nei ther turned her head, norwere ever alluded to i n the spi r i t of boast ing ; and had itnot been for a femal e fri end who accompan ied her on on e

The following little anecdote was some years ago told byMrs Burns, with great good humour, t o a friend of ours, fromwhom we had i t Shortly after. A little ragged boy, selling ballads, called at a house near Mrs Burns

’

s dwelling in Dum fries,and inqu iredwhere Mrs Burns lived. On her house being pointedou t to h im, Ah ,

”said he to the person who had given h im the

direction, “ I would like to see her.

” Well,” was the replygo th ere and ask to sell your ballads, and you will see her.

“ But I dinna like, said he ;“ I th ink Shame to gang th ere.

S truck with the anx iety of the boy, and his ditfidence, he was

taken to Mrs Burns’

s house, and put into the kitch en, where theservant began to talk with h im about buying Some of h is ballads.

Mrs Burns being informed of the circum stance , cam e into t hek i tch en, wh en, t o the amusement of the good old lady, the fol

lowing dialogue took place z—Mrs B.

“ And so you wished toseeMrs Burns ?” Boy, ( anx iously , O ay, I would like to see

her. Mrs B. Well, you seeher now—I am Mrs Burns. ” Boy,

! looking u tterly ama zed,“ Touts, you

’re jokin’

me.

” Mrs B.

Why do you th ink I am jokin’

you ?”

Boy, ! with grea t s im

p licity ,) Because Burns speaks about h is bonny Jean 1”

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250 MBMOIR o r BURNS .

equalled by unprofess ional si ngers. Her voice was a brill iant t rebl e, and in singing Coollen,

’ I gaed a waefu’

gate yestreen ,’and other songs, she rose wi thou t effort as

h igh as B natural . In ballad poetry her taste was good,and range of reading rather extensiv e . Her memory, toowas strong, and she could quote when she chose at consi

derable l ength , andwi th grea t apti tude . Of these powersthe bard was so well aware that he read to her almost everyp i ece he composed , andwas not ashamed to own that hehad profited by her j udgmen t. In fact

,none save relations,

n e ighbou rs , and fri ends, could form a proper estimate of thecharacter of Mrs Burns. In the presence of strangers she

was shy and s il en t, and requ i red to be drawn ou t,or

, as

some would say, shown off to advantage, by persons who

possessed her confidence, and knew her i n timately.

On Saturday, 22d March, 183 4, she was seized wi thparalysis for the fourth t im e duri ng the last few years ;and although perfectly conscious of her s i tuation , and

the presence of fri ends, became depri ved, before shecould ‘

b e removed to bed , of the faculty of speech , and, a day

o r two th ereafter,of the sense of hearing. S t il l she lay

wonderfully calm and composed, and, i n the opin ion ofher medical attendan t, suffered from weakness rather thanfrom pai n . Frequently she gazed wi th the greatest earnestness on her grand-daugh ter, Sarah ; and i t was easyto read what was pass i ng wi th in , from the tears that filledher aged eyes and tri ckled down her cheeks . To an

other i ndi v idual she di rected looks so eager and full ofm ean ing as to impress him wi th theidea that she had somedy i ng request to make, and deeply regretted that i t was toolate for , e v en i f her sal vati on had depended on the exer

t i on , shewas unfortunately i ncapaci tated from u ttering a

syllable; gu iding a pen , or even making an i n tell igible S ign .

The m ind, i n her case , surv ived the body ; and th is"

, perhaps, was the only pai nful c i rcumstance at tending her deathbed.

—cons idering how admi rabl e her conduct had alwaysbeen, her general health so sound

,her span protracted be

MEMOIR o r BURN S . 251

yond the common lot, her character for p rudence and pi etyso well-establ ished, and her s i tuation i n l ife every way so

comfortable. On then igh t ofTu esday, or morn ing ofWed

nesday , a fifth Shock , nuperceived by theattendants, depri vedMrs Burns of mental consciousness ; and from that t ime t i lllate i n the ev en ing, when shedied, her s i tuat ion was exactly that of a b reath i ng corpse—Thus passed away all thatrema in ed of bonny Jean ,

’—the rel ict of a man whose fam eis as wide as theworld i tself, and the v enerated heroi n e ofmany a lay wh i ch b id fai r to l ive i n the memori es of thepeople of Scotland, and of thousands far removed from its

shores, as long as the language i n wh ich th ey arewri tten isSpoken or understood . She was born at Mauch l in e i nFebruary, 1765, and had thus en tered the seventieth yearof her age.

The remai ns of Mrs Burn s were i n terred i n the fam i lyvault on Tuesday, the lst April, wi th all the solemn ity theoccasion demanded , i n presence of an immense crowd ofspectators. Independen tly of the Bard

’

s Mausoleum, S t

M ichael’s churchyard is, perhaps, themost remarkable cemetery i n Bri ta i n : am idst i nnumerable tombs thousands onthousands sl eep below ; and on the day alluded to

,publ ic

i n terest or curiosi ty waxed so i n tensely that i t becam e , i fsuch an expression may b e used, i nst inct wi th l ife as wel las death . By many, a strong wish was expressed that thefun eral shoul d b e made b roadly publ ic ; oth ers agai n oh

jected to everyth ing l ike parade, as unsu i ted to the quie tret i r ing characte r of the deceased ; and, amidst counselsand wish es so opposi te and confl i cting, the relat iv es and

executors had a duty to discharge wh i ch was fel t to b e exceedingly onerous and perplex ing. The magistrates and

comm issioners of pol ice pol i tely offered to mark th ei r re

spect for Mrs Burns’

s m emory by attending her funeral inthei r public capaci ty,—ah offer so honourabl e that i t wasat once acknowledged and acceded to by the t rustees . Bu t

someth i ng more was wanted, in the opin ion of at l east a

porti on of the public ; and as the street i n wh ich the de“ 0

fl

252 MEMO IR or BURNS .

ceased resided is short, narrow, and s i tuated so near to the

churchyard, as to inj u re the appearance of any procession ,i t was anx i ously asked that the coffin should be con veyedi n a hearse to the Council Chamber stai rs, and from thencecarri ed shou lder-h igh along the l in e of the pri ncipal streetOn reflection , however, i t was deemed better that the l ivi ngshould go to the dead , than the dead to the l ivi ng.

’

The

magistrates agreed i n the propri ety of th is, and issued cardsto thewhole of the Council appoint ing a m eeting at halfpas t 1 1 on the morn ing of Tuesday, at wh ich hour th eyass embled, and shortly after mov ed i n a body to Burns

’

street, am idst a throng of people (many of whom had voluntarily arrayed th emselves i n sables) such as has rarelybeen witn essed on the streets of Dumfri es. Between two

and th ree hundred funeral letters were issued i n compliancewi th the usual custom ; and i n th is way wh i le the pr ivatefeel ings of fri ends were concil iated, the public were grat ified i n as far as was deemed consisten t wi th the rules ofdecorum .

As many persons were rece ived i nto the house as i tcould possibly contai n , i ncluding vari ous clergymen , ci tizenfri ends, and country gentlemen , among the latter of whomwe observed Sir Thomas Wallace, a kind personal friendof the deceased ; Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick ; Mr Dunlop,Southwi ck ; Mr James M‘Alpine Leny of Dalswi nton ; MrJohn Dunlop , Rosefield Mr Macadam of Cas tledykesMaj or Adai r ; Mr Hannah of Hannahfield; Maj or Davi es ;Mr John S taig ; the Pro vost and Magistrates , &c. &c.

Eloquen t prayers were pu t up on the occas i on by theRev.

Messrs. Wigh tman , Fyfle, Dunlop, andWallace ; and afterthe usual forms had been observed, the coffin was placed onspokes, andborne by many to its final resti ng-place . Throwi ng a ston e to a ch i eftai n ’

s cai rn was deemed an honour byour Celtic ancesto rs, and a s im ilar feeling obviously

”prevai led in regard to the funereal obsequi es of the poet’swidow. Before on e person hadwell touched a spoke hewas succeeded by another, eager to share in thesame mourn

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254 MEMO IR or BURNS .

and -Mr Bogi e, Terraugh ty. Originally, h is ashes lay i nthe north corner of the churchyard ; and as years elapsedbefore any general mo vemen t was made, h is widow, wi thp ious care, marked the spot by a modes t monument, theexpense of wh ich she will ingly defrayed ou t

’

of her own

sl ender means. In the firs t i nstance, attempts were madeto enlarge the churchyard wall, and thus avert the necess i tyof a ceremony, i n the h ighest degree revolting to the feeli ngs ofMrs Burns ; but the spot was so narrow, and i n terfered so closely wi th the property of others , that the ideawas abandoned as utterly imp racti cable. On theday, th erefore , al ready

'nam ed, the commi ttee chosen , proceeded tothe Spot before the sun had risen , and wen t to work so

rapidly, that they had well n igh completed th ei r purposeprev i ous to the assemblage of any crowd . And i t was fortunate thei r measures were so wisely taken ; for though thegates of S t M ichael’s were carefully locked, a few earlyr isers, and accidental observers, commun ica ted so speedilythei r suspicions to others, that before the entrance to the

vau lt could b e closed , an immense crowd bes i eged the

chu rchyard walls , and, on leave bei ng refused , readilyfound the means of adm i tting themselves. S t il l the individuals alluded to discharged, wi th the greates t sternn ess, thei r duty as sen tinels, by repress in g all attemptsat ob ta in ing bones, or i ndeed anyth in g connected wi tht he r espect ive coffins of the Bard and h is two sons.

As a report had been Spread that the largest coffin wasmade of oak, hopes were en tertai ned that i t would be poss ible to remove i t wi thout inj ury, or publi c exam inat ion ofany kind. But th is hope proved fallacious on testi ng thecoffin i t was fo und to b e composed of ordinary materials,and l iable to yield to the sl igh tes t pressure ; and the l idpart ially removed, a spectacl e was unfolded, wh ich, considering the fame of them ighty dead, has rarely been witnessedby a si ngle human being. There lay theremains ofthe great poet, to all appearance en ti re, retaining var ioustraces of recent vi tal i ty ; or, to speak more correctly, ex

MMEMO IR or BURNS . 250

hibit ing the featu res of on e who had n ewly sunk into thesl eep of death . The foreh ead struck every on e as beaut ifu lly arch ed , if not so h i gh as m igh t have been reasonablysuppos ed, wh i l e the scalp was rather th ickly covered wi thha i r, andthe teeth perfectly firm andwh i te. Altogether thescen e was so imposing that the commonest workmen stooduncovered

,as the late Dr Gregory did at the exhumat ion

of the remai ns of King Robert Bruce, and for some mo

men ts remai n ed inact i ve, as i f thri ll ing under the efl’

ects ofsom e undefinable emot ion , wh i le gaz ing on all that remai n edof on e " whose fame is as wide as theworld i tself.’ But the

scen e, however impos ing, was brief ; for the i nstan t theworkmen inserted a shel l o r wooden case b en eath the ori

ginal coflin , the h ead separated from the trunk , and the

whole body, wi th the exception of thebon es, crumbled in to‘dust. ~ Notwi thstanding of the solemni ty the occas i on re

qu i red, at leas t a few fel t constrai n ed to l ift and exam i nethe Skull,—probably under the i nspi rat ion of feel ings akinto thos e of Hamle t when he l ean t and moral i zed overYorick’s grave, and who , i f aware of the passage, m igh thav e quoted appropr iately enough the language of Byron

Look on its broken arch , its ruin’d hallIts chambers desolate , and portals foul ;

Yes, th is was once ambit iorr’s ai ry hall,The dome of thought, the palace of the soul !

Behold th rough each lack- lustre eyeless hole,The gay recess ofwisdom and ofwi t

Of passion’s host that never brooked controlCan all saint, ‘

sage, or soph ist ever writPeople th is lonely tower—this tenem ent refit ? ”

Eve ry th i ng, as we hav e sa id, was co nducted wi th thegreatest propri ety and care ; and after the second grave-bedof the poe t and his ofl

'

spring had been carefully prepared,the original tomb-ston e was placed above thei r ashes , andthevau lt closed for a period of nearly n i neteen years,—thatis, from the 19th S eptember, 1815, till the 28th March,

256 MEMO IR or BURNS .

183 4 . Tire well-known Mr Matth ews,—a man ofh igh andoriginal gen ius,—ou one occas i on pai d a v isi t to Dumfri esand i t fell to the lot of thewriter to accompany him to t hehouse of Mrs Burns, and S t M ichael’s churchyard . On

en tering themau soleum the great comedian became obvi

ously h ighly exci ted, and, after a l i ttle pause, i nqu i red

eagerly what has become of the original tombstone ?’ and

on th is quest ion being answered, expressed the greatest regret that i t had not been inserted as part of the pavementi n fron t of the sculp ture, as was don e i n the case of ShakSpeare’s mausoleum at S tratford-upon -Avon . And here wecannot resist quoting a brief passage from theworks of M rWash ington Irv i ng A few years s i nce, as som e labourerswere digging to make an adj oin ing vault, the earth cavedi n , so as to leave a vacan t space almost l ike an arch , throughwh ich one m igh t have looked in to Shakspeare

’s grave. No

one, howev er, presumed to meddle wi th his bon es, so aw

fully guarded by a mal edicti on and l est any of the idle orcurious, or any collector of rel ics, should have been temptedto comm i t depredations, the old sex ton kept watch over thespot for two days, until thevaul t was finished, and the aperture closed. He told me he had made bold to l ook in a t

the hole, bu t could see nei ther coffin nor bon es, - nothi ngbu t dust. I t was someth ing, I though t, to have seeneventhe dus t of S hahsp eare.

’

The remai ns of Mrs Burns, as has al ready been stated,were in terred on Tuesday, the lst April . On the day preceding the vaul t was opened by Mr Crombi e,—a work ofconsiderable difficul ty and labou r,—and the keys of themausoleum , wh ich is guarded round and round wi th h ighi ron -pillared doors, placed temporarily i n the possessi on ofMr M ‘Diarmid. And_ here i t may be best to confess thewhole tru th, and conceal n oth i ng . Ever s i nce we becam eacquain ted wi th what occurred on the 19 th S eptember,1815, we have regretted that so favou rable an opportuni tywas m issed of taking a cast from the poet’s skull,—and themore so, when in formed that a ph renologist had made an

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258 3 113 34 0 1 11 or‘

BURNS

return ing wi th the most th rill ing influence,—as we stood

solemnly on the poet’

s grave, and reca lled the awful mal ed iction of Shakspeare. The n igh t was most serene , andt he dim l igh t of the lan tern , and the lon el i ness of the vault.con tras ted strikingly wi th the lamb en t light of the host of

stars that sparkled brightly i n the heavens abov e . Mr

Cromb i e's knowledge of local i ti es rendered the process ofdisin termen t comparat i vely easy, and Mr Bogi e, who hadseen the sku ll in 1815, proclaim ed its ident i ty themomen ti t appeared . But , i n the absence of such a wi tn ess

,its si z e

and character were qu i te suffici en t to avouch the fact ; and,after i t had been carefullycl ean ed , a cast was taken fromi t b efore the parti es reti red to rest . In the execution ofth is duty they receiv ed the most effici en t assistance fromMr James Fraser

,plasterer, whose skill and styl e of hand

l ing would do no discredi t to a London artist. Just as theparty were abou t to separate the clock ch imed the hour ofone; and al though ten individuals were present at the last

,

i ncluding Provost Murray, Mr Ham i l ton , writer, andRectorM‘Millan , the largest hat of thewhole was found too nar

row to receive the skull—a suffici en t proof of its ex traordinary si z e. Early ou Tuesday morn ing a l eaden box wasmade, and carefully l ined wi th the softest materials, and onthe same day we, as i n duty bound, wi tn essed the re- i n term en t of thesacred rel ic i t contai n ed, prev i ous to t he funeralo fMrs Burns . The pious wish expressed by Mr Matthews,has at l ength been grat ified , by remov i ng theoriginal tombs ton e from the vaul t, and placing it wi th in the i ron rail i ngwh i ch protects the sculpture . In accompl ish ing th is thesa i d rai l ing had to b e sl igh tly enlarged and the stone nowoccup ies a posi tion wh ere i t can be seen by allwi thou t beingtrode upon , or inj ured by any. The i nscriptions upon i tare as follow,

the clos i ng on e hav i ng been ch iselled wi th i nthe last few days

In m emory of Robert Burns, who died the 2lst July,1796, i n the 3 7th year of his age; andMaxwell Burns, whodied 25th April, 1799, aged two years and n in e months.

MEMO IR or? BURNS . 259

Also, of Francis W'

allace Burns, who died 9 th July, 1803 ,aged 14 years . Also , of Jean Armou r, relict of the poet,born February , 1765 , died 26th March ,

t at follows is from the pen of M r BlacklockOn Monday n igh t . S lst March , 183 4, Mr John M‘Diar

m id, Mr Adam Ranki ne, Mr James Kerr, Mr James Bogi e,Mr Andrew Cromb i e, and the subscriber, descended intothe vau l t of the Mausoleum for the purpose of exam in i ngthe remai ns of Burns, and, i f possible, procuring a cas t ofhis skull . Mr Crombi e having wi tn essed the exhumationof the bard’

s remai ns in 1815, and seen them deposi ted i nthe i r presen t rest ing- place , at once pointed ou t the exactspot where the head would b e found , and a few spadefulsof loose sandy soi l b eing removed, the skul l was b rough ti n to v i ew, and carefully l i fted .

The cran ial bones were perfect i n every respect, i f weexcept a l i ttl e erosi on of thei r ex ternal table, and fi rm lyheld together by thei r sutu res even the del icate bon es ofthe orb i ts, wi th the trifl i ng except ion of the os unguis i nthe l eft, were sound and uninju red by death and the grave .

The superior max illary bones st ill retai n ed the fou r mostposterior teeth on each s ide, i ncluding thedentes sapi en tiae.and all wi thout spot o r blem ish ; the incisores, cuspidat i ,&c., had, i n all probab il i ty, recently dropt from thejaw,

forthe alveol i were but l i t tl e decayed . The bones of the faceand palate were also sound . Som e smal l port i ons of blackhai r, wi th a very few gray hai rs i n term ix ed, were observedwh i l e detach i ng some extraneous matter from the occiput.Indeed noth i ng could exceed the h igh state of preser vat ioni n wh i ch we found t he bones of the cran ium

,or ofl

’

er a

fai rer opportun ity of supply i ng what has so long b een des iderated by phrenologis ts,—a correct model of our immortal poet’s head : and, i n order to accomplish th is i n t he

most accurate and sat isfactory manner,ev ery particl e of

sand, or other foreign body, was carefully washed off. and

the plaster of Paris appl i ed wi th all the tact and accuracyofan experi enced artist. The cast is adm i rably taken

, and

260 ME MOIR or BURNS .

cannot fai l to prove h ighly i n teresti ng to ph renologists andothers .

Hav i ng completed our i n ten tion , the skull , securelyenclosed i n a l eaden case, was agai n comm i tted to the earthprecisely where we found i t.

ARCHD . BLACKLOCK.

‘ D Ue RrBS , 138Ap ril, 183 4.

Theeffects left byMrs Burnswere sold by auction on thel0th and l lth April, and real i zed a handsom e sum ofmoney,apart from the plate, books, and pictures, and reta in ed relicsof particular valu e, such as the desk upon wh i ch the poetwrote , and the shelved press that contained his small butwell-selected l ibrary. During the fi rst day

’

s sal e the attendence was large, and i ncluded persons of the h ighestconsiderat ion . The auction eer commenced wi th small art icles, and when he cam e to a broken copper coffee-potthere was so many b idders for even a dilapidated rel ic

,that

the price paid exceeded twen ty-fold the i n trinsi c val ue. A

tea-kettle of the same metal succeeded, and reached the

h igh poin t of £2 sterling and a pai r of brass candlesticks( the state on es at Ellisland) were bough t on commissi on forMr Forrest, cloth i er, London— price £2, ls. Ofthe l i n ens, atable- cloth , marked 1792, was knocked down at £5, 7s. ,

wh ich, speaking commercially, may be worth half-a-crown orfi v e sh i ll ings. Many other articles commanded handsomeprices, and the older and plai n er the furn iture the better i tsold. S ti ll not a few th i ngs wen t b elow thei r value, partienlarly such as were handsome and of modern construction .

On the 11th , theattendance was much th i nner, from the im

pression that few,i f any, rel ics rema ined on hand bu t th is

was a m istake, and as the day advanced the Spi r i t o f competi tion becam e very keen . The rusty i ron top of a showe rbath, wh ich Mrs Drinlop of Dunlop sent to the poet whenafflicted wi th rheumat ism , was bought by a Carlisl e gentleman for 28 sh i ll ings ; andwhat is more extraord inary, a

low wooden ki tchen chai r, on wh i ch the late Mrs Burnssat when nu rs ing her ch i ldren , was run up to £3 , 75. The

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262 MEMO IR or BURNS .

wi th what en thusiasm he regards e very th i ng relating toh is father, whose songs he s i ngs wi th great feeling and

effect. I am happy to say, that I th i nk Captai n Jam esGlencai rn Burns, a character worthy of all honour and re

spectfit Of Captain Wi ll iam Nicol Burns I know but

l ittle , except that he has been v ery dut iful to h is motherand as he is r ising i n the Company

’

s serv ice, I have no

doub t bu t he is a brave and good fellow.

Gilbert Burns, the poet’s only brother, was a man ofstrong natural par ts , and sh rewd good common sense ,bu t wi thout gen ius . In person he was si ngularly l ikeWordsworth the poet . I never, indeed, saw two broth ersso amaz ingly l ike, save that there was rather more bri lliancei n Gilbert’s eye. Shortly after the death of the poet, heremoved from Mossgiel to a farm near Closebu rn i n Dum

frieshire. At a latter period hebecame factor to thenoblefam i ly of Blan tyre, on thei r estates i n East Loth ian . Hemai n ta in ed and honoured his aged mother

,who died unde r

h is roof. He had left Closeburn the year before I wen tto l ive there , but his mother and ybungest s ister, wi th herhusband and fam ily, then resided there, and I saw themevery Sabbath-day at church , wh ich was all the acquain

tance I had of them . The poet’s mother was, to me a t

l east , a very i n teresting old matron . She seemed part ienlarly serious and devout , was always n eat and clean , wi tha plai n cap and lawn border, and a vel vet hood over i t

, and

sometimes an old- fash ion ed s i lk bonnet.I was considerably well acqua in ted wi th Gilbert and h is

two eldest sons, Wi ll iam and Robert . One of these diedi n his twenty-second year, after pass ing through the Collegeand Div i n i ty Hall , wi th h igh approbation . He resembledthe poet greatly i n person and features, and his father’sh eart being greatly bound up i n him , he never overcamehis loss bu t died on the 27th of Apri l

,1827, at h is beau

S ince the above was written, Captain James Glencai rn Burnsh as been raised to the rank of Major in the army of the EastIndra Company.

MEMOIR or BURNS . 263

t i ful cottage i n East Loth ian , i n the 76th year ofhis age,leav i ng five sons andfive daugh ters l iv ing. His am iable eldest s ister Ann i e has di ed s ince, at the same place. It shouldno t b e om i tted, that, on the publicat ion of his editi on ofh is b roth er’s works, i n 1819, Gilber t repaid, wi th i nterest,the sum wh i ch thepoet advanced to him i n 1788. Throughl ife, and i n death , hemai n ta i n ed and j ust ified the prom iseof his vi rtuous youth , and seems i n all respects to have resembled his father, of whom Murdoch , l ong a fter hewas n omore, wrote i n language honourabl e to his own heart : O

for a world of men of such disposi t ions ! I have often wished, for the good of mankind, that i t were as customary tohonour and p erpetuate the m emory of those who excel inmoral recti tude as i t is to extol what are called heroic act ions th en would themausoleum of the fri end ofmy youtho v ertop and surpass most of those we see i n Westmi nsterAbbey

POEM S

WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF BURNS .

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS .

BY WILL IAM ROSCOE, ESQ .

REAR h igh thy bleak maj esti c h i lls,Thy shelter

’

d valleys proudly spread,And, S corra , pou r thy thousand rills,And wave thy heaths wi th blossoms red

But , ah what poet now shal l treadThy a i ry h eights, thy woodland reign ,

S i nce he the sweetest bard is deadThat ever breath’d the sooth ing strai n ?

As green thy towering p ines may grow,

As clear thy streams may speed along,As brigh t thy summ er suns may glow,

As gaily charm thy feathery th rong ;But now, unheeded is the song,And dul l and l ifeless all around,

For h is wi ld-harp l ies all unstrung,And cold the hand that waked its

'

sound.

What tho’ thy vigorous offspring r ise,In arts, i n arms, thy sons excel ;

Tho’ beauty i n thy daughters

’ eyes,An d heal th i n every feature dwell

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266 roams WRITTE N IN

Wak’

d by his rust ic pipe, meanwh i leThe powers of fancy cam e along,

An d soo th’

d his lengthen’

d hours of to ilWi th native wit and sprigh tly song.

—Ah ! days of bl iss , too swi ftly fled,When vigorous heal th from labour springs ,

And bland con tentment smooths the bed,And sleep his ready opiate brings

And hovering round on a i ry wingsFloat t he l igh t forms of young des i re,

That of unutterable th i ngsThe soft and shadowy hope inspi re.

Now Spells of m igh ti er power prepare,Bid brigh ter phantoms round him dance

Let Flattery spread her viewless snare,And Fame attract his vagran t glance ;

Let sprigh tly Pleasure too advance,U nveil

’

d her eyes, unclasp’

d her zone,

Till lost i n love’s deli rious tranceHe scorn the j oys his youth has known .

L et Fri endsh ip pour her brigh test blaze,Expanding all the bloom of soul ;

And M i rth concentre all her rays,And poin t them from the sparkl ing bowl

And let the careless momen ts rollIn social pleasures unconfined,

And Confidence that spurns controlUnlock the i nmost springs of m ind

And l ead h is s teps those bowers among,Wh ere elegance wi th splendour vi es,

Or S ci ence b ids her favour’d throng,To more refin

’

d sensat ions r ise

MEMORY or? BURN S . 267

Beyond the peasant’

s humbler j oys,And freed from each laborio us str ife,

There l et him l earn the bliss to prizeThat wai ts the sons of polish

’

d l i fe .

Then wh i lst his th robbing veins beat h i ghWi th every impulse of del igh t,

Dash from his l i ps the cup ofjoy,And sh roud the scen e in shades of n igh t ;

And let Despair, wi th wizard ligh t,Disclose theyawn ing gulf b elow,

And pour i ncessan t on his sigh tHer specter

’

d i lls and shapes of woe

And Show ben eath a cheerless shed,Wi th sorrowi ng h eart and stream ing

In si l en t gri ef where droops her h ead,

The partner of his early j oysAnd l et his i n fan ts’ tender cri esHis fond parental succou r claim,

And b id him h ear i n agoni esA husband’s and a father’s name.

’

Tis don e, the powe rful charms succeedsHis h igh rel uctan t sp iri t b ends ;

In b i ttern ess of soul he bleeds,Nor longer wi th his fate con tends.

An idio t laugh thewelki n rendsAs gen i us thus degraded lies

Ti ll p i ty ing Heaven the vei l extendsThat shrouds the Poet’s ardent eyes.

-R ear h igh thy bleak majestic h ills,Thy shelter

’

d vall eys proudly spread,And , S COTIA, pour thy thousand rills,And wave thy heaths with blossoms red

268 POEMS WR ITTEN IN

But never more shall poe t treadThy a i ry heights, thy woodland reign ,

S i nce he the sweetest hard is deadThat ever breath’

d the sooth i ng strain .

STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT BURNS.

BY EDWARD RU S IITON.

Pooa ,wildly sweet uncultur’d flower,

Thou lowl i est of theMuse’s bow’r,S tern ru in’s ploughshare, ’

mang the stowre,Has crush’d thy stem

,

And sorrowing vers e shall mark the hour,Thou bonni e gem .

’Neath the green turf, dear Nature’s ch ild,S ublime , pathet ic, artless, wi ld,Ofall thy qu ips and cranks despoil

’d,

Cold dost thou l i eAnd many a youth andmaiden m ild

Shall o’er thee s igh.

Those pow’rs that eagle-wing

’

d could soar,That heart wh ich ne’er was cold before,That tongue wh ich caus

’

d the table roar,Are now laid low,

And Scotia’

s sons shall hear no moreThy rapt

’

rous flow.

Warm’

dwith a Spark o’ Nature’s fire ,From the rough plough thou didst aspireTo make a sordid world adm i re ;

And few l ike thee,Oh ! BURNS, have swept them i nstrel’s lyre

IVith ecstacy.

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£70 POEM S WRITTEN IN

Yet, wh en thy fram e was rack’

d wi th pai n ,Could keep aloof,

And eyewi th opulen t disda i nThy lowly roof.

Yes, proud Dumfri es , oh I would to HeavenThou hadst from that cold spot been driven ,Thou m ight’s t have found some slielt ’ring haven

On th is s ide TweedYet, ah e’en here, poor bards have striven ,

And di ed i n n eed .

True gen ius scorns to flatter knaves,Or crouch am idst a race of slaves ;His soul , wh i le fierce the tempest raves,

No tremor knows,

And wi th unshaken n erve he b ravesL i fe’s pelting woes .

No wonder, th en , that thou shouldst findTh

’

av erted glance of half mankindShouldst see the sly, slow, supple m i nd

To weal th aspi re,Wh i le scorn , n eglect, andwan t, combin

’dTo quench thy fire.

\Vh ile wi n try wi nds pipe loud and strong,The liigh

-

perch’

d storm-cock pours h is song ;So thy E olian lyre was strung

’M idst ch i ll ing timesYet cl early didst thou roll along

Thy rou th of rhymes .

And oh 3 that routh of rhymes s hall raiseFor thee a last ing p ile of pra ise .

Haply some wing, i n th ese our days,Has loft i er soar’d

MEMORY or BURN S . 271

But from the heart more m elting laysWere never pour

’d.

Where Ganges rolls his yellow t ide,Where blest Columbus’ waters gl ide ,Old Scotia’s sons, spread far and wide,

Shal l oft reh earse,Wi th sorrow some , but all wi th pride,

Thy’witch ing verse .

In early spring, thy earthly bedShall b e wi th many a wi ld flow’r SpreadThe violet there her sweets Shall shed,

In humble gu ise,And there themoun ta i n-da isy

’

s headShall duly rise .

Wh i l e darkn ess re igns, should b igotry,Wi th boi li ng blood, and bended knee,Scatter the weeds of i nfamy

O’

er thy cold clay,Those weeds, at l igh t’s fi rst blush, shall be

Soon swep t away.

And when thy scorn ers areno more ,The lonely glens, and sea-beat shore,Where thou hast croon ’

d thy fancies o’e r

Wi th soul elate,Oft shall the bard at e v e explore ,

And mourn thy fate .

272 roams WRITTEN IN

STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS .

BY T. CAMPBELL .

SOUL of the poet ! wh eresoe’er,Reclaim

’

d from eart h , thy gen ius plumeHer wi ngs of immortal i ty,

Suspend thy harp i n happier sphere,And wi th th i n e i nfluence i llumeThe gladness of our j ub ilee .

And fly, l ike fiends from secret spell ,Discord and S tri fe, at Burns’s name,Exorcised by h is m emory

For hewas ch i ef of bards that swellThe heart wi th songs of social flame,And h igh delicious revelry.

And Love’s own stra in to him was given ,To warble all its ecs tas i es,Wi th Pyth ian words , unsough t, unwill

’

d,

Love, the surv iv ing gift of Hea ven ,

The choi ces t sweet of paradiseIn l ife’s else b itter cup dist ill’d.

Who, that has melted o’er his lay

To Mary’s sou l i n heaven above,

But pictured sees , in fancy strong,The landscape and the l ive- long dayThat sm iled upon th eir mutual love ?Who that has felt forgets the song ?

Nor skill’d one flame alon e to fan,

His count ry’

s h igh-soul’d peasantryWhat patrio t pride he taugh t ! How much

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POEM S WRITTEN IN

It is themuse that consecra tesThe native honours of the brave,Unfurl ing, at the trumpet’s breath,

Rose, Th istl e, Harp .

’Tis she elates

To sweep the field or r ide thewav e,

A sun-burs t i n the storm of death .

And thou , young hero, when thy pallIS cross

’

dwi th mournful sword and plume,When public gri ef begins to fade,

And only tears of kindred fall,Who bu t the bard shall dress thy tomb ,And greet wi th fame thy gallant shade 9

Such was the soldier Burns, forgi veThat sorrows of m i n e own i n trudeIn strai ns to thy great memory due.

In verse l ike th i ne, 0 could he l i ve,The friend I mourn’

d, the brave, the goodEdward, that di ed at Waterloo .

Farewell , h igh ch i ef of Scottish song !That could’

st alternately impartWisdom and raptu re i n thy page,

And brand each v ice wi th sati re strong\Vhose l in es aremottoes of the heart,\Vhose truths electrify the sage .

Farewell , and n e’er may envy dare

To wr ing on e baleful poison dropFrom the crush

’

d laurels of thy bustBut , wh i l e the lark s i ngs sweet in air,

S till may the grateful p ilgrim stopTo bless the Spot that holds thy dust.

MEMORY OF BURNS . 275

SONG FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS .

AIR D a inty D avie.

WHEN Januar’ wi n’s war rav in’ wyl’

,

O’

er a’

t he districts 0’ our isl e,

There was a callan born i n Kyl e,An’ hewas christen ’

d Robi n0 Rob in was a dai n ty lad,Can ty Robin , rhym in

’ Rob i n ;It made the goss i ps unco gladTo hear the cheip 0

’ Robin .

That n e’er- to-be-forgotten mornWhen Coila’s darling son was born ,Auld S cotland, on her S tock-an’

horn,

Play’d welcom e hame ’ to Rob i n

An’ Rob i n was the bl i thest loon ,Bantin’ Rob in , rhym i n

’ Robin ,That ever sang aneath themoon ,We’ll a’ be proud 0

’ Rob in .

The Muses round his cradle hung,The G races wat h is i n fan t tongu e ,An’ Independence wi’ a rungCried, Red the gate for Robin IFor Rob i n’s soul-arousi ng ton es,Banti n’ Rob in

,rhym i n

’ Robin ,Gart tyran ts tremble on thei r thrones,We’ll a’ b e proud 0 ’ Robin .

The following song was sent to me at London just beforethe great Scottish dinner, and I got a professional gentleman to

published.

It was S igned D . Vedder, and has, I am told, been sinceIt is a. capital song, and sings well to the air ; de

serving a place h ere as the tribute of one rising Scottish Bard tothe memory of another.

Q A Q

276 roams WRITTEN IN

Then let’s devote th is n ight to m i rth ,An’ celebrate our Poet’s bi rth ,Wh i le FREED OM preaches on the earthShe’ll tak her text frae Rob in0 Robin’s magic notes shall ring,Rantin

’ Robin , rhym i n’ Rob in

,

W'h i le r i vers run an’

flow’

rets spring,Huzzah ! huzzah for Rob in !

ON VISITING THE GRAVE OF BURNS.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

Mm crowded obel isks and u rnsI sough t the untimely grave of BurnsSons of the hard, my h eart sti ll mourns

Wi th sorrow trueAnd more would gri eve, but that i t turns

Trembling to you !

Through twil igh t shades of good and il lYe now are panting up l ife

’

s h i ll,And more than common strength and skill

Must ye display,If yewould give t he. better wi ll

Its lawful sway .

Hath nature strung your nerves to bearIntemperance wi th l ess harm, beware !But i f the poet’s wit ye share,

L ike him can SpeedThe social hour—for tenfold care

There will be n eed.

Even honest men deligh t wi ll takeTo spare your fail ings for his sake,

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278 POEMS WRITTEN IN

BURNS .

BY F. G. HALLECK.

THE memory of Burns—a nameThat calls, when brimm

’

d her festal cup,A nation's glory and her shame,

In S ilent sadness up.

A nation’s glory—be the restFo'

rgot—she

’

s canon ized his m i ndAnd i t is joy to speak the bestWemay of human kind.

I’ve stood beside the cottage-bedWhere thebard~

peasant first drew breat h ,A straw-thatch

’

d roof above his head,A straw-wrough t couch ben eath.

And I have stood beside the pile,His monumen t—that tells to heaven

The homage of earth’s proudest isleTo that bard-peasan t given .

There have been loftier th emes than his,And longer scrolls, and louder lyres,

And lays l i t up wi th poesy’s

Purer and hol ier fires.

Yet read thenames that know not deathFew nobler ones than Burns are there,

And few have won a greener wreathThan that wh ich binds his hai r.

His is that language of the heartIn wh ich the answeri ng heart would speak,

MEMORY or BUBNS . 279

Thought, word, that b ids thewarm tear start,Or the sm il e l igh t the cheek.

And his, that musrc to whose toneThe common pulse of man keeps t ime,

In cot or castl e’s mirth of moan,In cold or sunny cl ime.

What sweet tears dim the ey es unshed ,What wild vows falter on the tongu e,When Scots wha haewi’Wallace bled,’

Or Auld Langsyne,’ i s sung !

Pure hopes that l ift the soul above,Come with the cotter’s hymn of praise,

And dreams of youth , and truth, and love,Wi th Logan ’s ’ banks and b raes .

And when he breathes his mas ter-layOfAlloway

’

s witch-haun ted wall,All pass ions i n ou r fram es of clayCbme thronging at his call .

Imaginat ion’s world of air,And our own world, its gloom and glee,Wit , pathos, poetry are there,And death's sublimi ty.

Praise to the hard ! hiswords are driven,

L ike flower-seeds by thefar winds sown ,Where’er beneath the Sky of heavenThe b i rds of fame have flown.

Praise to theman ! a nation stoodBeside his coflin wi th wet eyes,

Her brave, her beauti ful, her good,As when a loved on e dies.

POEMS WRITTEN IN

And st ill, as on h is funeral day,Men stand his cold- earth couch around,Wi th themute homage that we payTo consecrated ground .

And consecrated ground i t is,The last, the hallow’d home of oneWho l ives upon all memories,Though wi th the buri ed gone .

Such graves as his are pilgrim shrin es ,Shrines to no code or creed confined

The Delph ian vales, the Palest ines,The Meccas of them ind.

Sages wi th wisdom’

s garland wreathed,Crown

’

d kings andm i tred pri ests of power,And warriors wi th their bright swords sheathed,Them ighti est of the hour ;

And lowl i er names, whose humble homeIs l i t by fortun e

’

s dimmer star,Are there—o’er wave andmountai n come,From countri es near and far

Pilgrims whose wandering feet have press’d

The Swi tzer’s snow, the Arab’

s sand,O r trod the piled leaves of theWestMy own green forest land .

All ask the cottage of his bi rth,Gaze on the scen es he loved and sung,

And'gather feel ings not of earth,His fields and streams among.

They l inger by the Doon’

s low trees,And pastoral Ni th, andwooded Ayr,

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2c POEM S WR ITTEN IN

Shall charm a’ Caledon ian swa ins,

Bai th young and aul’

Wh i le mounta in da is ies deck our plainsThey

’ll touch the saul.

His dea th wi’ far mai r grief we learn ,That, on reflection , we discernLong m igh t we had our fav ri te bai rn ,

In health fu’ s ickerO curse the fallows did him l earn

To toom the bicker.

But let us not, as chatteri ng fools,

Proclaim his fauts, l ike En vy’

s to ols,Wha seek

,out darkn ess j ust l ike owls,

Dark, dark i ndeed,But a

’

his fai l ings co’er wi mools,Now S ince he’s dead.

As bright a geni us death has tornAs thee, famed Scotia, did adorn,L ike Phoebus, when he Springs at morn ,

Clear was his headWhat n ews could mak us mai r forlorn

Than—Robin’s dead !

Thewinter n igh ts I’ve cheer’d by turnsWI

” Ramsay, Fergusson , andBum s,

The first twa cau ld are i n their urns,Thei r saul’s at rest,

Now, weeping Caledon ia mournsHim, last and best .*

The above verses were composed by the lateWilliam Reid,

of the very respectable firm of Brash Reid, Booksellers, Glasgow. Mr Reidwas a most enthus iastic adm irer of Burns, possessed a rich fund ofnative h umour, andwas the au thor of severalpoems in our vernacular dialect that merit preservation. Why ,in these days ofuniversal gossip, have they not found a collector?

MEMORY OI' BURN S .

ON BURNS’ ANNIVERSARY,

BY HUGH AIN SLIE .

WE meet not h ere to honour on eTo gear or grandeu r born ,

Nor one whose bloodiness of soulHath crowns and kingdoms torn .

No, tho’ he’d honours h igher farThan lordly things have known ,

His t i tl es spring not from a prince,His honour from a th ron e .

Nor needs the bard of Coila, artsHis honour to prolong,

No flattery to gild his fameNo record but his song.

0 wh i le old Scotia hath sonsCan feel his social m i rth ,

So long shall worth and hon estyHave brothers upon earth .

So long as lovers , wi th his song,Can Spurn at sh i n ing dust,

So long hath fai thful woman’s breastA bosom shemay trus t.

And wh i l e his.

i ndependen t strai nCan make one spir i t glow,

So long shall freedom have a fri end,And tyranny a foe

Here’s to the soci al , honest man ,

Auld Scotland’s boast and pr ide !

284 POEMS WRITTEN IN

And here’s to Freedom’

s worsh ippersOf every tongue and trib e.

And here’s to them, th is n ight, that meetOut o’er the social bowl ,

To raise to Coila’s darl in g sonA monument of soul.

What heart hath ever matched his flame ?What spiri t matched his fire ?

Peace to the pr ince of Scottish song,Lord of the bosom’

s lyre!

ON THE ANNIVERSARY , OF BURNS’BIRTH-DAY ,

BY JAME S MONTGOMERY.

WHAT b ird i n beauty, fl ight, or song,Can wi th the Bard compare,Who sang as sweet and soar’d as strong,

“

AS ever ch i ld of air ?

His plume, his note, his form, could BURN S ,For wh im or pleasure, change

He was not on e, but all by turns,Wi th transmigration strange

The blackbird, oracle of spri ng,When flow’

d his moral layThe swallow, wheel ing on thewing,Capriciously at play

Thehummi ng-bird, from bloom to bloomInhal ing heavenly balm

The raven i n the tempest’

s gloomThehalcyon in the calm

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POEM S WR ITTEN IN

ON BURNS .

BY ANDREW MERCER.

THE lark that bu ilds the lowest n es tSoars on the h igh est wi ng ;

Shemoun ts aloft with dewy breas t,And hails the open ing spr ing.

In amb i en t heaven her course is bright.Wi ld caroll ing on h igh

Remote , beyond the reach of sightHer voice is melody.

Burns l ike the lark, thy home was low,

L ike her thy song was sweetThe da isy on the moun tai n

’

s browWas not more n eighbour meet.

In rustic n umbers warbl ing wild ,Th i n e were the sweetes t strai ns

T hat ever i n the lowly fieldDel ighted Scottish swai ns.

They will del igh t from age to age,And wide thy glory Spread

As thewise sayi ngs of the sageS eem wiser wh en he’s dead .

Tho’ here thy course was but a Span ,And earlv sunk in gloom ,

Th i n e immortal i ty began ,And dated from the tomb .

L ike as the birdthat fable singsFrom ashes grows anew,

MEMORY OF BURNS . 287

And soars on st i ll more v igorous wings,And far more glorious hue

So, Bu rns, unti l the end of time,Thy fam e shall sti ll abound

In voice unborn , in un tri ed cl ime,Thy song Shal l yet resound .

ROBIN’S AWA

AIB Therewill never bepeace t ill Jamie comes

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD .

AB n ight, 1 the gloami ng, as late I pass’

d by,

A lass i e sang sweet as Shem ilkit her kye,An ’ th is was her sang, wh il e the tears down did fa

’

O there’s nae hard 0’ nature S in ’ Rob i n’s awa !

The bards 0 ’ ou r couh try, now s ing as they may,

The best 0 ’ thei r di tti es but maks my heart waeFor at the bli the strai n there was ane beat them a

’

,

O there’s nae hard 0 ’ nature sin’ Rob in ’s awa !

Auld Wat he is wi ly and pleas es us fine,Wi’ his lang-nebbit tal es an’

his ferl i es langsyneYoung Jack is a dreamer, Wi ll s i ngs l ike a craw,

An ’ Dav i e an’ Delta, are dowy an’

slawTrig Tam frae the Heelands was ai nee a braw manPoor Jam i e he blunders an ’

s ings as he canThere’s the Clerk an’ the Sodger, the Newsman an

’

Th ey but gar me greet sa irer for him that’

s awa !

’

Twas he that could charm wi’ thewanfl' 0 ’ his tongu e,Could rouse up the auld an

’ enl iven theyoung,An ’ ch eer the bl i th e h earts i n the cot an’

the ha’

,

0 there’s nae hard 0 ’ nature sin’ Robin ’

s awa !

2 B 2

288 POEMS WR ITTE N IN

Nae sangster amang us has half 0 ’ his art ,There was nae fonder’ lover an’

naekinder heartThen wae to thewight wha wadwince at a flaw,

To tarnish the honou rs of him that’s awa !

If he had some fauts I cou’d never them see,Th ey

’re nae to be sung by sic gilp i es as me,He liki t us weel , an’ we l iki t h im a

’

,

O there’s nae sickan callan sin’ Rob in ’

s awa !

Wh ene’er I s ing late at themilkin my kye,I look up to heaven an’ say wi th a sigh ,Although he’s now gane, hewas king 0

’ them a,’

Ah there’s naehard 0 ’ nature Sin’ Robin’s awa !

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290 STRICTURE S oN scoTTISH

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN.

THE ‘Highland Q ueen ,’ musi c and poetry, was composedby a Mr M‘Vicar, purser of the Solway man-of-war.

—Th isI had from Dr Blacklock.

*

BES S THE GAWKIE.

TH IS song shows that the S cottish Muses did not alll eave us when we lost Ramsay and Oswald,1~ as I have goodreason to bel i eve that the verses and musi c are both posterior to thedays of these two gentlemen .

—It is a beautifu lsong, and i n the genui ne Sco ts tas te . We have few pas

toral compos i tions, I mean the pastoral of nature, that areequal to th isi

The following stanza from th is songwill afford readersa peep at The Highland Queen

No sordid wish , or trifl ing joy,Her settled calm ofm ind destroy ;S trict honour fills her spotless soul,And adds a lustre to the whole ;A matchless shape, a graceful m ien,All centre in my Highland Queen .

1‘ Oswald was a m usic- seller in London, about the year 1750.

He published a large collection of S cottish tunes, wh ich he calledthe Caledonian Pocket Companion .

’ Mr Tytler'

observes, thath is genius in composition, joined to his taste in the performanceof Scottish music, was natural and pathetic.

—Ritson .

Grom ek informs us, on the authority of Mrs William 9 0 pland, in Dalbeattie, Galloway,—a lady of tas te and accurate ihformation,—that Bess the Gawkie’

was written by the late Rev.

WilliamMoreh ead, m inister of Urr, in Galloway ; between whomand Burns there was afterwards no love lost, as may be seen fromthe note, vol. i . p.

SONGS AND BALLADS . 29 1

OH, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY.

IT is som ewhat S ingular, that i n Lanark , Renfrew, Ayr,

Wigton ,Kirkcudbrigh t, andDumfri es-Sh ires, there is scarcelyan old song or tun e wh i ch , from the t i tl e, &c., can b e guessedto belong to

,or b e the producti on of, these countri es. Th is,

I conj ecture, is on e of these very few ; as the ballad, wh ich

is a long on e, is called both by tradi tion and i n printed collections

,TheLass o’ Lochroyan,

’ wh ich I take to beLochroyan i n Galloway .

*

THE BANKS OF THE TWEED.

TH IS song is one of themany attempts that English com

posers have made to im i tate the Scottish manner, andwh ichI Shall , i n th ese strictu res, beg leave to distinguish by theappellat ion of Anglo-Scottish productions. The musi c isp retty good, but the verses arej ust above con tempt.

THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES .

TH IS song, as far as I know, for thefirst t ime appears herein prin t.—Wh en I was a boy, i t was a very popular songi n Ayrsh i re. I remember to have heard those fanatics, the

In th is sweep ing assertion Burns is m istaken Johnnie Faa,or the Gipsy Laddie,’ The Lowlands of Holland,’ Lord JamesDouglas,’ TheWestern Tragedy, or the False S ir John ,’ oth erwise called May Collean,

’

The Young Laird Och iltrie, Johnnie Arm strong,

’ ‘ Lady Rothwell’s Lam ent,’ O Bothwell bank,thou bloomest fair,’ with many other old traditionary ballads, areall locally identified with one or oth er of th ese proscribed counties. Burns is righ t in h is supposition of the ballad now men

t ioned referring to Loch Ryan in Galloway. The idea ofBurns’

s

Lord Gregory ’

is obv iously taken from this fine old ballad.- M.

292 STR ICTURES ON SCOTT ISH

Buchani tes ,* s i ng some of thei r nonsensical rhymes, wh ichthey dign ify with the name of hymns, to th is air.1

ROSLIN CASTLE.

THE SE beauti ful verses were the production of a R ichardHewi t,;t a young man that D r Blacklock, to whom I ami ndebted for theanecdote, kept for some years as an amanuensis. I do not knowwho is theauthor of thesecond songto the tune. Ty tler, i n his amusi ng h istory of Scots musi c,gi ves the air to Oswald b ut i n Oswald’s own collection ofS cots tun es, where heaflixes an asterisk to thos e he h imselfcomposed, he does not make the leas t claim to the tune.

SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN’ ? QUO’

SHE.

TH I S song, for genu ine humou r i n the verses , and l i velyoriginal i ty i n the air, is unparal leled. I take i t to be veryold.

A set of i tinerant fanatics in theWest of Scotland, so denom inated from th eir leader, Mrs Buchan .

—For a particular aocount of the Buchanites , see vol. i i i . p . 292.

1 Shakspeare, in h is Winter’

s Tale,’ Speaks of a Puri tan whosings psalm s to hornpipes .

”

I RichardHewit, t son observes, was taken when a boy, dur

ing the residence of Dr Blacklock in Cumberland, to lead_

h im .

—He addressed a copy of verses to the Doctor on qui tting hisserv ice .

—Among the vers es are the following linesHowoft th ese plains I’ve though tless prestWh istled or sung som e Fair distrest,Wh en fate would steal a tear. ”

Alluding, as it is sa id in a note, to a sort of narrative songs,

wh ich make no inconsiderable part of the innocent amusementswith wh ich the country people pass thewinter nigh ts, and of

wh ich the author of the present piece was a faithful rehearser.”—Blacklock’s Poems, 1756, 8vo. p . 5.

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294 STR ICTURE S ON scoTTISH

High kilted was she,High kilted was she,High kilted was she,

Her coat aboon her knee .

What mark has you r Maggi e,What mark has you r Maggie,What mark has your Maggie,

That anemay ken her bei ” (by )

Though i t by no means follows that the s ill i est verses toan air must, for that reason , be the original song ; yet Itake th is ballad , of wh i ch I have quoted part, to be the oldverses . The two songs i n Ramsay, on e of them evidentlyh is own, are never to b e met with i n thefire-s ide circle ofour peasantry wh i le that wh i ch I take to b e the old Song,i s i n every shepherd’

s mouth . Ramsay, I suppose, hadthough t the old verses unworthy of a place i n his colleet ion .

Maggy’

s a lovely woman,She proves true to no man,

She proves true to no man,

An’

has proven false to me.

Added by J. H .

To the sam e tune apparently has been sung the ancient snatchof ‘ O as the Haggis glowred, ’ wh ich has never been in print,to the best of my knowledge . I transcribe a stanza, merely toshow wi th what small deer ” our ancestors sometimes fed theirfancy

Oh as the Haggis glowrit,Oh as the Haggis glowrit,Oh as the Haggis glowrit,

Out amang the broo ;For—I suppit a

’

my ain kail,I suppit a’ my ain kail,I suppit a’ my ain kail,

And a’

my niebour’

s too.—M.

SONGS AND BALLAD S . 295

THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH .

THIS song is one of themany effusions of S cots Jacobitism .—The t i tl e, Flowers of Edinbu rgh ,’ has no manner of

conn ect ion with the presen t vers es, so I suspect there hasbeen an older set of words, of wh i ch the ti tl e i s all thatremains.By thebye, i t is s ingu lar enough that the S cott ish Muses

were all Jacobi tes .—I have pai d more atten tion to everydescription of Scots songs than perhaps any body l i v ing has

'done, and I do not recollect one singl e stanza, or even the

t i tle of themost tr ifl ing S cots air, wh ich has the least pane

gyrical reference to the fam i l i es of Nassau o r Brunswick ;wh il e there are hundreds sat i riz ing them .

-Th is may be

thought no panegyr ic on the S cots poets, but I mean i t assuch . For myself, I would always take i t as a compl imen t to have it said that my heart ran before my h ead

Poor Burns I—Thy heart indeed ran always before thyhead ; but never didst thou fail to carry thy reader

’

s heart alongwi th thee.—Instead of k indling at the indignities offered to thynative land, hadst thou been a wise and a prudent poet, thouwouldst have tuned thy lyre to the praise of som e powerful fam ily,and carefully abstained from drawing on thy h ead the resentmentof the gu ilty great, or their descendants. Thou m igh test thenhave rolled in affluence, and ceased to struggle under the insulting taunts of every little upstart in office . Thou m igh test haveflourished in thy day, and left beh ind thee an offspring securelytreading the path of honours and preferm ent, instead of leavingthy wife and ch ildren poor and pennyless, at the mercy of the

world.—All th is thou migh test have done ; but then thou wouldst

not have been a poet. -I do not m ean to say that poetry and

prudence are altogeth er incom patible ; but that,prudence wh ich

would stifle the feelingswh ich should glow in every manly bosom ,

can never ex ist with true and genuine poetry. The prudencethat would suppress the indignant strain of a Campbell at the

horrors ofWarsaw, or see unmoved the smoking villages andunhallowed butch ery wh ich followed in the train of Culloden

,

the unsoph isticated muse will ever disda in. He can never be a

poet who does not feel as a man .

”Gromek.

296 STR ICTURES oN scoTTISH

and surely the gallant though unfortunate house of S tuart ,the kings of ou r fathers for so many heroic ages, is a theme

as at: 4k as as a:

JAMIE GAY.

JAM IE GAY is another and a tol erable Anglo-Scottishpi ece.

MY DEAR JOCKIE.

ANoTHER Anglo-S cottish production .

FYE, GAE RUB HER O’

ER WI’ STRAE.

IT is self-ev iden t that the fi rst four l in es of th is songarepart of a song more anci en t than Ramsay

’

s beautiful verseswh ich are annexed to them . As musi c is the languageofnature ; and poetry, particularly songs

,are always l ess o r

more local i zed ( i f I may be allowed the verb) by some ofthemodifications of t ime and place, th is is the reason whyso many of our S cots a i rs have outl i ved the ir original, andperhaps many subsequent sets of verses ; except a singl ename, or ph rase, or sometimes on e or two l in es, simply todisti ngu ish the tunes by.

To th is day, among people who know noth ing of Ramsay

’s verses , the following is thesong, and all the song, that

ever I h eard

Gi n yem eet a bonn i e lassi e,Gie her a kiss and let her gae

But gin yem eet a di rty h i zz i e,Fye, gae rub her o

’er wi’ s trae .

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298 STRICTURE S ON , SCOTTI SH

North of Ireland, called, TheWeaver and his Shuttl e, O,

’

wh i ch , though sung much quicker, is every note the verv

tune.

THE HAPPY MARRIAGE.

ANOTHER, but very pretty, Anglo-Scottish p i eced‘

THE LAS S OF PRATY’

S MILL.

IN S incla i r’s S tatisti cal Accoun t of Scotland, th is song islocal iz ed (a verb I must use for wan t of another to expressmy idea) somewhere i n the North of S cotland, and l ikewise is claimed by Ayrsh i re .

—The followi ng an ecdote Ihad from the presen t S irW

'

i lliam Cunn ingham of Robertland, who had i t from the last John Earl of Loudon—Thethen Earl of Loudon , and father to Earl John before ment ioned, had Ramsay at Loudon , and one day walking together by the banks of Irv i n e water, n ear New-M ills, a t a

place yet called Peaty’

s M i ll , they were struck wi th theappearance of a beau t iful coun try gi rl . His lordsh ip oh

served that shewould be a fine theme for a song—Allanlagged beh i nd in returning to Loudon Castl e, andat dinn erproduced th is identical song -

j

Th e Happy Marriage’ was written by Edward Moore;1 Th is anecdote is somewhat differently told in Dr Currie’s

edition, vol. iv. No . 19 .

SONGS AND BALLADS . 99

THE TURNIMSPIKE.

THERE is a s tan za of th is excellen t song for local humour,om i tted i n this set, -where I have placed theas terisms .1

Tey tak te horse ten by t e head,And tere tey mak her stan

’

,man

Me tell tern , me hae seen te day,Tey no had sic comman

’

,man .

HIGHLAND LADDIE.

AS th is was a favourit e th em e wi th ou r later Scott ishmuses, there are several a irs and songs of that name . Thatwh ich I take to b e the oldes t, is to b e found i n the Mus icalMuseum,

’ begi nn ing, I haebeen at Crookie-den .

’- One

reason for my th i nking so is, that Oswald has i t i n his coll ection by the name of, The auld Highland Laddi e .

’—Itis also known by the name of,

‘ Jinglan John i e,’ wh ich'

is awell-known song of fou r or five stanzas, andseems to b e an

Burns says noth ing about the authorsh ip of th is humoroussong ; but we m ay mention that i t, and its counterpart , ‘ JohnHielandm an

’s remarks on Glasgow,

’

are from the pen ofDougaldGraham , Bellman in Glasgow, and author of the facetious h istories of Loth ian Tam ,

’ Leper the Tailor,’ S imple John and

h is Twelve Misfortunes,’ Jocky andMaggy’

s Courtsh ip,’ JohnCheap the Chapm an, ’ The Com ical sayings of Paddy fromCo rk with h is Coat buttoned beh ind,’ John Falkirk

'

s Carritch es,’Janet Clinker’s Orations in the soci ety of Clash in

’Wives, ’ and

a Metrical History of the Rebellion in in wh ich he h ad a

personal share, &c. &c. His works , in the form of Penny Histories

,have longform ed staple articles in theh awker’s basket and

wh ile the class ic presses of Paisley, S tirling, and Falkirk, h avegroaned with th em , the sides of the Scottish li eges have beenconvulsed with them , for the greater pa rt of a century —M.

1 Burn s has placed the as terism s between t he 9 th and loth

verses.

3 00 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTI SH

earl i er song than Jacob i te times—As a p roof of th is, i t isl i ttl e known to the peasantry by the nam e of HighlandLaddi e wh il e eve ry body knows J inglau John i e .

’

The

song begins

Jinglan John themeickleman

He met wi a lass was blythe and bonn i e.Another Highland Laddi e’ is also i n theMuseum , vol.

v whi ch I take to b e Ramsay’

s orig inal , as he has borrowed the chorus—‘ O my bonn i e Highland lad,

’ &c. Itconsists of three Stanzas, b esides the chorus ; and hashumour i n its compos i t ion—it is an excellen t, but somewha tl icen tious song—It b egins

As I cam o ’er Cai rney-Moun t,And down amang the bloom i ng h eather, &c.

Th is air, and the common High land Laddi e, seem only tobe differen t sets .

Another Highland Laddie, also i n the Museum, vol . v. ,

is the tune of several Jacob i te fragmen ts—On e of theseold songs to i t, only exisrs , as far as I know, in these fou rl ines

Whare hae ye been a’ day,

Bonn i e laddi e, Highland laddi e ?

Down the back 0 ’ Bell’s b rae,Courti n Maggi e, cou rtin Maggi e.

Another of th is name is Dr Arne’s beautiful air, calledNew Highland Laddi e.

‘

There is an older one still, beginningI canna get my mare ta’en,Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,

But i t is of no value. Only among old fash ioned people thefirst line is still the name of the air.

The following observation was found in a memorandum bookbelonging to the poet

TheH ighlanders’

P rayer, at Sherifil l’

lfuir.

O L—d, be thou wi th us ; but , if thou be not wi th us, be not

against us ; but leave it between the red coa ts and us I”

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3 02 STR ICTURES ON S COTTI SH

OWilly, weel I m i nd, I l en t you my handTo S i ng you a song wh i ch you did me commandBut my m emory

’

s so bad, I had almost forgotThat you called i t the gear and the blaithrieo

’

t .

I’

ll not s i ng about confusi on , delusi on , or pride,I’

ll s i ng about a laddi e was for a v i rtuous brideFor vi rtue is an ornamen t that t ime wi l l n ever rot,And preferabl e to gear and the blaithrie o ’

t .

Tho’

my lassi e hae nae scarle ts or s ilks to put on ,We en vy not the greatest that s its upon the thron eI wad rather hae my lassi e, tho

’she cam i n her smock,

Than a pr i ncess wi’ the gear and the blaithrie O’t .

Tho’ we hae nae horses or m enz i e ‘ at command,Wewil l to i l on our foot, and we’ll work wi

’ our handAnd when weari ed wi thout rest, we

’l l find i t sweet in any

spot,And we’ll val ue not the gear and the blaithrie O

’

t .

If we hae ony bab i es , we’ll coun t them as l en t ;

Haewe l ess, haewemai r, we wil l aye b e content ;For they say they hae mai r pleasure that wi ns but a groat,Than them iser wi’ his gear and the blaithrie o

’

t .

I’ll not meddle wi’ th’

affai rs 0 ’

the ki rk or the queenThey

’re nae matters for a sang, le t them s i nk, le t themswim

On you r kirk I ’ll n e’er encroach , b u t I’ll hold i t sti llremote,

Sae tak th is for the gear a nd the blaithrie o’t.

Menz ie—retinue—followers.

SONGS AND BALLADS . 3 03

MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN.

KATE of Aberdeen is, I b el i eve, thework of poor Cunn ingham the player ; of whom the following an ecdote ,though told before, deserves a reci tal . A fat dign i tary ofthe church com i ng pas t Cunn ingham on e S unday , as the

poor poet was busy ply i ng a fishing- rod i n some stream

n ear Durham , his nativ e country,‘ his reverence repri

manded Cunningham very severely for such an occupat ionon such a day . The poor poet, wi th that i noffensivegen tlen ess of mann ers wh i ch was his peculiar characterist i c,repl i ed

,that he hoped God and h is reverence would for

gi v e his seem i ng p rofan i ty of that sacred day, as he had

no dinn er to eat , bu t what lay at the bottom of that poolTh is, M r Woods , the player, who kn ew Cunn ingham well,and esteemed him much, assured mewas true.

TWEED - S IDE.

IN Ramsay’

s Tea- table M iscellany, he tells us that abou tth i rty of the songs i n that publi cat ion were theworks ofsom e young gen tl emen of his acquai n tance ; wh i ch songsaremarked wi th the le tters D . C . &c.

-Old Mr Tytl er, ofWoodhousel ee , the worthy and abl e defender of the beauteous queen of Scots , told me that the songs marked C ,

i nthe Tea- tabl e,’were thecomposi ti on of a Mr Crawford, ofthe house of Achnames, who was afterwards unfortunatelydrown ed com ing from France .

—As Tytler was most i n timately acquai n ted wi th Allan Ramsay, I th i nk the ancedote may be depended on . Of consequence, the beau tifulsong of Tweed- s ide is Mr C rawford’s, and i ndeed does greath onour to his poeti cal tal ents. He was a Robert Crawford the Mary he celebrates, was a Mary S tewart, of the

Cunningham was a native of Ireland—See D r Anderson’

s

Life of Cunn ingham, B ritish Poets, vol. II .

3 04 STR ICTURES ON ScoTTIe

Castle-M i lk fam ily,‘afterwards marr i ed to a Mr John

R i tch i e .I have seen a song, call ing i tself the original Tweed-side,

and sa i d to have been composed by a Lord Yester. It cons isted of two stanzas

,of wh i ch I st il l recollect thefirst

When Maggy and I was acquai n t,I carri ed my noddle fu

’

hie ;

Nae l i ntwh i te on a’

the green plai n ,Nor gowdspink sae happy as me

But I saw her sae fai r, and I lo’edI woo’d, bu t I cam e nae great speed

SO now I maun wander abroad,And lay my banes far frae the Tweedf

If the reader refers to the note in page 3 13 , he will therefind that S irWalter Scott states th is song to have been wri ttenin honour of another lady, a Miss Mary Lilias Scott. Th ere is aCopy of Cromek

’

s Reliques of Burns now before us, wi th the

following note on th is passage in SirWalter Scott's hando writing“M issMary Lilias Scott was the eldest daugh ter of John Scott ofHarden, and well known, in the fash ionable world, by the nickname of Cadie Scott, I believe, because she went to a masqued

ball in such a disguise. I rem ember her, an old lady, distinguishedfor elegant manners and h igh spi rit, though struggling under thedisadvantages ofa narrow income, as her fath er’s estate, beingentailed ou hei rs male, went to another branch Of the Hardenfam ily, then called the H igh Ch es ter fam ily. I have h eard ah

hundred times, from those who lived at the period, that Tweedside and the song called Mary Scott the Flower of Y arrow, wereboth written upon th is much adm ired lady, and could add much

proof on the subject, did space perm i t.” Walter Scott .

T The following is the other stanzaTo Maggy my love I did tell,Sau t tears did my pas sion express

Alas for_ I lo

’ed her o’er well,And thewomen lo ’

e sic a m an less.Her h eart i t was frozen and cauld,

Her pride had my ruin decreedTh erefore I will wander abroad,And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.

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3 06 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

Galloway. The poet was a Mr Alexander Lowe,ale whol ikewise wrote another beautiful song, called Pompey

’

s

Ghost.—I have seen a poet ic epistl e from him i n NorthAmer i ca,wh ere he now is, or lately was, to a lady i n S cot

Lowe was born at Kenmore in Galloway, in the year 1 750 .

He was the eldest of a num erous fam ily, and, after receiving theeducation common to the Scottish peas antry , was appointed to.the profession ofa weaver. He however foundm eans afterwardsto obtain a regular education, in the course of prosecutingwh ichhe was employed as tutor in the fam ily of Mr M ‘Gh ie ofAirds.‘A young gentleman of the name ofMiller, who had been engagedto Mary, one of Mr M‘Ghie

’

s daugh ters, was at th is period un

fortunately lost at sea, wh ich called forth Mr Lowe’s powers inthat beautiful song, Mary, weep no more for me,’ wh ich alonemakes h is h istory an object of interest to t he public.

His views were di rected to the church ; but seeingno prospectof a living, be determ ined to t ry h is fortune in America, and forthat éoun try he embarked in the year 1773 , being invi ted as tutorto the fam ily of a brother of General Wash ington

’s. From th is

circumstance, he seem s to have cherished hopes wh ich were neverrealized. He kept for som e time an academy for young gentlemen, in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and at length took orders inthe Episcopal Church , obtained a living, and became em inentlyrespectable for h is talents, his learning, and h is sociable and

pleasant manners. An event, however, soon took place, wh ichclouded them eridian of h is life, andblas tedhis happ iness for ever.Wh ile in the fam ily of Airds he had become engaged to a Sis

ter ofMary, whom he has . immortalized by h is song, and after hehad been two years in America, hewrote to her in the most impassioned strains. He soon afterwards, however, became ena

moured of a beautiful Virginian lady, and forgot h is first love onthe banks of the Ken . The lady, however, was deaf to all h is ad

dresses, and he had the m o rtifica tion to see her besto“ed on a

more fortunate and deserving lover. At the sam e time, a sisterof th is lady

’

s became passionately fond of h im ; and, in a mom entof s illy chagrin, he allowed h imself to be united to her, m erely,as he said, from a principle ofgratitude . Every propitious planeth id its h ead at the hour that made them one. She proved everyth ing bad

‘

and Lowe soon saw in h is wife an abandoned woman,totally regardless of h is happ iness, andunfaithful even to h is bed.

Overwh elmed with disappointm ent and shame, he had recourseto the m iserable expedient of dissipating, or attempting to dissipate

,at the bottle, the cares and chagrin that preyed upon h is

h eart. Habi ts of intemperance were thus formed, wh ich , withth eir usual attendants po verty and disease, brough t h im to an un

timely grave, in the 48th year of h is age.

SONGS AND BALLADS . 3 07

land—By the st ra i n of the verses, i t appeared that theyallude to some love disap po in tmen t.

THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS .

BY MR DUDGEON.

TH IS Dudgeon is a respectable farmer’s so n i n Berwicksh i r e .

I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A MIRE.

I NEVER h eard more of the words of this old song thanthe t i tl e.

The circumstances attending h is death , as described by one of

h is friends, were truly distressing. Perceiving h is end drawingnear, and wish ing to die in peace, away from h is own wretchedwalls, bemounted a sorry palfrey, and rode som e distance to thehouse of a friend. S o much was he deb ilitated that scarcelycould healigh t in the court andwalk into the house. Afterwardshe rev ived a little, and enjoyed som e hours of that vivacity wh ichwas peculiar to h im . But th is was but the last faint gleam of a

setting sun on the th i rd day after h is arrival at the house ofh isfriend he b reathed h is last. He now lies buried near Fredericksburg, Virginia, under the shade of two palm trees, but not a

stone is there on wh ich to write Mary weep no more for me.

The abandoned woman, to whom he had so foolishly linked h isfortune, m ade no inqu i ry after h im for more than a month , whenShe sent for h is horse, wh ich h ad been previous sold to defray theexpenses of h is funeral.Lowe was in h is person very handsom e. His figure was active,

well proportioned, and rather above the m iddle size. His hairwas auburn, h is eyes blue and penetrating, h is nose aquiline, andthe whole expression of h is countenance open and benevolent .These qualities, united to a lively and insinuating m anner, madeh im a favourite wi th the fair sex . He was, however; in love,more susceptible than constant ; and one act of infidelity will,

by some, be supposed to have been sufficiently pun ish ed by thesubsequent m isfortunes of h is life.

” N . B. His first love on thebanks of the Ken was, after h is death , m arried to a respectablecountry gentleman, and was alive in

3 08 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

ALLAN WATER.

TH IS AllanWater, wh ich the composer Of themusi c hashonou red wi th the nam e of the air, I have been told isAllan Water in S trathallan .

THERE’

S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.‘

TH IS i s one of themost beau tiful songs in the Scots, orany other language—The two l i n es,

And will I see h is face aga i n '

!

And wil l I h ear him speak !”

The authorsh ip of th is song has been disputed, some ascribing i t to Mrs Jane Adams, and others to William Julius Mickle.

I am not convinced yet t hat Mickle was its author ; on the con

trary, I th ink that the ev idence conta ined in the following ex“

tract from the Appendix to Cromek’

s Scottish Songs completelyoutweighs the circumstances on wh ich i t has been assigned toMickle . We may further add, that the measure and rhythm of

many of Jean Adams’ other poem s, wh ich are all of a religious

and moral cast, are so like that of th is song, as forcibly to recali t to recollection , wh ile noth ingwritten by M ickle has the re

motest resemblance to i t. The following is Mr Cromek’

s statement referred to above .

Th is song, the production of Jean Adams, wh o taugh t a dayschool at Crawford’s-dyke, in the neighbourhood of Greenock,has been deemed not unworthy the pen Of the translator of the

Lusiad. A copy of i t, in h is own hand-writing, was foundamongh is MS S . after h is decease, and appeared in the last edition of h isworks, among some original p ieces never before published. As

i t has been an uniform principle in mak ing the present collectionto establish the authenticity of each particular poem , theEditorofMr Mickle’s works was consul ted respecting the grounds of h isclaim to the song in question . In h is answer he states, thatnever having had any conversation with MrM ickle on th is ballad,he applied to his relict, wh o perfectly rem embers receiving a copyof it from Mr Mickle, but is not positive that be affi rm ed i t tobe his production , though , on being questioned, she th inks he didnot absolu tely deny i t. He adds, that her powers of recollectionhaving been impai red by a paralysis, she cannot speak dec idedlyof a conversation wh ich took place so many years ago. In Mr

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3 10 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

areworthy of the first poet.—It is long posteri o r to Ramsay

’

s days—About they ear or 72, i t came fi rs t onthe streets as a ballad and I suppose the compos i t ion ofthe song was not m uch anterio r to that peri od.

parents, and was b rough t up in a state of penury and wretchedness. Her education was therefore scanty, but i t may be presum ed that her natural talents supplied thedeficiency, as She supported h erself by keeping a little school, and at times by assistingat needle-work in gentlemen

’s fam ilies . Her poetic genius was

fi rst awakened by the perusal of a large old folio of rom ances andrhymes, and she shortly afterwards produced an Address toGrief,’ wh ich was much praised by her friends ; and encouragedher to cultivate her acquaintance with theMuses, greatly to theneglect of her humbler and more substantial occupations. She

gave up her school, and led a precarious and unsettled life forsome time. Her poem s, wh ich were scattered amongher friendsin various parts of the country, were collected by aMrDrummond,of Greenock, and pub lished for her, in one volume, by subscription, at Glasgow, 173 4. Thei r success h ighly flattered Jean’svanity, and she exported a large bale Of them to Boston, wh ich ,however, remained unsold, and shewas reduced to a state of barepoverty, subsisting ch iefly on the bounty of her friends .

“ During the tim e she kept a school at Crawford’s-dyke, sheexh ib ited som e singular traits of enthusiasm . She told her

pupils, that having lately read Clarissa Harlowe, she felt such a

deep interest in i t, and such sentiments of reverence for itsauthor , that she had determ ined to walk to London t o pay her

personal respects to Mr Richardson . Th is singular and romanticjourney She actually performed in about Six weeks, and returnedto teach her school at Crawford’

s-dyke.Oneday she told her pup ils shewould read to them a play of

Shakspeare’

s. She fixed upon Othello, wh ich Mrs Crawfordremembers she read with uncommon pathos , and was so affectedat the close of that powerful drama, that she ( Jean Adam s)actually fainted away, and rem ained for some time insensible.She treated her pupils with great tenderness, and was much he

loved by all of them , and was esteemed by all who knew her as awom an of singular p iety .

Of theclose of_ her unfortunate life few particulars areknown .

Th ere is great reason to conclude that it was ch equered by all thevarieties of disappointment and distress , for the above anecdoteclearly Shows how prone shewas to obey the impulses of thatrandom enthusiasm wh ich is ever at variance with the dictates ofprudence, and wh ich is too often the bane of the votaries Of

genius.

Some time after the year 1760 she came to the house ofMrs

SONGS AND BALLADS . 3 1 1

TARRY WOO.

TH IS is a very pretty song ; bu t I fancy that the fi rst hal fstanza , as well as the tune i tself, are much Older than the

rest Of the words.

GRA MACHREE.

THE song of Gramachree’ was composed by a Mr Poe,a counsellor at law i n Dubl in . Th is an ecdote I had froma gentleman who knew the lady, the Molly,

’

who is the

subj ect of the song, and to whom Mr Poe sen t the fi rs tmanuscrip t of his most beautiful verses. I do not rememb er any single l ine that has more tru e pathos than

How can she break that hones t heart that wears heri n its core !”

But as the song is Irish, i t had noth i ng to do i n th i scollection .

Fullarton, form erly her pup il, in a state ofbeggary and thoughat first she rejected with pride some articles of dress that wereoffered her, yet she afterwards returned and accepted of th em .

“ The following communication to the Editor by Mr FrancisRoss, Clerk to the Town’s Hosp i tal at Glasgow, is all wh ichcould be collected of her hapless and deplorable fate.

(Extract from the records of the Parish Work-house of

Glasgow. )

Glasgow, Town’s Hosp ita l, 2ndApri l, 1765.

Adm i t Jean Adam s, a poor woman, a stranger in distress :for som e tim e has been wandering about ; She cam e fromGreenock, recommended by Baillies Gray and Millar. ’

Glasgo Town ’s Hosp i tal, 9th April, 1765.

‘ Jean Adams; the stranger, adm itted on Tuesday the 2nd

current, died on the following day, and buried at the house2 ”expense .

2 D 2

3 12 STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

THE COLLIER’

S BONNIE LASS IE.

THE fi rs t hal f stanza is much Older than the days of Ramsay.—The old words began thus

The coll i er has a dochter, and, O , sh e’s wonder bonn ieA lai rd hewas that sough t her, r i ch bai th in lands and

money.

She wadna hae a lai rd, nor wad she be a ladyBut shewad hae a coll i er, the colour 0

’

her daddi e.

MY AIN KIND DEARIE, 0 .

THE Old words of th is son g are om i tted here, thoughmuch more b eautiful than these i nserted ; wh i ch weremostly composed bv poor Fergusson , i n one of his merryhumours.

—The old words began thus

I’ll rowe thee o’er the lea-rig,

My ain kind deari e, OI ’l l rowe thee o’er the lea-rig,My ain kind deari e, O

Altho’ the n igh t were n e’er saewat ,And I were n e’er saeweary, 0 ,

I’ll rowe th ee o’er the lea-rig,My ain kind deari e, O .

MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF

MR ROBERTSON, i n his S tatisti cal Accoun t of theParishof S elki rk,’ says, that Mary S cott, the Flower of Yarrow,

was descended from the Dryhope, and marri ed into the

if MARY SCOTT.

Traditiona ry Set - never beforeprinted. )

MARY’S red and Mary’

s wh ite,And Mary sh e’s the king’

s deligh t,The k ing

’

s deligh t and the prince’s marrow,Mary Scott, the flower ofYarrow.

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3 14 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE.

I HAVE b een i nformed that the tun e Of Down the burn ,Davi e,’ was the composi t ion of Dav i d Maigh , keeper of theblood slough hounds b elonging to the Lai rd of R iddel], i nTweeddal e.

BLINK O’

ER THE BURN, SWEET BETTIE.

‘

THE old words, all that I remember, are,

Bl ink over the burn, sweet Betty,I t is a cauld wi n ter n igh t

I t rai ns , i t hails, i t thunders,Themoon she gi es nae l igh t

It’

s a’ for the sake 0 ’ sweet Betty ,

That ever I t in t my waySweet, let me l i e beyond theeUn ti l i t b e break 0

’

day.

0 ,Betty wi l l bake my b read,And Betty wil l b rew my ale,

And Betty wi ll b e my love,When I come over the dal e

Bl i nk over the burn , sweet Betty,Bl i nk over the bu rn to me,

And wh i l e I hae l i fe, dear lassi e,My ain sweet Betty thou

’

s be.

is The Old set of the words that I have h eard are

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty,Blink over the burn to me ;

I would gie a’ I had in the warld

But . to be a widow for th ee.In summ er I mawed my m eadow,In hai rst I shure my corn,

In winter I married a widow,I wi sh shewas dead themorn .

Blink, 8m.

SONGS AND BALLADS . 3 15

THE BLITHSOME BRIDAL .

I EIND the BlithsomeBridal , i n James W'

atson’s collec

t ion of Sco ts poems, printed at Edinbu rgh , i n 1706 . Th iscollection , the publ ish er says, is the fi rs t of its nature wh i chhas been publish ed i n ou r own nat ive Sco ts dialect, —it IS

now extremely scarce.

"E

JOHN HAY’S BONNIE LAS S IE.

JOHN HAY’

s Bonn i e Lass i e was daugh ter of John Hav.

Earl or Marqu is of Tweeddal e, and late Countess Dowager

The youth hewas wamphlin and wandy,The lassie was qu ite fu’

o’

glee,And aye as she cried to the laddie,Com e down bonny Tweedside to me.

Blink, &c.

Com e meet me again ne’er to sever,

Come m eet whare naebody can see,

I canna th ink ye’re a deceiver,And m ean but to lich tlie me.

Blink over the burn, &c.

Th is mus t also have been an old English song—See Lear,Act 3 . scene 6

Come o’er the bourn , Bessy, to me ;Her boat hath a leak ,And she must not speak

Why she dares not com e over to thee.—M.

There is a tradition in our country that a S ir William Scottof Th irlstane was the author of th is inimitably droll song, and

that he once sung i t at an assembly in London. The Englishnob ility were so tickled by i t that they requested to h ear it again ;bu t Scott, feeling that it would not bea r explanations, respectfully declined complying. Th ey sent a deputation of youngladies to h im , who kneeled and begged to have the song overagain ; bu t he was obliged to remain obstinate . I asked LordNapier ifhe knew th is song to be h is p redecessor

’

s . He doubtedi t, and though t that a copy of i t having been found insertedamong some of that kriight

’

s own compositions, both in Latinand English , h ad given rise to the tradi tion.

—H.

The author was Francis Sempill ofBelltrees .—M.

3 16 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

of Roxburgh .—She di ed at Bro'omlands, near Kelso, some

t ime between theyears 1720 and 1740.

THE BONNIE BRUCKET LAS SIE.

THE two first l i nes of th is song are all of i t that is old .

The rest of thesong, as wel l as those songs i n the Museum ’

marked T, are theworks of an obscure, tippl ing, bu t extraordinary body of the

’ name of Tytl er, commonly known bythe name of Balloon Tytler! from his hav i ng p roj ected

James Tytler was the son Of a country clergyman in the presbytery of Brech in , and brother to Dr Tytler, the translator of

Callimachus. He was instructed by h is father in classical learning and school divinity, and attained an accurate knowledge ofthe Latin and Greek languages, and an extensive acquaintancewith b iblical literature and scholastic theology. Having discovered an early predilection for the medical profession, he was putapprentice to a surgeon in Forfar, and afterwards sent to attendthe m edical classes at Edinburgh . Wh ile a medical student, hecultivated experimental chemistry and controversial theology withequal assiduity. Unfortunately h is religious Op inions, not deemedorthodox, or Calv inistical, connected h im with a society of Glassites, and involved him in a marriage with a m ember of the so

ciety, wh ich term inated in a separation. He now settled at

Leith , as an apothecary, depending on the patronage of h is re

ligious connections ; but h is separation from the society, wh ichhappened soon after, with an unsteadiness that was natural toh im , disappointed h is expectations. When he ceased to be a

Glassite he ceased not to be a firm believer in the Ch ristian revelation, and a zealous advocate of genu ine Ch ristianity ; bu t henever afterwards h eld communion wi th any denom ination of

Christians. The neglect of h is business was the unavoidableconsequence of h is attention to religious dissensions ; and havingcontracted debts to a considerable amount, hewas obliged to re

move to Berwick, and afterwards to Newcastle. In both placeshe was employed in preparing chem ical m edicines for the druggists ; bu t the liberality ofhis employers being insufficient to preserve an increasing fam ily from the ev ils of penury, he returnedto Edinburgh , in the year 1772, in extrem e poverty, and tookrefuge from the molestation of h is creditors with in the precinctsof the sanctuary of Holyrood House, wh ere debtors are privilegedfrom arrests. At th is period his wife deserted him and their five

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STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

unknown drunken mortal is author and compiler of threefourths of Ell iot’s pompous Encyclopedia Bri tannica, wh i chhe composed at half-a-gu inea a week !

duction to the H istory Of Scotland,’ 8vo . A Poetical Translation of Virgil

’

s Eclogues,’ 4 to . A general Index to the S cotsMagaz ine A System of Chem istry,’ written at the expense ofa gentleman who was to put h is name to it, unpublished. Hegave h is assistance in preparing the System ofAnatomy publishedby A. Bell, and was an occas ional contributor to the ‘MedicalCommentaries,’ and other periodical publications of the time .

He was the principal editor of the 2d edition of the ‘Encyclo

pedia -Britannica, ’ and finished, with incredible labour, a largeproportion of the more considerable scientific treatises and h is

tories, and almost all the m inor articles. He had an apartmen‘

assigned h im in the printing- house , where he performed the

ofiices of comp iler and corrector of the press at a salary of s ix teenshillings a week ! When the th ird edition was undertaken, hewas engaged as a stated contributor, upon morc liberal terms,

and wrote a larger Share in the early volumes than is ascribed tohim in the general preface. It was h is m isfortune to be gont inually drawn as ide from the business of his employers by the

deligh t he took in prosecuting experiments in chem istry, electricity, and m echanics, wh ich consumed a large portion of h is

time and money. He conducted for some time, with success, a

manufacturing process, of wh ich he was the inventor ; ~ but afterhe had disclosed h is secret to the gentleman at whose expense itwas carried on, hewas dism issed, without ob taining eith er a Sh arein the business, or a suitable compensation for h is services. Hewas the first in Scotland wh o adventured in a fire-balloon, constructed upon the plan ofMontgolfeir. He ascended from ComelyGarden, Edinburgh , am idst theacclamations of an immense mul

t itude, and descended at a distance of a quarter ofa m ile, owingto som e unforeseen defect in the mach inery . The failure of th isadventure deprived h im of the public favour and applause, andincreased h is pecuniary diffi culties. He again had recourse toh is pen for subsistence, and, am idst the drudgery of writing and

the cares wh ich pressed upon h im daily, he exh ilarated h is spirits,at intervals, wi th a tune on the Irish Bagpipe, wh ich he playedwith much Sweetness, interposing occasionally a song of h is own

composition , sung with great animation . A solace of th is kindwas well- suited to the simplicity of h is manners, the modes ty of

h is disposition, and the integrity of h is character, such as th eywere before he suffered h is social propensities to violate the rulesof sobriety. Forgetting his old friends, be as sociated with discontented persons, and entered into a deliberate exposition of

the abuses of government in A Pamphlet on the Excise,’ and

SONGS AND BALLADS , 9

SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HAE BEEN.

THIS song is _beaut iful.—Thechorus i n part i cular is truly

pathetic. I n ever could l earn any th i ng of its author.

CHORU S .

Saem erry as we twa ha’

e been ,Saem erry as we twa ha

’

e beenMy h eart i t is l ike for to break,Wh en I th i nk on the days we ha

’

e seen .

THE BANKS OF FORTH.

TH IS air is Oswald’s .

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.

TH IS is another b eautiful song of Mr Crawford’s compos it ion . In the n eighbourhood of Traquai r, t radi t ion stillshows the old wh ich

,when I saw i t in the year

1787, was compos ed of eigh t or n in e ragged b i rch es . The

earl OfTraqua ir has plan ted a clump of trees n ear by, wh i chhe calls TheNew Bush .

’

more systematically in a periodical publi cation, enti tled ‘ The

Historical Register,’

wh ich gratified m alignity by personal invective and intem perance of language. He was concerned in the

wild irrational plans of the British convention, and publish ed AHandbill addressed t o the People,’ written in so inflamm atorya style as rendered him obnoxious to government . A warrantwas issued to appreh end h im , and he left h is native country and

crossed theAtlantic for America, wh ere be fixed h is residence inthe town of Salem , in the state ofMassachusetts , wh ere he established a newspaper in connection with a printer, wh ich be con

tinned till h is death , wh ich happened in the year 1805, in the

58th year of h is age.

3 20 STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

CROMLET’

S LILT.

THE followi ng in terest ing account of th is pla i n ti ve di rgewas communi cated to M r Riddel by Alexander Frazer Tytl er, Esq. of Woodhousel ee

In the latter end of the 16th centu ry the Ch isholmswere propri etors of the estate of Cromlecks (now possessedby the Drummonds). The eldest son Of that family wasvery

'

much at tached to a daugh ter of S terli ng of Ardoch,

commonly known by the nam e of Fa ir Helen of Ardoch.

At that t ime the opportun i ti es of meeting betwix t thesexes were more rare, consequently more sought after, thannow ; and the Scottish ladies , far from priding themselveson extens iv e l i terature, were thought suffi ci ently bookl earned i f they could make out the Scriptures i n thei r mo

ther- tongue. Wr i ting was en ti rely out of the l in e o f femaleeducation —at that peri od themost of our young men offam ily sought a fortun e, or found a grave, in France . Cromlus, when hewen t abroad to thewar, was obliged to l eav ethemanagement of his correspondence wi th his m istress toa lay

-brother of themonastery of Dumblain, i n the immediate n eighbourhood of Cromleck, and n ear Ardoch . T hisman ,

unfortunately, was deeply sensible of Helen’s charms .

He artfully prepossessed her wi th stories to the disadvantage of Cromlus ; and by m is in terpreting or keeping up thel etters and messages in trusted to h is care, be en ti rely i rr itated both . All connection was broken off betwix t themHelen was i nconsolable, and Cromlus has l eft beh i nd him,

i n theballad called Cromlet’

s L i lt,’ a proof of the eleganceof his gen ius, as well as the steadiness of his love.

Wh en the artful monk though t t ime had sufficien tlysoft en ed Helen’s sorrow,

he proposed h imself as a lover :Helen was obdurate bu t at las t, overcome by the persuas ions of her brother wi th whom she l ived, andwho, hav inga fam ily of thirty~ one ch ildren , was probably very wellpleas ed to get her off his hands, she subm i tted rather than

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3 22 STR ICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

is a song apparen tly as anci en t as ‘ Ewe-bugh ts , Mar ion ,’

wh i ch s ings to thesam e tune, and is ev idently of the North .

It begins thus

The Lord 0’ Gordon had three doch ters,

Mary, Marget, and Jean ,They wadna stay at bonn i e Castle-Gordon ,But awato Aberdeen .

LEWIS GORDON.

TH IS air is a proof how one of our ‘ Scots tun es comes tob e composed out of ano th er. I have on e of the earl i estcop i es of the song, and i t has prefixed

Tune of Tarry Woo

of wh i ch tune, a differen t set has i nsensibly vari ed into a

differen t air. To a Sco ts cr i tic the pathos of the l in e,

Tho’

his back beat thewa,

must b e very striking. I t n eeds not a Jacobi te prej udiceto b e afi'

ected wi th th i s song?

OH ONO CHRIO4

DR BLACKLOCK Informed me that th is song was composedon the i nfamous massacre

”of Gleneoe.

The supposed author of Lewis Gordon was a Mr Geddes,priest, at Shenval, in theAinzie.

—R. B.

‘

l' Lord Lewis Gordon, broth er to the then duke of Gordon,

was one of the principal supporters of the Young Chevalier ’ inthe affair of 1745- 6 . He died in 1754 .

I A corruption of Ochone a rie,’ signifying “Alas ! for theprince, or ch ief.”

SONGS AND BALLADS . 3 23

I’LL NEVER LEAVE THEE.

TH I S is another of Crawford’s songs, bu t I do not th i nki n his happ iest mann er. What an absurdi ty, to j om suchnam es as Adonis and Mary togeth er !

CORN RIGS ARE BONNIE.

ALL the old words that ever I could'

meet towere the followi ng, wh i ch seem to have been an old

0 corn r i gs and ryerigs,0 corn r igs are bonn i e

And where’er you m eet a bonn i e lass,Preen up her cockernony .

THE MUCKING OF GEORDIE’

S BYRE.

THE chorus of th is song IS old ; the rest is the work of

Balloon

The following copy of a more modern song to th is air, possesses great humour ; it was written by the late Rev. T. Nicol,Minister of Inverleith in, Peeblesh ire

Meg, m uckin’ at Geordie’s byre,Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang ;

Ilk daud o’ the scartle strack fire,Wh ile, loud as a lavrock, she sang !

Her Geordie h ad prom ised to marrie,An

’ Meg, a sworn fae to despair,Not dream in’ the job could m iscarrie,Already seem

’d m istress an’ m air

My neebours, She sang, aften jeer me,And ca

’

me daft, h alucket Meg,An

’

say, th ey expect soon to h ear meI’ the kirk, for my fun , get a fleg

An’ now ’

bou t my m arriage th ey clatter,An

’ Geordie, poor fallow ! th ey ca’

An auld doiti t bav’rol l—Nae m atter,He’ll keep me ay e b rankin an

’

braw l

3 24 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

BIDE YE YET.

THERE is a beauti ful song to th is tun e, beginn i ngAlas, my son, you l i ttl e know

”

wh ich i s thecomposi t ion of a M iss Jenny Graham,of Dum

fries .

I grant ye, h is face is kenspeckle,That the wh i te 0 ’

h is e’e is turn

’

d out ,

That h is black beard is rough as a h eckle,That h is mou

’

to h is lug’

s rax’d about ;

But th ey needna let on that he’s crazie,His pike- staff wull ne’er let h im fa

’

Nor that h is hair’s wh ite as a daisie,For, fient a hai r has he ava !

But a weel- plenish ’

d mailin’ has Geordie,An

’ routh o’

gude goud in h is k ist ;An

’

if siller comes at my wordie,His beau tie, I never wull m iss’t !

Daft gouks, wha catch fire like tinder,Th ink love- raptures ever wull burn

But wi’ poortith , h earts het as a cinder,

Wull cauld as an iceshogle turnThere’ll just be ae bar to my pleasure,A bar that’s aft fill’d me vn

"

fear,He

’

s sic a hard, near- be-

gawn m iser,He likes h is saul less than h is gear

But tho’ I now flatter h is failin’

,

An’ swear nough t wi’ goud can com pare,Gude sooth i t sall soon get a scailin

’

!

His bags sall bem ouldie nae mai r !I dream t that I rade in a chariot,A flunkie ah int me in green ;Wh ile Geordie cry

’

d ou t, he was harriet,AH

’the saut tear was blindin’

h is een ;But th o

’ ’

gainst my spendin’

he swea r aye,I’

ll hae frae h im what ser’s my turnLet h im Slip awa whan he grows wearie,Sham e fa’

me gin lang I wad mourn !But Geordie, wh ile Megwas harangu in

Was cloutin’

his breeks i’ the banks ,An

’

whan a’

h is failins She b rang in,His strang hazle p ike- staffhe taks,

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3 26 STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

TRANENT-MUIR.

TRANE NT-MUIR ’

was composed by a Mr Skirvan, a

very worthy respectable farmer n ear Haddington .

”E I hav eh eard the anecdote often , that L i eu t . Sm i th , whom hement ions i n the n inth cam e to Haddington after thepubl icat ion of the song, and sen t a chal lenge to Skirvan tom ee t him at Haddington , and answer for the unworthymann er in wh i ch he had noticed him i n h is song. Gangawa back ,” sai d the honest farmer, “

and tell Mr Sm i ththat I hae nae leisure to com e to Haddington ; but tell himto come h ere, and I’ll tak a look 0

’

him, and i f I th i nk I’mfi t to fech t h im I’ll fech t him and i f n o—I’ll do as he didI

’

ll rin9c .

TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO.

THE chorus of th i s song is old, the rest of i t is m in e .

Here,once for all, l e t me apologiz e for many S illy compo

sit ions of m in e i n th is work . Many beau t iful ai rs wan tedwords i n the hurry of other avocat ions, i f I could string aparcel of rhymes together any th i ng n ear tole rable, I wasfai n to l et them pass . He must b e an excellen t poet indeed

,whose every performance is excellent.

Mr Skirvan, or rath er Skirving, was tenant ofEast Carleton,about a m ile and a h alf to the north of Haddington.

And Major Bowle, that worthy soul,Was brough t down to the ground, man

His h orse'

being shot, i t was h is lotFor to get many a wound, man

L ieutenant Sm ith , of Irish b irth ,Frae wh om he call

’

d for aid, man ,

Being full ofdread, lap o’

er h is head,

And wadna be gainsaid, man !”

S ONGS AND BALLADS , 3 27

POLWARTH ON THE GREEN.

*

THE author of Polwar th on the Green ,

’is Capt. John

Drummond M‘Grigor, of the fam i ly of Bochaldie.

STREPHON AND LYDIA.

THE followi ng accoun t of th is song I had from D rBlacklock .

The S trephon and Lydia m en t i on ed in the song wereperhaps the lovel ies t couple of th e i r t im e . The gentlemanwas commonly known by the nam e of Beau Gibson . The

lady was the Gentl e Jean ’ cel eb rated somewhere i n M rHam i lton of Bangour

’

s poems.—» Hav i ng frequently met at

publ ic places , th ey had formed a reciprocal attachmen t,wh i ch thei r fr i ends though t dangerous, as the i r resourceswere by no m eans adequate to the i r tastes and habi ts ofl ife . To elude the bad consequences of such a conn ex ion ,S trephon was sen t abroad wi th a comm issi on , and perishedi n Adm i ral V ernon ’

s expedi t ion to Carthagena.

The au thor of th is song was Wi ll iam Wallace, Esq. ofCairnhill, i n Ayrsh i re .

I’M O’

ER'

Y OUNG TO MARRY YET.

THE chorus of th is song is old .- The r es t of i t such as

i t is, is m i n e .

I have seen an oldbroadside of th is song, printed about 1 700,bu t i t h as no m eri t . The m ore modern and usual words are byRam say. A small enclosure surrounds the classic Thorn ,’around wh ich the villagers used to dance on m arriage-days.Polwarth is situated near Dunse, in Berwicksh ire .

—M.

3 28 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

M‘PHERSON’

S FAREWELL.

M‘PHERSON, a dar ing robber, i n the b egi nn i ng of th iscen tury, was condemn ed to b e hanged at the ass iz es at Inverness. He is sa id, wh en under sen tence of death , to havecomposed th is tun e, wh ich he call ed h is own lament, orfarewell .*Gow has published a variat ion of th is fine tune as his

own composi t ion , wh i ch he cal ls , The Princess Augusta.

’

MY JO, JANET.

JOHNSON , the publ isher, wi th a fool ish del i cacy, refusedto insert the las t stanza of th is humorous ballad.

M ‘Pherson composed the song as well as the air ; sung and

played i t on the scaffold ; and then setting h is foot on h is grandv iolin, be crush ed her to p ieces, and was turned off. There aremany traditions existing about h im in the Highlands. His deathwas deeply regretted, and h ighly resented by h is clan, having beenattributed to the Laird of Grant’s old antipathy to theM ‘Pher

Sons, for he was Sherifi’

of Inverness at that time. It is said, thatwh en M Pherson sung the following stanza, he did it with such

energy and rage, that many of the onlookers both trembled and

wept.

The Lai rd ofGrant, that Highland saunt,In m igh t and m ajesty,

He pledd the life ofPeter Graham,

But let M ‘Pherson die.

Bu t into th at place wh ere I do go,Some office I expect,

And on all those h ave been my foesI will my yengeancewreak .

—H.

For a full copy of th is ballad, and an interesting accounth is trial and execution, see vol. II. p . 178—M.

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3 3 0 STR ICTURE S ON SCOTTI SH

WERE NAE MY HEART LIGHT I WAD DIE

LORD Hai les, i n the notes to h is collection Of anci en tS cots poems, says that th is

'

song was the composi tion of aLady Grissel Bai ll i e, daugh ter of the first Earl of MarchInont , and wife of George Baill i e, Esq. of Jerviswood.

’

THE YOUNG MAN’

S DREAM.

TH IS song is the composi t ion of Balloon Tytler .

STRATHALLAN’

S LAMENT.

THIS air is the composit ion of on e of the worth i est andbest hearted men l iving—Allan MastertonfSchoolmasteri n Edinburgh . As he and I were both sprouts of Jacob it ism, weagreed to dedicate thewords and air to that cause .

T0 tell thematter of fact, excep t whenmy passi ons wereh eated by some accidental cause, my Jacob i tism was merely by way of vive la baga telle.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

THE chorus of th is is old ; the two stan zas arem i n es!Up i n themorn i ng

’

s no for me,Up i n themorn ing earlyWhen a

’

the h i lls are cover’

d wi’

snaw,

I’

m sure it ’s wi n ter fai rly.

a An interestingMemoir of th is singularly excellent woman,written by her daughter Lady Murray, was lately publish ed byMrMurray, Bookseller, London . We scarcely know any book of its

size wh ich combines so much entertainm ent and edifica t ion.

'

Mr

Murray sh ould h ave publish ed it ch eaper : he surely m eant nonebu t the gentry to see it, wh ich is a great p i ty.

1 The old copy of th is song, wh ich is very excellent, will befound in vol. II . p . 216.

SONGS AND BALLAD S , 1

Cold blaws thewind frae eas t to west,The drift is driving sai rly ;

Sae loud and sh rill’s I h ear the blas t,I’

m sure i t’s wi n ter fai rly.

The b irds Sit ch i tt ering i n the thorn ,A’

day they fare bu t Sparely ;And lang’s the n igh t frae e’en to mom ,

I’

m sure it ’s wi n ter fa i rly.

Up i n themorn ing, &c.

THE TEARS OF S COTLAND.

DRBLACKLOCK told me that Smollett,who was at bottoma great Jacob i te, composed these b eautiful and patheti cverses on the i n famous depredat ions of the Duke of Cumb erland after the battl e of Culloden .

WHAT’

WH I. I DO GIN MY HOGGIE DIE.

DB IVALKER, who was M i n ister at Moflh t i n 1772,

and is now ( 179 1) Professor of Natural History i n the

Un ivers i ty of Edinburgh , told the following anecdote concern ing th is air.

—He sa i d that some gentlemen r iding a

few years ago, through L iddesdal e, stopped at a haml et cons is ting of a few houses, called MOSS Platt wh en they werestruck wi th th is tu n e, wh i ch an old woman , spinn ing on a

rock at her door, was s inging—All she could tell concerni ng i t was , that - shewas taugh t i t when a ch i ld, and i t wascall ed, What will I do gi n my Hoggi e di e.

’ No person ,excep t a few females at Moss Platt, knew th is fin e Old

tun e wh ich , i n all probab il ity, would have been lost,had not on e Of the gen tlemen

, who happened to hav e a

flute wi th him, taken i t downfi'?

See the old and newwords of th is song, vol. II. p . 221.

3 3 2 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTI SH

I DREAM’

D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERESPRINGING.

THESE two stanzas I composed when I was seven teen,and are among the Oldest of my pr i n ted p ieces.

I dream’

d I lay where flowers were springing,Gai ly i n the sunny beam

List’

ning to thewi ld b i rds s i nging,By a fall ing

,crystal stream

S traigh t the sky grew black and dari ngThro’ thewoods thewh i rlwi nds rave

Trees wi th aged arms were warring,O ’er the swell ing, drumliewave .

Such was my l ife’

s decei tful morning,S uch the pleasu res I enjoy

’

d

But lang or noon , loud tempes ts stormingA’

my flowery bl iss destroy’

d.

Tho’ fickle fortun e has deceived me,

She promis’d fai r, and perform

’

d but illOf mony a joy and hope bereav’

d me,

I bear a heart shall support me still:

AH ! THE POOR SHEPHERD’

S MOURNFUL FATE.*

Tune Gallashiels .

THE old t i tl e, Sour Plums O’ Gallash iels,’ probably wasthe beginn ing of a song to th is air, wh i ch is nowlost.The tune of Gallashiels was composed about the begin

n i ng of the presen t ( 18th) centu ry by the Laird of Galla i

Sh i els’ piper.

This beautiful songwas composed by Hamilton ofBangour.

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3 3 4 STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

WE RAN AND THEY

THE author Of We ran and they ran’—was a Rev. Mr

Murdoch M‘Lennan, m i n ister at Crath i e, Dee-side.

WALY, WALY. !

IN thewest country I have h eard a differen t edi tion ofthe 2d stanza—Instead of the four l in es, beginn ing wi th,When cockle-shells , &c.

’

the other way ran thus

O wherefore n eed I husk my head,Or wherefore n eed I kam e my hai r,

S in my fause love has me forsook,And says, he

’l l n ever luvememai r.

DUNCAN GRAY.

DR BLACKLOCK i nformed me that he had often heardthe traditi on that th is air was composed by a carman i nGlasgowi

A songwritten on the battle of Sherifllmuir.

i The verses ofWaly, Waly, I h ave found incorporated in setsof Lord Jam es Douglass, a ballad belonging to Lanarksh ire .

—M.

I If it was , i t has been very long ago, as I have traced t he songand air back for m any generations. The song began

Duncan Gray cam h ere to woo,Hey- h owe the girdin o

’

t,

On a feast- day when we were fuS ing hey the lang girdin o

’

t .

It was rath er wh at our gentry would account a queer Songbu t I have Often heard both wives and lasses S ing i t without anyreserve—H.

SONGS AND BALLADS. 23 0

DUMBARTON DRUMS.

TH IS is the las t of theWest Highland ai rs and from i tover thewhole tract of coun try to the confines of Tweedside, there is hardly a tun e or song that on e can say has

taken its origi n from any place or transacti on i n that par tOfScotland—The oldest Ayrsh i re reel, i s S tewarton Lasses,wh i ch was made by the father of the presen t S ir IValterMon tgomery Cunn ingham, al ias Lord Lysle ; since wh ichp er i od there has i ndeed been local musi c i n that country i ngreat plen ty.

—John i e Faa is the only Old song wh i ch Icould ever trace as belonging to the extens ive county ofAyr.

*

CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.

TH IS song is by theDuke of Gordon .—The old verses

are,

There’s cauld Kai li i n Aberdeen ,And Castocksi i n S trathbogi e ;When ilka ladmaun hae h is lass,Then fy e, gi e me my coggi e .§

CHORUS .

My coggi e , S irs, my coggi e, S i rs,I cannot want my coggi e

‘ Into Dumbarton there lived a rich m erchant, ’ is a songwith rath er a peculiar air, wh ich I have heard sung ; bu t it isprobably of Irish extraction . It is however old, and its localitiesrefute the observation m ade by the poet h ere . M .

f Ka il, coleworts, a plant m uch used in S cotland for pottage.t Ca stocks, cabbage stalks .

Cog, of wh ich coggie is the dim inutive (according to Ramsay), is a pretty large wooden dish , the country people put theirpottage in. It is also a drink ing vessel of the same materials,difi

'

ering from the bicker in h aving no handle .

E 2 2

3 3 6 STR ICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

I wadna gi e my three-girr’dCap

For e’er a queu e in Bogi e .There’s John i e Sm i th has got a wifeThat scrimps him 0

’

his coggi e,Ifshe were m i n e, upon my l ifeI wad douk her i n a boggie.

My coggi e, S irs, &c.

FOR LAKE OF GOLD .

THE country girls i n Ayrsh i re, i nstead of the l in e

Sheme forsook for a great duke,

For Athole’s duke sheme forsookwh ich I take to be the or iginal reading.

These words were composed by the late Dr Austi n,

physician , Edinburgh—He had courted a lady, (M issJean Drummond of Megginch ,) to whom hewas shortly tohave been marr i ed bu t the Duke of Athole having seenher, b ecame so much i n love wi th her, that hemade pro

posals of marriage, wh i ch were accepted of, and She j iltedthe doctor .

HERE’

S A HEALTH TO MY TRUE LOVE,

TH IS song is Dr Blacklock’

s .—He told me that tradi tion

gives the air to our James IV . of Scotland.

HEY TUTTI TAITI. ’

I HAVE met the t radi tion~

un i versally over Scotland, andparticularly about S ti rl ing, i n the n eighbou rhood of the

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3 3 8 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.

A PART of th is old song, according to theEnglish set ofi t, is quoted i n Shakspeare.

*

YE GODS , WAS STREPHON’S PICTURE BLEST ?

Tune Fourteenth of October.THE t i tl e of th is air shows that i t alludes to the famous

King Crispin, the patron of the honourabl e corporation ofshoemakers .

-S t Crispin’s-day falls on the fourteen th ofOctober

,old style, as the old proverb tells

On the fourteen th of OctoberWas n e’er a sutori sober .”

S INCE ROBE’D OF ALL THAT CHARM

'

D MY VIEWS .

THE old name of th is air is, The blossom o’ the Raspberry .

’The song is Dr Blacklock’s .

In the drinking scene, in Othello, Iago singsKing S teph en was a worthy peer,His breech es cost h im but a crown

He h eld th em Sixpence all too dear,With that he called the tailor lown ;

He was a wigh t of h igh renown,And thou art bu t oflow degree

’Tis pride that pulls the country down,Then take th ine auld cloak about thee. ’

The old song from wh ich these stanzas are taken, was recov

ered by Dr Percy , and preserved by h im in h is Reliques ofAhcient Poetry.

’Gromek.

Th is is the best old song I ever h eard, and whoever hearsPeter Tytler sing i t will confess as much . That i t is a Scottishsong is manifest ; for, though Shakspeare h as Englzfied it somewhat

, yet thewords lawn and a uld, wh ich hewas obliged to re

tain, fairly prove its origin—H.

f Th is song is by Ham i lton ofBangor.11: S utor—a shoemaker.

SONGS AND BALLAD S . 3 3 9

YOUNG DAMON.

TH IS air is by Oswald. (The song is by Fergusson .)

KIRK WAD LET ME BE.

TRADITION, i n thewestern parts of Scotland, tells thatth is old song, of wh ich th ere are still three stanzas extan t,once saved a covenan ting clergyman out of a scrape. I twas a l i ttl e prior to the Revolution ,—a period wh en b einga Scots covenan ter was being a felon ,—that on e of thei rclergy, who was at that very t ime hun ted by the merci l esssoldie ry, fell i n , by acciden t, wi th a party of the m il i ta ry.

The soldi ers were not exactly acquai n ted wi th the personof the reverend gentleman of whom th ey were i n search ;but, from some suspicious ci rcumstances, th ey fanci ed thatthey had got on e of that cloth and opprobrious persuas ionamong them i n the person of th is stranger. Mess John

,

”

to extricate h imself, assumed a freedom of manners veryun l ike the gloomy stri ctn ess of h is sect and among otherconv i vial exh ib i t ions, sung (and some tradi tions say, com

posed on the spur of the occasion) Kirk wad let me b e,’

wi th such effect, that the soldi e rs swore hewas a d— d

h onest fellow, and that i t was imposs ibl e he could belongto those h ell ish conventicles and so gave him his l ib erty .

The fi rst stanza of th is song, a l i ttl e al tered , is a favouri tekind of dramatic i n terlude acted at country-weddings, i nt he south-west parts of the kingdom . A young fellow is

dressed up l ike an Old beggar ; a p eruke, commonly madeof carded t ow, represen ts hoary locks ; an old bonnet ; a.ragged pla id, or surtout, bound wi th a straw- rope

,for a

girdle a pai r of old shoes, wi th straw- ropes twisted roundh is ancles, as is done by sh eph erds i n snowy weather ; h isface th ey disguise as l ike wretched old age as they can i nth is pl ight he is brough t in to thewedding-house, frequen tly

3 40 srarcrnans ON SCOTTISH

to the as tonishment of strangers, who are not i n the secretand begins to si ng

O, I am a s illy auld man,My name i t is auld &c.

He is asked to drink, and by and by to dance, wh ich , aftersome uncouth excuses, he is prevai led on to do, the fiddlerplay i ng the tun e wh i ch h ere is commonly called

‘ AuldGlenac .’ In short , he is all the t im e so pli ed wi th l iquorthat he is understood to get i n tox icated, andwi th all the

r idiculous gest iculations of an old drunken beggar, hedancesand staggers unti l he falls on the floor yet still, i n all h is

r iot, nay, in h is rolling and tumbl ing on thefloor, wi th someo r other drunken motion of h is body, he bea ts t ime to the

music, t ill at last he is supposed to be carri ed ou t deaddrunk.

MUS ING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.

I COMPO SED these verses out of compl im en t to a Mrs

M‘Lachlan,whose husband is an oflicer i n theEast Indi es.

BLYTHE WAS SHE.

I COMPO SED thes e verses wh i l e I stayed at Och tertyre

wi th S ir Wi ll iam Murray.—The lady, who was also at

Ochtertyre at the sam e time, was the well-known toas t,M iss Euphem ia Murray of Len trose, who was called, and

very j ustly, The Flower Of S trathmore.

’

f

as Glenac, on the small river A9 , in Anandale ; the seat. anddesignation of an ancient branch , and the present representative,of the gallant but unfortunate D alziels of Carnwath .

—Th is is theAuthor’s note.

1‘ She was sister to my accomplish ed and gallant friend, S ir

George Murray, who claimed for her one nigh t the superiority toall the flowers of Yarrow from me, alleging that I could not dis

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3 42 srnrcrnans ON SCOTTISH

THE BONNIE LAS S MADE THE BED TO ME.

THE Bonn i e Lass made the Bed to me,’ was composedon an amou r of Charl es I I. when skulking i n the North

,

about Aberdeen , i n the t ime of theusu rpation . He formedune p etite afi a irewi th a daugh ter of the House of Portletham,

who was the lass that made the bed to himtwo vers es of i t are

I kiss’

d her lips sae rosy redWh ile the tear stood blinkin’ i n her c’c

I said . my lass i e , dinna cry,

For ye aye Shal l make the bed to me.

She took her m i ther’s winding sheet,And o’t shemade a sark to me

Blyth e and merry may she be,The lass that made the bed to me.

ABSENCE.

A song in themanner of Shenstone.

TH I S song and air are both bv Dr Blacklock.

I HAD A HORSE AND I HAD NAE MAIR.

TH IS story was founded on fact. A John Hun ter, an

cestor to a very respectable farm ing fam i ly who l i ve i n a

place in the parish , I th i nk, of Galston , called Barr-m ill, ‘

was the luckless h ero that had a horse and‘

had nae.mair.

”

For some l ittl e you thfu l foll i es he found i t n ecessary tomake a retreat to the IVest Highlands, where “ he fee’dh imself to a H ighland Lai rd for that is the express ion of

it See the old copy of th is song, vol. ii. p . 244 .

SONGS AND BALLAD S . 843

all the oral edi tions of the song I e ver h eard . The presen tMr Hunter, who told me the anecdote, is the great-grandch i ld to our h ero .

UP AND WARN A’

, WILLIE.

THIS edi tion of the song I got from Tom Ni el,

“ of facetious fame, i n Edinburgh , The expressi on Up andwarna

’

,Wi ll i e,’ alludes to the Cran tara, or warn i ng of a Highland Clan to arms. Not understanding th is theLowlandersi n thewest and south say, Up andwaur them &c.

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

TH IS song I composed on M iss Jenny Cruikshank , onlych i ld to my worthy fri end Mr Wi ll iam Cru ikshank , of theHigh-school , Edinburgh . The air is by a David . S illar,

quondam m erchant, and now schoolmaster i n Irv i n e. Heis the Davi e ’ to whom I address my prin ted poetical epistl ein themeasure of the Cherry and the S lae.

’

AULD ROB MORRIS .

IT is remark-worthy that the song of Hooly andFai rly;i n all the old editions of i t, is called The Drunken Wi feo’ Galloway,

’ wh ich local iz es i t to that country.

Torn Niel was a carpenter in Edinburgh , and lived ch ieflyby making coffins. He was also precentor, or clerk, in one of

the churches. He had a good strong voice, and was greatly list inguished by h is powers of m im icry, and his humorous mannerof singing the old Scottish ballads.

3 44 STR ICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

RATTLIN’

, ROARIN’ WILLIE.

THE last stanza of th is song is m i n e : i t was composedout of compliment to on e of the worth iest fellows in theworld, Will iam Dunbar, Esq. wri ter to the S ignet, Edinbu rgh , and colonel of the Crochallan corps,—a club of wi tswho took that t i tl e at the t ime of raising the fencible regiments.

WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER’

S STORMS .

THIS song I composed on one of themost accomplishedof women , M iss Peggy Chalmers that was, now Mrs LewisHay, of Forbes Co .

’

s bank, Edinburgh.

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.

TH IS song I composed about theage of seventeen .

NANCY’

S GHOST.

THIS song is by Dr Blacklock.

TUNE YOUR FIDDLES , s o.

TH IS song was composed by the Rev. John Skinner,Nonj uror Clergyman at Linshart , n ear Peterh ead. He isl ikewise the author of ‘ Tullochgorum ,

’ ‘ Ewie wi’the

Crooked Horn,

’ ‘ John o’ Badenyon ,’

&c. and, what‘

is ofstill more consequence, he i s on e of the worth i est of mankind. He is the author of an ecclesias t ical h istory of Sco tland. The air is by Mr Marshall, butler to the duke ofGordon

,—the fi rs t composer of strathspeys of the age. I

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3 46 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

I am of op in ion that the present ballad is a modern com

posi t ion , - perhaps no t much abov e the age of the middleof the las t century at l east I Should be glad to see or h ea rof a copy of the presen t words prior to 1650. That i t was

these lands, is named theEarlsburn ; and the h ill near the sourceof th at stream is called the Earlsh ill ; both deriving their appellations,—according to the unvarying traditions of the country,from the unfortunate earl’s son, who is the h ero of the ballad.

It has been though t,” says thewr i ter of the S tatisticalAccountof S t Ninians,’ “ though it cannot he certainly determ ined, thattheEarl’s burn, the Earl’s h ill, - a h ill and rivulet in the muirland part of the parish ,—derived their names from the residenceof some feudal baron or earl in the neighbourhood of the Cart on.

It is natural to suppose that Gillies’ h ill, -another h ill in the

m uirland part of the parish , —derives its name from the nameG ill, or Gillies. The names both of Gillies and Morrison occurin themuirlands. It is certain that the fair lady, moth er of GillMorice, ‘ lived on the Carron- side .

’

Th is union of facts and

probab ilities suggests to the imagination, though it cannot persuade the judgment, that th is parish was the scene of the tragicalsong known by the name of Gill Morice . Sta t is tical Account

of Scotla nd, vol. xvi ii. p .—If the reverend author, instead

of stringing together h is facts and probab ili ties, had consultedsom e of the ancient sybils who were h is parish ioners in that quarter, upon the subject, hewould h ave arrived at m ore certa inty inh is deductions. T0 th ese floating traditions we are probably indebted for the attempts wh ich have been made to improve and

embellish the ballad, by the introduction of various new stanzassince its first appearance in a printed form . Of the early printededitions of th is ballad, theEditor has been unable to procure anycopy. In ‘ Percy

’

s Reliques ’ it is m entioned that i t had run

th rough two editions in S cotland, the second of wh ich appeareda t Glasgow in 1 755, 8vo . ; and that to both there was prefixed an

advertisement, sett ing forth that the preservation of the poemwas owing to a lady who favoured the printers wi th a copy, asi t was carefully collected from the m outh s of old women and

nurses,” and requesting “ that any reader who could render itmore perfect and complete, would oblige the public with such

improvements.

”This was holding out too tempting a bait not

t o be greedily snapped at by som e of those “ ingenious h ands”

wh o h ave corrupted the purity of legendary song in Scotland by

m anifest forgeries and gross impositions. Accordingly, S ixteenadditional verses soon appeared in manuscript, wh ich the editoro f the Reliques has inserted in th eir proper places, though he

righ tly views them in no better ligh t than th at of an ingeniousinterpolation. Indeed, thewhole ballad of Gill Morice, ’ as the

SONG S AND BALLAD S . 3 47

taken from an old ballad, called Ch i ld Maurice,’

now lost ,I am i ncl in ed to bel i eve bu t the p res en t on e may b e classedwi th Hardycan u te,

”r Kenneth,

’ Duncan ,’ The Lai rd ofWoodhouselie,

’ Lord L iv i ngston ,’ Binnorie,

’

TheDeathof Mon tei th ,’ and many oth er modern producti ons, wh i chhave been swallowed by many readers as anci en t fragmen tsof old poems . Th is beau t iful pla i n tive tun e was composedby Mr M

‘Gibbon , thesel ector of a collecti on of Scots tun es.

R . B.

In addi tion to the observat ions on Gill Morris,’ I add,

that, of the songs wh i ch Capt . R iddel m en ti ons, Kenn eth ’

and Duncan ’

are j uven il e compos i t ions of M r M‘Kenzie,

TheMan of Feel ing.

’—M‘Kenzie’

s father Showed them in

MS . to Dr Blacklock, as the product ions of h is son, fromwh i ch the Docto r righ tly prognosti cated that the youngpoet would make , i n his more advanced years, a respectablefigure i n theworld of l etters .

Th is I had from Blacklock .

writer of the present notice has been politely informed by S ir

Walter Scott, underwent a total revisal about the period wh enthe tragedy of ‘Douglas was in the zen ith of its popularity ; andth is improved copy, it seem s, embraced t he ingenious interpolation above referred to. Independen t altogether of th is positiveinformation , any one fam iliar with the state in wh ich traditionarypoetry has been transm itted to the present tim es, can be at noloss to detect many more “ ingenious interpolations,” as well as

paraph rastic additions, in the ballad as now printed. But thoughit has been grievously corrupted in th is way, themost scrupulousinquirer into the auth enticity of anci ent song can have no hesi tation in adm itting th at m any of its verses, even as th ey now stand,are purely tradi tionary, and fai r and genu ine parcels of antiqu ity,unalloyed with any base adm ixture of modern invention, and inno wise altered, save in those changes of language to wh ich all

oral poetry is unavoidably subjected in its progress from one ag e

to another.—M .

In the year 1 719 , the celebrated poem or ballad of Hardyknute,’ first appeared at Edinburgh, as a fragment,” in a foliopamphlet of twelve pages —Ritson .

3 48 STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

TIBBIE DUNBAR.

THI S tune is sai d to b e the compos i tion of John M‘Gill,

fiddler, i n Girvan . He call ed i t after his own name.

WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.

TH IS song was the work of a v ery worthy, faceti ous oldfellow, John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, n ear Mu i rki rkwh ich l i ttl e property hewas obliged to sell , i n consequenceof some connect ion , as securi ty, for some persons concernedi n that v i llanous bubble, TheAy r B ank. He has oftentold me that he composed th is song one day when his wifehad been fretting o’er thei r m isfort un es ;

a Th is is the very song “ that some kind husband had ad

dressed to som e sweet wife, alluded to wi th such exqu is ite delicacy in the Ep istle to J. Lapraik

Th ere was ae sang amang the rest,Aboon th em a

’ i t pleased me best,That some kind husband had addrest

TO som e sweet wife :It thrill’d the heart- strings thro’ the breast,

A’to the life .

”

Wh en I upon thy bosom lean,And fondly clasp thee a’ my aim,

I glory in the sacred tiesThat made us ane, wha ance were twain

A mutual flam e inspires us baith ,

The tender look, the melting kiss ;Even years shall ne

’er destroy our love,But only gie us ch ange 0

’

bliss .

Hae I a wish ? it ’s a’ for th ee ;I ken thy wish is me to pleas e ;

Our moments pass sae smooth awayThat numbers on us look and gaze,

Weel- pleased they see our h appy days,Nor envy ’

s sel’ finds augh t to blame ;

And aye, when weary cares arise ,Thy bosom still shall be my hame.

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3 50 STR ICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

THE TAILOR FELL THRO’

THE BED THIMBLEAND A.

’

TH IS air is the march of the Corporat ion of Tailorsfié'

The second and fourth stanzas arem in e.

the Violer,’ are belike too h is las t lay. Th ey appear to haveb een produced wh en ‘ the m instrel was infirm and old and

seem to have been intended as an addition and conclusion to h issong of ‘ Leader Haugh s and Yarrow.

’ We are sorry that wecan afford no additional information regarding Minstrel Burn .

’

The verses now given, supply us, however, wi th th is fact, that theinstrum ent wh ich Burn professed was the fiddle,—a fact wh ichwe fear som e grave and peevish readers would not give a fiddlestick to know ; but we pardon their lack of learned curiosity, andaddress ourselves only to those dear, k ind hearts , wh ich , like ourown , can deeply sympath i ze in the unassuageable griefs of the

wandering v ioler, wh ile v iewing the woful wreck and changewh ich tim e had wrough t on all th ings sublunar, especially on

that paradise of h is early days, Sweet Leader Haugh s, and thebonny banks of Yarrow.

’The Words of Burn the Violer’ are

printed after the song of Leader Haughs an’

d Yarrow,’ on the

broadside alluded to. They do not appear to h ave b een knownto Ramsay, wh en comp iling h is ‘ Tea-Table Miscellany,

’ otherwise we th ink hewould have printed th em along with the songto wh ich they form the melancholy companion. As TheWordsof Burn the Violer’ could not be well understood by those wh oare not fam iliar with his Leader Haugh s and Yarrow,’ we sub

join both . They constitute, we fear, all the remainingWorks ofBurn the Violer.

LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW.

When Phoebus b righ t, the azure SkiesWith golden rays enligh t

’

neth ,

He makes all Nature’s beauties rise,Herbs, trees, and flow’

rs he quick’

neth

Amongst all those he m akes h is choice,And wi th deligh t goes thorough ,

Wi th radiant‘ beams and S ilver streamsO

’

er Leader- Haugh s and Yarrow.

When Aries the day and nigh tIn equal length divideth ,

if Probably alluding to the old custom of the Incorporations ofthe Royal Burgh s, in Scotland, perambulating annually the

boundaries of their property—C romek.

SONG S AND BALLADS. 3 51

BEWARE O’

BONNIE ANN.

I COMPO SE D th is song ou t of compl imen t to M iss AnnMasterton , the daugh ter of my fri end, Allan Masterton , theauthor of the air of S trathallan’

s Lament, and two or threeothers i n this work. (See th is song, vol. III. p .

Auld frosty Saturn takes h is fl igh t,Nae langer he ab ideth ;

Then Flora Queen, wi th m antle green,Casts afl

’

her form er sorrow,

And vows to dwell with Ceres’ sel’,In Leader- Haugh s and Yarrow.

Pan playing on h is ai ten reed.

And shepherds h im attending,Do here resort th eir flocks t o feed,The h ills and haugh s comm ending.

With our and kent upon the bent,S ing to the sun , good-morrow,

And swear nae fields m ai r pleas ure yieldsThan Leader- Haughs and Yarrow.

An house th ere stands on Leaderside,*

Surm ounting my descriving,With rooms sae rare, and windows fai r,Like Dedalus’ contriv ing

Men passing by, do aften cry,In sooth i t hath nae marrow ;

It stands as sweet on Leaderside,AS Newark does on Yarrow.

A m ile below wha lists to ride,They’ll hear the m avis S inging

Into S t Leonard’

s banks Sh e’ll b ide,Sweet b irks her h ead o

’erh inging

The lintwh ite loud and Progne proud;With tuneful throats and narrow,

Into S t Leonard’

s banks th ey S ingAs sweetly as in Yarrow.

The lapwing lilteth o’

er the lee,

Wi th nimble wing she Sporteth

But vows Sh e’ll flee far frae the treeWh ere Ph ilom el resorteth

By b reak of day the lark can say,

I’

ll b id you a good-morrow,

Tli ii lstane Cas tle ; an ancient seat of the earl ofLauderdale.

3 52 STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

THIS IS NO MINE AIN HOUSE.

The fi rst half-stanza is old , the rest is Ramsay’

s. The

old words are

0 th is is no m i n e aiu house,My ain house, my aiu house ;

Th is is no m i ne ain house ,I ken by theb iggln o t .

I’ll streek my wing, and mounting, singO

’

er Leader- Haugh s and Yarrow.

Park, Wanton-waws, andWooden- cleugh ,The Eas t and Western Mainses,

The wood ofLauder’s fair enough ,The corns are good in Blainshes ;

Where aits are fine, and sold by kind,That ifye search all thorow

Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better areThan Leader-Haugh s and Yarrow.

In Burm ill Bog, andWhiteslade Shaws,The fearful hare she haunteth ;

Brig- h augh and Braidwoodsh iel she knaws,

And Chapel-wood frequentethYet u hen She irks, to Kaidsly b irksShe rims, and sigh s for sorrow,

That she should leave sweet Leader-Haugh s,And cannot win to Yarrow.

What sweeter music wad ye h ear,Than hounds and beigles crying

The started hare rins hard wi th fearUpon her Speed relying

But yet her strength it fails at length ,Nae b ielding can She borrow

In Sorrel’s field, Cleckman, or

And sigh s to be in Yarrow.

For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spoty, Shag,With sigh t, and scent pursue her,

Till, ah ! her pith begins to flag,Nae cunning can rescue her

O’er dub and dyke, o’

er seugh and syke,She’ll rin the fields all thorow,

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3 54 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

Th is is no my aiu weanMy ain wean , my ain wean

Th is is no my ain wean ,I ken by thegreetie o

’

t .

I’ll tak the curchie afl'

my head,Afi

‘

my h ead, afi’

my headI ’ll tak the curchie afl

’

my h ead ,And row’t about the feet ie o’

t .

The tun e is an old Highland air, call ed Shuan tru ishwillighan .

’

LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME.

TH IS song is by Blacklock.

But sigh s and sobs o’ersets my breath ,Sore saltish tears forth sending,

All th ings sublunar h ere on earth,Are subject to an ending.

So must my song though somewhat long,Though late at even and morrow,

I’

ll S igh and sing sweet Leader- Haugh s,And the bonny banks ofYarrow.

How completely Burns is wrong h ere The songs are altogether difi

’

erent z—for the original one of Th is is no my ain

House,’— see The Jacob ite Relics .

’

Theoth er is an old Bordersong, wh ich I h ave heard all my life beginning

0 hap an’ rowe, we’ll hap an

’ rowe,O hap and rowe the feetie O

’

t

I never kend I had a wean,Until I h eard the greetie o

’t .

We’ll hap and rowe, we’ll hap and rowe,We’ll h ap an

’ rowe the feet ie o’t,

It’

s e’

en a wee bit weary th ing,I downa hide the greet ie o

’

t .

0 we put on the wee b it pan,To mak the lick o

’

m eatic o’

t ;

But a cinder fell and Spoiled the plan,And burned a

’

the feet ie o’

t . —H.

SONGS AND BALLADS . 55

THE GARDENER WI’ HIS PAIDLE.

THI S air is theGarden er’s March . The t i tle of thesongonly i s old the rest is m i n e .

!

THE DAY RETURNS , MY BOSOM BURNS .

Tune, Seventh ofNovember.

I COMPO SED th is song out of compliment to on e of thehappies t and worth i est marri ed couples in the world,Robert R iddel

, Esq. of Glenriddel, and his lady. At th ei rfire- S ide I hav e enj oyed more pleasan t even ings than at all

the houses of fash i onable people in th is cou ntry put togeth er ; and to thei r kindn ess andhospi tal i ty I am i ndebtedfor many of the happi es t hou rs of my l i fe .

THE GABERLUNZIE mam

THE Gaberlunz i e-Man is supposed to comm emorate ani ntrigue of James the Vth . Mr Callender of Craigforth ,publ ished som e years ago , an edi tion of Christ’s Ki rk on

the Green ,’ and the Gab erlunz i e-Man ,

’

wi th notes cr i ticaland h istorical . James the fifth i s sai d to have been fond ofGosford, i n Aberlady Parish , and that i t was suspected byh is cotemporari es, that i n h is frequen t excurs i ons to thatpart of the country he had other purposes In V i ew besidesgolfing and archery. Th ree favou ri te ladies, Sandilands ,Wei r, and Ol iphant (on e of th em resided at Gosford, andthe others i n the neighbourhood), were occas ionally v is i t edby thei r royal and gallan t adm irer, wh ich gav e r ise to the

See th is song, vol. II. p . 3 22.

f A wallet-man, or tinker, who appears to have been form erlya jack of all trades.

3 56 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

foll owi ng satir i cal advice to h is Maj es ty, fromL indsay, of the Moun t ; Lord Lyonfi“

Sow not yere seed on Sandilands,Spend not yere strength i n Wei r,And r ide not on yere Ol iphants ,For gawing o’ y ere gear.

MY BONNIE M ARY.

TH IS air is Oswald’s the fi rs t hal f-stan za of the song isOld, the rest minefr

THE BLACK EAGLE.

TH IS song is by Dr Fordyce, wh ose meri ts as a prosewri ter are well known .

JAMIE, COME TRY ME.

TH IS air is Oswald’s the song m i n e .

THE LAZY MIST.

THIS song is m in e.

S ir Dav id was Lion King~ a t ~ Arms, under James V.

1 Th is song, beginning, Go fetch to me a p int 0 ’ wine,’wh ichBurns here acknowledges to be h is own, was first introduced byh im in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, as two Old stanzas. The readerwill find i t in vol. i i. p . 228.

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3 58 STRICTnRRS ON SCOTTISH

I LOVE MY JEAN.

TH IS air is by Marshal ; the song I composed out . of

compl imen t to Mrs Burns .

N. B. Itwas dur i ng thehoney-moon .

CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, TO EXPLORE.

THE song is by Dr Blacklock ; I bel i eve, bu t am notqui te certain , that the air is h is too .

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

TH IS air was formerly called The Bridegroom greetswhen the S un gangs down .

”E

When Johnny Cope to Dunbar came,They speer

’

d at h im, Wh ere’s a’ your men 9

The deil confound me gin I ken,For I left them a

’ i ’ themorning.Hey Johnny Cope, &c.

Now, Johnny, trouth yewas na blate,T0 come wi’ the news 0 ’ your ain defeat,And leave your men in sic a strait,So early in themorning.

Hey Johnny Cope, Sac.

Ah fai th , quo’ Johnny, I got a fleg,With their claym ores and ph ilabegIf I face th em again, deil break my leg,So I wish y ou a good morning.

Hey Johnny Cope, 850 .

A small mistake. The two ai rs have not the least resemblance to each other. Lady Ann Lindsay, of the noble family ofBalcarras, was thewriter of the song.

S ONG S AND BALLAD S . 3 59

DONALD AND FLORA.

THIS is on e of those fin e Gael ic tunes , preserved fromt ime immemorial i n the Hebrides ; they seem to be theground-work of many of our finest Sco ts pas toral tun es .The words of th is song were wr i tten (by Hector M‘Neil,)to commemorate the

'

unfortunate expedit ion of GeneralBurgoyne in Amer i ca, in 1777.

O WERE I ON PARNAS SUS ’ H ILL .

TH IS air is Oswald’s : the song I made out of compl imen t to Mrs Burns.

THE CAPTIVE RIBBAND .

TH IS air i s called Rob ie donna Gorach .

THERE’

S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

THI S air is cla imed by Nei l Gow, who calls i t his lamen tfor h is b roth er . The fi rs t half-stanza of the song is old ;the res t i s m ine. (See the song in vol . i i . p .

MY HEART’

S IN THE HIGHLAND S .

THE firs t half-s tanza of th is song is old the rest 18m ine.

( See the song, vol. II . p .

Q H Q

3 60 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

CA’THE EWES TO THE KNOWES .

THIS beautiful song is i n the tru e Old Scotch taste, yet Ido not know that e i ther air, or words, were i n pri n t before .

(See th is song, vol . i i i . p .

THE BRIDAL O’

T.

TH IS song is thework of a Mr Al exander Ross, lateschoolmaster at Lochlee ; and author of a beautiful Scotspoem,

called the " Fortunate Sheph erdess.

’

(He wrote alsoWhat ai ls the lasses at me,’ The Rock an’ thewee pickletow,

’ And a begging we wi ll go,’

andmany other songs.)

TODLEN HAME.

THIS is perhaps the first bottle song that ever was composed.

THE BRAES O’

BALLOCHMYLE.

THIS air is the composi ti on of my fri end Allan Master.too ,

i n Edinburgh . I composed the verses on the am iableand excellen t fam i ly OfWhitefoord’s leavi ng Ballochmyle,when S ir John ’

s m isfortunes had obliged him to sell theestate.

THE BANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O’

T.

I COMPOSED th is song pretty early i n l ife, and sen t i t to a

young girl

, a very part icu lar acqua i n tance of m i ne, who wasat that t ime under a cloud. (See th is song, vol . i i . p .

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3 62

TH I S fi rst of songs is the mas terp iece of my old fri endHe was pass i ng theday, at the town of Cullen

I th i nk i t was, in a fri end’s house whose nam e was MontMrs Mon tgomery observing, en p assant, that the

beautiful reel of Tullochgorum wan ted words, she begged

Skinner;

gomery.

The way that I have always h eard th is song sung ended

STRICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

O whare l ive ye, my bonn i e lass ?O whare l i ve ye, my b inn i e ?

By yon burn-s ide, gin yemaun ken ,In a wee house wi’ my m inn i e .

But I foor up the glen at e’en,

To seemy bonni e lassi e ;And lang before the gray morn cam ,

Shewasna hauf sae saucie.

O weary fa’

thewaukri fe cock,And the foumart lay his crawin

’

l

He wanken’dthe auld wi fe frae her sleep ,A wee bl ink or the dawin’.

An angry wife I wat she ra ise,And o’er the bed she brough t her

And wi’ a muckl e hazle rungShemade her a weel-pay

’d dochter.

O fare-th ee-weel , I'

ny bonn i e lass,O fare- thee-weel, my hinnie !

Thou art a gay and a bonn i e lass,But thou has a waukr i fe m inn i es

TULLOCHGORUM.

But I’ll com e back an

’see you yet,

For a’

your waukrife m innie.—H.

SONGS AND BALLAD S . 3 63

them of Mr Skinner, who gratified her wish es , and the

wish es of every lover of S cottish song, i n th is most excell en t ballad .

These part iculars I had from the author’s son , BishopSkinner, at Aberdeen .

FOR A’

THAT AND A’

THAT.

TH IS song is m i n e! all excep t the chorus .

AULD LANGSYNE.

RAMSAY h ere, as usual wi th him, has taken the idea ofthe song, and the first l i n e, from the old fragmen t, wh ichmay be seen in The Museum,

’ vol . v.

WILLIE BREW’

D A PECK O’ MAUT.

TH IS air is Masterton’

s, the song m i ne—The occasi onof i t was th is —MrWi ll iam N i col, of the High School,Edinburgh , during the autumn -vacati on b eing at Mofi

’

at ,

h on est Allan , who was at that t ime on a visi t to Dalswinton , and I went to pay N i col a v isi t. We had such a joyous m eeting that Mr Masterton and I agreed, each i n ourown way, that we Should celeb rate the busin ess.

KILLIECRANKIE.

THE battle of Kill i ecranki e was the last stand made bytheClans for James, after his abdication . Here the gallan tLord Dundee fell i n themomen t of v ictory, andwi th him

Th is is part of theBard’s song in the ‘ Jolly Beggars.’

3 64 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

fell thehopes of theparty. GeneralM‘Kay, when he foundtheHigh landers did not pursue his fly i ng army, sa id, Dundee must b e killed, or he n ever would hav e overlooked th isadvan tage.” A great ston e marks the Spot where Dundeefell.

’IE

THE EWIE WI’ THE CROOKED HORN.

ANOTHER excellen t song of old Skinner’s .

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD .

IT i s remarkabl e of th is air, that i t is the confine of thatcoun try where the greates t part of ou r Lowland musi c (sofar as from the t i tl e

,words, &c. wecan local iz e i t), has been

composed. From Craigi e-bu rn , n ear Mofl'

at , un til on ereaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely one slowair of any antiqu i ty.

The song was composed on a passi on wh ich a Mr Gillespie,1 a part icular fri end of m i n e, had for a M iss Lor imer,

Burns has not been qu ite well versed in the h istory of h is

favouri te adherents to the S tuarts . The battles on the Haughsof Cromdale and Dunkeld were both fough t and lost by theClansfor King James on the year following that ,

of Killiecrank ie .

Moreover, Dundee did not fall at the great stone above the pas s,but on the spot where the garden of Urrard now is. At leas t i twas th ere he received h is death -wound, and was carried into thehouse of Urrard by ”

h is two friends .Habburton and M ‘Pherson,

wh ere he died, andwas buried in the vault at Blair-Athole .—H.

1‘ Alas ! i t was not m ade on the love of Mr G illesp ie for Miss

Lorim er, but on the love of a m uch more notorious man . She

was the Chloris ofBurns, and to her youthful b eauty we are in

debted for m any deligh tful songs. Wh en I lived in Edinburgh ,about twenty years ago, there were th ree of my associates,—Mr

Irvine, Mr Gibson, andMr Thom son,—found out th is lady ratherin bad circum stances, and attached th em selves greatly to her, onaccount of her known connection with the star of th ei r idolatry,Burns. She said Burns came to Craigie- burn all nigh t every

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3 66 STRICTURES ON SCOTTISH

O lowse my r igh t hand free,” he says,

And put my b ra id-sword i n the same ;He

’

s no i n S tirlingt own th is day,Dare tell the tal e to Hugh i e G raham

Up then bespake the b rave Wh i tefoord,AS he sat by the b ishop

’

s knee,Fife hundred wh i te stots I’ll gi e you,If ye

’ll l et Hugh ie Graham free .

”

O handyour tongue,”the bishop says,

And wi’ your pleading let me beFor tho’

ten Grahams werei n h is coat,Hugh i e Graham th is day Shall di e.

”

Up then bespake the fai r Wh i tefoord,As she sat by the bishop

’

s knee ;Five hundred white$pence I

’

ll gi e you,If ye

’ll gi e Hugh i e Graham to me.

0 hand your tongue now, lady fai r,And wi’ your pleading let i t be ;

Al tho’ ten Grahams were i n his coat ,It

’

s for my honour hemaun die .

”

They’ve ta’en him to the

'

gallows knowe.He looked to the gallows tree,

Yet never colou r left his ch eek ,Nor ever did he blink h is c’

c.

At lengt h he looked round about,To seewhatever he could spy

And there he saw his auld fath er,And hewas weeping b i tterly.

0 handyou r tongue, my fath er dear,And wi’your weeping let i t be ;

S ONG S AND BALLAD S . 3 67

Thy weeping’

s sa i rer on my h eart,Than a

’ that th ey can do to me.

And yemay gi e my brother JohnMy sword that’s ben t i n them iddle clear

And let him com e at twelve o’clockAnd seeme pay the b ishop

’

s mare.

And yemay gi e my brother JamesMy sword that’s ben t i n them iddl e brown

And b id him come at fou r o’clockAnd see his brother Hugh cu t down .

Rem ember me to Maggy my wife,The n eist t ime ye gang o

’er the moor,Tell her She staw the bishop ’

s mare,Tell her shewas the b ishop ’s whore.

And yemay tell my kith and kin ,I n ever did disgrace thei r blood

And when they meet the bishop’

s cloakTo mak i t Shorter by the

Burns did not choose to be quite correct in stating that th iscopy of the ballad of Hugh ie Graham is printed from oral tradition in Ayrsh ire. The fact is, that four of the stanzas are

eith er altered or superadded by h im self.Of th is number the th ird and eigh th are original ; the ninth

and tenth have received his corrections. Perhaps pathos wasnever more touch ing th an in the picture of the h ero singling ou t

h is poor aged fath er from the crowd of spectators ; and the sim

ple grandeur of preparation for th is affl icting circumstance in theverse that imm ediately precedes i t, is matchless.That the reader may properly appreciate the value of Burns

’

s

touch es, I h ere subjoin two verses from the most correct copy of

the ballad, as it is printed in the Border Minstrelsy,’ vol. ii. p .

3 24

He looked over h is left shoulderAnd for to seewhat he m igh t see;

There was he aware of h is auld father,Came tearing his hai r most piteouslie.

3 68 S TR ICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

A SOUTHLAND JENNY.

THI S is a popular Ayrsh i re song, though the notes werenever taken down before . It, as well as many of the ballad tunes i n th is collection , was wri tten from Mrs Burns

’s

vorce.

MY TOCHER’

S THE JEWEL!

THIS tune is cla imed by Nathan iel Gow. It is no toriously taken from ‘ The Muckin

’ o’ Geordie’s Byre.’ It

is also to b e found , long prior to Nathan iel’

s Gow’

s era, in

Aird’

s S election of Ai rs and Ma rch es ,’ the first edi tion ,under the name of The Highway to Edinburgh .

’

I

THEN, GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN’

.

THE chorus of th is is part of an old song, one stanza ofwh ich I recollect

Every day my wife tells meThat ale and b randy wi l l ru i n me;

O h ald your tongue, my father, he says,

And see that ye dinna weep for me iFor they m ay ravish me o

’

my life,But they canna banish me from heaven h ie !

Cromek.

x Th is was reckoned an old song wh en Allan Ramsay com

p iled t he Tea Table Miscellany,’ wh ere i t h as a place, wi th t he

letter Z . , themark of antiquity, attach ed to it.1 Tocher—Marriageportion .

1 Th is statement is incorrect. On referring to Neil Gowand

Son ’

s’

2d book, p . 18, it will be seen that it is unclaimed byNathaniel Gow or any of his fam ily. Mr Gow found the tune inOswald

’

s Caledonian Pocket Companion,’ book i i i . p. 28, as a

quick j ig ; i t struck him that i t would be pretty if Slow ; and

being without a nam e, he called it ‘ Lord Elcho’s Favourite.Oswald

’

s book was publish ed as long prior to Aird’

s era, as Aird’

s

was to that of Gow.

”

Gromek.

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3 70 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

WHERE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE

THE old name of th is tun e is

Whare’ll our Gudeman l i e ? ’

A s illy old stanza of i t runs thus

0 whare’ll our gudeman l i e,

Gudeman l i e, gudeman l i e,O whare’ll ou r gudeman l i e

,

Ti ll he Shute o’er the S immer ?

Up amang the hen-bawks,The hen-hawks , the hen-bawks,

Up amang the hen-hawks,Amang the rotten t immer.

GALLOWAY TA M.1

I HAVE seen an i n terlude (acted at a wedding) to th istune, called TheWooing of the Mai den .

’

These enter

My mother used to sing th is song, a genuine Old one, as Ith ink. It began

Where will bonnie Ann ie lie ?Mai r her lane she manna lie,Wh ere will bonnie Annie lieI’ the cauld n igh ts 0

’

winter - H.

For Allan Ramsay’

s, and another set of words to this air,vol. iii. p. 208.

1 The following isa copy of th is old song0 Galloway Tam came here to woo ,

We’

d better hae gi’en h im the bawsent cow

,

For our lass Bess may curse and banThe wan ton wit 0 ’ Galloway Tam .

A cannie tongue and a glance fu’

gleg,A boordly back and a lordly leg,A h eart like a fox, and a look like a lamb0

’ these are themarks 0 ’ Galloway Tarn .

SONGS AND BALLADS , 3 7 1

tainments are now much worn out i n th is part of S cotland.

Two are st ill reta i n ed i n N i thsdale, vi z . Jilly Pure AuldGlenae,

’and thiS

'

one, TheWooing of the Maiden .

AS I CA MDOWN BY Y ON CASTLE WALL.

TH IS is a very popu lar Ayrsh ire song.

0 Galloway Tam came h ere to sh ear,We

’

d better hae gi’en h im the gude gray mare,He kiss ’d the gudewi fe and he dang the gudeman,And th ese are the tricks 0

’ Gal loway Tam .

He owed the k irk a twelvemonth ’

s score,And dofl

”

d h is bonnet at the door ;The loon cried ou t wha sung the psalm ,

There’s room on the stool for Galloway Tam l”

Ye lasses o’ Galloway, frank and fai r,Take tent 0 ’ your hearts and someth ingmai r ;And bar your doors, your wi ndows steek,For he com es stealing like nigh t and sleep0 nough t frae Tam bu t wae ye

’

ll win,He’ll S ing ye dumb and h e’ll dance ye bl in’And afl

'

your balance h e’ll cowp ye th en ,Take tent o’

the deil and Galloway Tam .

S ir, quoth Mess John, thewanton deilHas put h is b i rn ’

boon gospel ki el,And bound ye

’

r cloots in h is black ban’For mercy loos’t quo

’ Galloway Tam .

In our’

kirk- fauld we maun ye bar,And sm ea r your fleece wi’ cov’

nant tar,

And pettle and m ake ye a dainty lamb .

Am en ! so be’

t,”

quo’ Galloway Tam .

Eased of a twelvemonth’s graceless deeds,He gaylie (1o his sackcloth weeds ;An mang themaidens be laugh ing cam

Tak tent 0 ’ your h earts,” quo’ Galloway Tam .

A cannie tongue and a glance fu’ gleg,A boordly back and a lordly leg,A h eart like a fox, and a look like a lamb0 these are themarks 0 ’ Galloway Tam .

2 1 2

3 72 STR ICTURE S ON SCOTTISH

LORD RONALD,MY SON.

THIS air, a very favour i te one in Ayrsh i re, i s eviden tlythe original of Lochaber. In th i s manner most of ourfin est more modern ai rs have had thei r or igin . Some earlym i nstrel , or musi cal sheph erd, composed the S imple artlessoriginal air ; wh ich, b eing p icked up by themore learnedmus ician , took the improved form i t bears.

OE’

R THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.

*

TH IS song is the composi tion of a Jean Glover, a girlwho was not only a whore, but also a th i ef ; and in one or

Probably some of my readers will be curious to see th is production I here subjoin it

Com in th ro’ the craigs 0 ’ Kyle,Am ang the bonnie bloom ing h eather,There I met a bonnie lass ie,Keep ing a

’

her yowes thegither,O

’

er the moor am ang the h eather ,O

’

er the moor amang the heather,There I met a bonnie las sie,Keep ing a

’

her yowes thegither.

Says I, my dearie wh ere’s thy hame,In moor or dale pray tell me wh ither ?She says, I tent the fleecy flocksThat feed amang the bloom ing h eather.O

’

er the moor, Sec.

We laid us down upon a bank,Saewarm and sunny was the weather,She left her flocks at large t o roveAm ang the bonnie b loom ing h eather.O

’

er the moor, 8cc.

Wh ile thus she lay She sang a sang,Till echo rang a mile and farth er,And aye the burden o’ the sangWas o’er themoor amang the heather.O

’

er themoor, &c.

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3 74 STR ICTURES ON SCOTTISH

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR.

TH IS tun e is also known by the name of, Lass an Icom e n ear thee .

’

Thewords are m i n e. (See th is song,vol . 11 . p .

THOU ART GANE AWA.

THIS tun e is thesame wi th Hand awa frae me, Donald .

’

THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL.

TH IS song of gen ius was composed by a M iss Cranston .

‘

It wanted four l ines, to make all thestanzas sui t themusic,wh ich I added, and are the four first of the las t stanza.

The first verse runs thus0 saw yeEpp ie M‘Nab the day0 saw yeEppi e M ‘Nab the day

?

She’s down in the yard, an’

she’s sib wi’ the laird,An

’

Shewinna come hame to her bed the day.

Burns dressed up th is song for Johnson’sMuseum,—it is given

in vol. iii. p . 2.-H.

Th is lady married Professor Dugald Stewart. We subjoina copy of th is beautiful song.

The tears I sh ed must ever fall ;I weep not for an absent Swain,

For time can past deligh ts recall,And parted lovers meet again.

I weep not for the silent dead,Th eir toils are past, their sorrows o’er,

And these th ey lov’d th eir steps Shall tread,And death shall join to part no more.

Though boundless oceans roll between,If certain that h is h eart is near,

A conscious transport glads the scene,Soft is the sigh and SReet the tear.

Ev’

n when by death ’s cold hand remov’

d,

We mourn the tenant of the tomb ;To th ink that ev’n in death he lov’

d

Can cheer the terrors of thegloom .

SONG S AND RALLAD S . 3 75

THE BONNIE IVEE THING.

COMPOSED on my l i ttl e idol, ‘ The charm i ng,lovely

Davies.

’

(See th is song, vol . i i . p .

THE TITHER MORN.

TH IS tun e is originally from the Highlands.—I hav e

h eard a Gael ic song to i t, wh i ch I was told was v ery cle ver,but not by any m eans a lady

’

s song. ( See Burns’

s words toth is air, vol. i i i . p .

But b i tter, b i tter is the tearOf her who sligh ted love bewails ,

No hopes her gloomy prospect ch eer,No pleas ing melancholy hails.

Hers are the pangs ofwounded pride,Ofblasted hope, and wi ther’d joy

The prop She leau’

d on pierc’d her side,

The flame she fed burns to destroy.

In vain does m emory renewThe scenes once t ing’d in transport

’

s dve ;The sad reverse soon m eets the v iew,And turns the though t to agony .

Ev’

n conscious virtue cannot cureThe pang to ev

’ry feeling dueUngen

’rous youth , t hy boast how poor,

To steal a heart, and break i t too

No cold approach , no alter’

d m ien,Just what would make suspicion s tart ;

No pause the di re extremes be tween,He made m e blest—and broke my heart

Hope from its only anchor torn,Neglected and neglectingall,

Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn ,The tears I shed mus t ever fall.

3 76 STRICTURES ON S COTTISH

A MOTHER’

S LAMENTFOR THE DEATH OFHER SON.

Air Findlayston House .

TH IS most b eauti ful tun e is, I th i nk, the happiest composi tion of I that bard-born gen ius, John Riddel, of thefam i ly of Glencarnock, at Ayr,

—Thewords were composedto commemorate themuch lamented,

‘

and premature deathof James Fergusson , Esq. j un . of Craigdarroch . (See th issong, vol. i i . p .

DAINTIE

'

DAVIE.

TH IS song, tradition says, and thecomposi tion i tself confi rms it , was composed on t he Rev. Da v id Will iamson’sbeget tm

o the daugh te r of Lady Cherrytrees wi th ch i ld ,wh il e a party of dragoons were search i ng her house to apprehend him for being an adheren t to the solemn leagueand cov enant . —The pious woman had put a lady

‘

s n igh tcap on him, and had laid him a-bed wi th her owndaughter

, and passed him to the soldi ery as a lady, her daughter’

s

bed- fellow. A mutilated stanza or two are to b e found i nHerd’s collect ion

,bu t the origi nal song consists of fi ve or

six stanzas, andwere th ei r delicacy equal to thei r wit andhumour, they would meri t a place in any collection .

- The

first stanza is,

Bei ng pu rsued by the dragoons,I’Vithin my bed hewas lai d down ;Andweel I wat hewas worth h is room ,

For he was my dai n ty Dav i e .

Ramsay’

s song, Lucki e Nansie, though he calls i t ans ong wi th additions, seems to b e all his own, exceptchorus

I was a tell ing you,

Lucki e Nansie, lucki e Nansie,

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FRAGMENTS ,

MISCELLANEOU S REMARKS ,

Every Single observation that is published by a man of genius, be it

ever so trivial, sh ould be es teemed of im portance; because he Speaks fromh is own impressions whereas common men publish common things, wh ichthey have perhaps gleaned from frivolous wri ters. ”—SHENSTONE.

EDINBURGH, Ap ril 9 , 1787.

As I have seen a good deal of human l ife inEdinburgh,

a great many characters wh i ch are new to on e bred up i nthe Shades of l i fe as I have been , I am determ i n ed to takedown my remarks on the spot. Gray observ es , i n a l etterto Mr Palgrave, that, hal f a word fixed upon

,or n ear the

Spot, is worth a cart-l oad of recollection .

”

I do not know how i t is wi th theworld i n general , butwi th me, making my remarks is by no means a soli tarypleasure. I wan t som e one to laugh wi th me, som e on e tob e grave wi th me, some on e to pleas e me, and help my discr im i nat ion , wi th h is or her own remark, and at t imes, nodoubt, to adm i re my acuteness and penetrat ion .

Theworld are so busi ed wi th selfish pursu i ts, ambi tion ,van ity, i n terest, or pleasure, that very few th i nk i t worththei r wh i le to make any observation on what passes aroundth em,

except where that observation is a sucker or branchof the darl ing plant they are rearing in thei r fancy. Nor

am I sure, notwiihstanding all the sentim en tal fl ights ofnovel-wri ters , and the sage ph i losophy of moral ists, whetherwe are capable of so i n timate and cordial a coal i tion offri endsh ip , as that on e man may pou r ou t his bosom, his

every though t and floating fancy, his v ery i nmost soul, wi thun reserved confidence, to another, wi thout hazard of los ingpart of that respect wh i ch man deserves from man or,

FRAGMENTS , M ISCELLANEOUS REMARKS , &c. 3 79

from the unavoidable imperfecti ons attending human na

tu re, of on e day repentin g his confidence .

For these reasons, I am determ i n ed to make these pagesmy confiden t. I wi ll Sketch e v ery character that any waystrikes me, to the bes t of my power, with unshrinking just ice. I wi l l i nsert an ecdotes , and take down remarks, inthe old law ph rase, without feud orfavour. Wh ere I hiton any th i ng clever, my own applause will, i n some measure, feas t my van i ty ; and, begging pardon of Patroclusand Achates , I th ink a lock andkey a securi ty, at least equalto the bosom of any fri end whatever.My own private story l ikewise, my love-adven tures, my

rambles ; the frowns and smi les of Fortun e on my hardSh i p ; my poems and fragmen ts , that must n ever see the

l igh t, shal l b e occasi onally i nserted . In Short, never didfour sh i ll ings purchas e so much fri endsh ip , s ince confidencewen t fi rst to market, or honesty was set up to sale.To these seem ingly i nv idious, bu t too j ust ideas ofhuman

fri endsh ip , I would cheerfully make on e exception ,—the

conn ections between two persons of difl'eren t sexes, whenthei r i n terests are un i ted and absorbed by the ti e of loveWhen though t m eets though t, ere from the lips i t part,And each warm wish Springs mutual from the h eart.

There eonfidence,—confidenee that exal ts them the mere

i n on e another’s opin ion , that endears them themore t o

each other’s h earts,—iinreservedly reigns and revels.

”

But th is is not my lot ; and, i n my s i tuat ion , i f I am wise,wh i ch , by the bye, I have n o great chance of being, my fateshould b e cas t wi th thePsalm ist’s sparrow, to watch aloneon thehouse- tops Oh, the p ity !

THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

There are few of the sore ev ils under the sun give memore un eas iness and Chagri n than the comparison how a

man of gen ius, nay, of avowed worth, is recei ved every

380 FRAGMENTS ,

Where, with the recept ion wh ich a m ere ordinary character,decorated wi th the trappings and futi l e disti nctions of fortune

,mee ts . I imagin e a man of ab il i ti es, his b reast glow

ingwi th honest pride, consc ious that men are born equal,Stil l giv ing honour to whom honou r is due ; he meets,at a great man’s table, a squ i re someth ing, or a Sir somebody ; he knows thenoble landlord, at heart, gi ves the hard,or whatever he is, a share of his good wishes, beyond anyone, perhaps, at table yet how will i t mort ify him to see

a fellow, whose abil i ti es would scarcely have made an eigh tp enny ta ilor, andwhose h eart is not worth three farth i ngs,meet wi th attention and notice, that arewi thheld from the

son of gen i us and po verty ?The noble Glencai rn has wounded me to the soul here

,

because I dearly esteem, respect and love him. He showedso much atten t ion ,—engrossi ng attention ,—oneday, to theonly blockhead at table, ( thewhole company consisted ofh is lordsh i p , dunderpate, and myself,) that I was with inhalf a poin t of throwing down my gage of contemptuousdefiance ; but he Shook my hand, and looked so benevolently good at parting. God bless him ! though I shouldn ever see him more, I shall love him unti l my dy ing day.

I am pleas ed to th i nk I am so capable of the throes of grat itude

, as I am m iserably deficien t in some other vi rtues.

DR BLAIR

Wi th Dr Blai r I am more at my ease. I never respecthim wi th humble veneration but when he kindly i n teres tshimself i n my welfare, or, sti ll more , when hedescends fromh is p innacle, and m eets me on equal ground i n conversat ion , my h eart overflows with what is called liking. Wh enhe n eglects me for them ere carcass of greatn ess, - or whenhis eyemeasures the difference of our poin ts of elevation ,—1 say to myself, with scarcely any emotion , What do Icare for him or his pomp ei ther ?

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3 82 FRAGMENTS ,

Some say we’re thieves, and e’en sae arewe !Som e say we lie, and e'en sae do we !

Gude forgi’e us ! and I hope saewill he !Up—and to your loom s

,lads

l have th is momen t got a h i n t at at it

if I fear I am someth i ng l ike undone ; but IhOpe for the bes t. Come, stubborn pride and unshri nkin gresolut ion ! accompany me through th is, to me, m iserableworld ! You must not desert me ! Your fri endsh ip , Ith ink, I can count on , though I Should date my letters froma march ing regiment . Early in l ife, and all my l i fe, Ireckoned on a recru it ing-drum as my forlorn hope; L i fe atpresent presents me wi th b ut a melancholy path.

I have lately been much mortified wi th contemplat ingan unlucky imperfection i n the very frami ng and construet ion of my sou l ; namely, a blundering inaccuracy of herolfactory organs i n h i tting the scen t of craft or des ign inmy fellow-creatu res . I do not mean any compliment tomy i ngen uousn ess, or to h in t that the defect is in conse

quence of the unsuspicious simpl ici ty of conscious truthand honour. I take i t to be, i n some way or other, an imperfection in the men tal S ight ; or, metaphor apart, somemodification of dul ness. In two or th ree small instances,lately, I have been most shamefully out .

An old man ’s dy i ng, except he has been a very benevolen t character, or i n some particular si tuat ion of li fe, thatthewelfare of the poor or the helpless depended on him,

I th i nk an e ven t of the m ost trifl ing moment to theworld .

Man is natu rally a' kind, ben evolen t an imal ; but he is

dropt i nto such a n eedy S i tuation here i n th is vexat iousworld, and has such a whoreson , hungry, growl ing, m ultiply i ng pack of necess i ti es, appeti tes, pass ions, and des i resabout him , ready to devour h im for wan t of other food,that, i n fact, hemust lay as ide his cares for oth ers that hemay look properly to h imself.

M ISCELLANEOUS REMARKS , &c. 3 83

I am more and more pleased wi th the step I took re

specting my Jean . Two th i ngs, from my happy experi ence ,I set down as apoph thegms i n l ife . A wi fe’s h ead is immater ial compared wi th her heart ; and v irtue’s (for wisdom, what poet pretends to i t ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.”

Poets, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers ofbeauty. If th ey are really poets of Nature

’

s making, thei rfeelin gs must b e finer, and thei r taste more del i cate thanthat of most of theworld. In the cheerful bloom of spr ing,or the pens i ve m i ldn ess of autumn ; the grandeur of summer, or the hoary maj esty of win ter, —the poet feels a

charm unknown to the res t of his Species . Even the sightof a fin e flower, or the company of a fine woman , (by farthe finest part of God’s works below,) hav e sensat ions forthe poetic heart that the herd of mankind are strangers to.

What pleasu re is i n the power of the fortunate and

happy, by thei r notice and patronage, to brighten the countenance and glad the h eart of depressed worth ! I am net

so angry wi th mankind for thei r deaf economy of the purse.The goods of th is world cannot be di v ided wi thout beingl essen ed bu t why he a n iggard of that wh ich bestows bl isson a fellow-creature, yet takes noth i ng from our own m eansof enj oyment ? We wrap up ourselves i n the cloak of ourown better fortune

, and turn away our ey es, lest thewantsandwoes of our brother-mortals should disturb the selfishapathy of our souls !

I have every possibl e reverence for the much - talked-of

world beyond the grav e ; and I wish that wh i ch p i ety believes, and vi rtue deserves, may b e all matter-of-fact .

S trong pride of reason ing, wi th a l i ttl e afl’

ectat ion of Singularity, may m isl ead the best of h earts . I, l ikewise. i ntheprideof despisi ng old women ’s stori es, ventured i n the

2 x 2

384 FRAGMENTS ,

dar ing path Spinosa t rod ; but experi ence of theweakness,not the s trength , of human powers, made me glad to graspat revealed religion .

I l ike to have quotations for every occas ion : they giveon e’s i deas so pat , and save one the trouble of finding exp ress ion adequate to on e’s feeli ngs . I th ink i t is one ofthe greatest pleasures attending a poet ic gen i us, that wecan give our woes, cares, j oys, loves , &c. an embodied formi n verse wh i ch, to me, is ever immediate ease. Goldsm i thsays finely of h is muse

Thou source ofall my bliss and all my woe

That found’st me poor at first, and keep’

st me so.

What a creature is man A li ttle alarm las t n ight, andto-day, that I am mortal , has made such a revolution on

my spiri ts There is no ph i losophy, no divin i ty, that comeshalf so much hom e to them i nd . I havedo i dea of cou ragethat braves Heaven ’

t is thewild ravings of an imaginaryh ero i n Bedlam.

My favou ri te feature i n M i lton’

s Satan is, his manly fort itude in support ing what cannot be remedied—ln Short,the wild , b roken fragmen ts of a noble, exalted m i nd i nru ins. I mean t no more by say i ng hewas a favour i te h eroof m i n e.

I am j ust ri sen from a two-hou rs’ bout after supper, withS i l ly or sordid souls , who could rel ish noth ing i n commonwith me—but theport . One .

”—’

Tis now Wi tch ing tim eof n igh t andwhatever is out of j o in t in the fore-goingscrawl, impu te i t to enchan tmen ts and spells for I can ’tlook over i t

,but w ill sea l i t up directly, as I don

’t care forto-morrow’

s cri ticisms on i t.

We ough t, when we wish to b e econom ists i n happin esswe ough t

,i n the fi rst place, to fix the standard Of our own

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386 FRAGMENTS ,

m ixtu re of that del ici ous passi on,whose most devoted slave

I have more than once had the honour of being but whybe hurt o r ofl’ended on that account ? Can no hon es t manhav e a prepossessi on for a fine woman, but hemust run h ishead agai nst an i n trigu e ? Take a l i ttle of the tenderwi tchcraft of love , and add to i t the generous, the honourable sen timents of manly fri endsh i p and I know but onemore deligh tful morse], wh ich few, few in any rank evertaste. Such a composi ti on is l ike adding cream to strawberri es—it not only gi v es the fru i t a more elegan t r i chness,but has a pecul iar del ici ousn ess of its own.

Noth i ng as tonishes memore, when a l i ttle S i ckness clogsthewheel of l i fe, than the though tl ess career we run in thehou r of heal th . None sa i th, where is God, my maker,that giveth songs i n then igh t who teacheth us more knowledge than the beas ts of the field, andmore understandingthan the fowls of theair

I had a l etter from my old friend a long Wh il e ago, buti t was so dry, so distant, so l ike a card to one of his cli en ts,that I could scarce b ear to read it. He is a good, honestfellow ; and can wr i te a fri endly l etter, wh ich would doequal honour to his head and his heart, as awhole sheaf ofh is l etters I have by mewi ll wi tn ess andthough fame doesnot blow her trumpet at my approach now,

as shedid then,

when he firs t honoured mewi th his fri endsh ip ,‘ yet I amas proud as ever ; and wh en I am lai d in my grave, I wishto be stretched at my full length , that I may occupy everyi nch of ground wh ich I have a right to .

You would laugh , were you to seemewhere.I am j ustnow —Heream I Set , a sol i tary h erm i t i n thesoli tary roomof a sol i tary i n n, -wi th a sol i tary bottle of wi n e by me—as

grav e andas stupidas an owl—bu t l ike that owl, still fai thful to my old song ; in confirmation of wh ich, my dear

Alluding to the time ofh is first appearance in Edinburgh .

M IS CELLANEOUS REMARKS , &c. 387

here is your good heal th May the hand-wal’d benisons o’ h eaven bless you r bonn i e face ; and the wratch

wha skelli es at you r weelfare, may the auld tinkler deil geth im to clout h is rotten h eart ! Amen

I men t ion ed to you my letter to Dr Moore, giving an

accoun t of my l i fe : i t is truth , every word of it andwil lgive you the j ust idea of a man whom you have honouredwi th your fri endsh i p . I wish you to seeme a s I am. Iam, as most people of my trade are, a strange Will 0

’Wispbeing, the v ictim , too frequen tly, of much imprudence andmany foll i es . My great consti tuen t elem ents are pride andpassion . The first I have endeavoured to human ize i ntoi n tegri ty and honour ; the last makes me a devotee to thewarm est degree of en thusiasm, i n love, rel igion or fri endsh ip e i ther of them, or all together, as I happen to be iasp ired.

What trifl i ng s ill in ess is the ch i ldish fondness of theevery-day ch i ldren of theworld !

’

Tis the unmeani ng toyi ng of the youngl ings of the fi elds and forests but wheres en tim en t and fancy un i te thei r sweets ; wh ere taste and

deli cacy refine ; where wit adds the flavour, and good sensegives strength and spiri t to all, what a del icious draugh t isthe hou r of tender endearmen t —beau ty andgrace i n thearms of truth and honour, i n all the l uxury of mutual love!

InnocenceLooks gai ly-sm i l i ng on wh i l e rosy PleasureHides young Des i re am id her flowery wreath ,And pou rs her cup l uxu r ian t mantl i ng h ighThe sparkl ing heavenly v intage, LOVE and BL ISS !

Those of ei ther sex, but particularly the female, who are

lukewarm i n that most important of all th i ngs, rel igionO my soul, com e not thou in to th eir secret I will lay

b efore you the outl ines of my beli ef. He, who is our

author and preserver, andwill oneday be. our judge, must

388 FRAGMENTS ,

b e (not for his sake i n theway of duty, but from thenat ive‘

impulse of ou r hearts) the obj ect of our reveren tial awe,and grateful adoration He is alm ighty and all-boun teousweareweak anddependen t hence, prayer and ev ery othersort of devotion .

“ He is not wi ll ing that any shouldperish , bu t that all should come to everlast ing l i fe consequently i t must be i n every one

’

s power to emb race hisoffer of everlasting l ife otherwise he could not, i n justice, condemn those who did not. A m i nd pervaded,actuated, andgoverned by puri ty, truth , and chari ty, thoughi t do es not merit heav en , yet is an absolutely n ecessary prerequisi te

,wi thou t wh ich h eaven can nei ther b e ob tai n ed

nor enj oyed ; and, by divin e prom ise, such a m ind Shalln ever fai l of atta in ing everlasting li fe h ence the impure,the deceiving, and the unchari table, exclude themselvesfrom eternal bl iss, by the i r unfitness for enj oy i ng i t. The

Supreme Being has put the immediate adm i n ist ration ofall th is, for wise and good ends known to h imself, i n to thehands of Jesus Christ, whose relat ion to him we cannotcomprehend ; but whose relati on to us is a Guide and

Sav iour andwho , except for our own obstinacy andmis

conduct, wi ll bring us all, through various ways, and byvarious m eans, to bl iss at l east .These are my tene ts, my fri end . My creed (

is prettyn early expressed in the last clause of J amieD ean

’

s grace,an hones t weaver i n Ayrsh i re Lord gran t that we mayl ead a gude l ife for a gude li fe makes a gude end, at leasti t helps weel

I am an odd b eing : some yet unnamed feel ings, th i ngs,not principles , but b etter than wh ims, carry me

' farther thanboasted reason ever did a ph ilosopher.

There’s naeth ing l ike the honest nappyWhaur’ll ye e

’er seemen sae happy,Or women sonsi e, saft an

’

sappy,’

Tween morn an’

morn,

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3 90 FR AGMENTS,

The dign ified and dign ifyi ng consciousness of an hon estman, and thewell grounded trust i n approving heaven , aretwo most substantial sources Ofhappiness .

Gi ve me, my Maker, to remember Thee ! Give me tofeel “

another’s woe;”

and con tin u e with me that dearloved fri end that feels with m i n e

Your rel igious sen timen ts I revere. If you have on somesuspicious evidence, from som e ly ing oracle, l earned that Idespise or ridicule SO sacredly importan t a matter as realreligion , you have much m isconstrued you r fr i end. I amnot mad, most nobl e Festus Have you ever met a perfect

'

character ? Do we not somet imes rather exchangefaults than get rid of them For i nstance I am perhapst i red wi th andshocked at a l ife, too much the prey of giddyi nconsistenci es and thoughtless foll i es ; by degrees l growsober, prudent , and statedly pious, I say s ta tedly , becausethemost unaffected devotion is not at all i nconsisten t wi thmy first character.—I j o in theworld i n congratulating myself on the happy change. But le t me pry more narrowlyin to th is afi'air ; hav e I, at bottom, any th ing ofa secret pr idei n these endowments and emendations ? have I noth ing ofa presbyterian sourn ess, a hypercri tical severi ty, when Isurvey my l ess regular n eighbours ? In a word, have Im issed all those namel ess and numberless modifications ofi ndistinct selfishn ess, wh i ch are so near our own eyes, thatwe can Scarce bring th em wi th i n our sphere of v ision , andwh i ch the known spotless cambric of ou r character h idesfrom the ordinary observer ?

My defini tion of worth is short : truth and human i tyrespecting our fellow-creatures reverence and hum i lity inthe presence of that Being, my Creator and Preserver, andwho, I hav e every reason to bel i eve, wi ll o ne day be myJudge. The fi rst part of my defin i tion is the creature ofunbiassed insti nct ; the las t is the ch i ld of after-reflection .

M ISCELLANEOU S REMARKS , &c. 3 9 1

Where I found these two essentials, I wou ld gen tly note,

and sl ightly men ti on any attendan t flaws—flaws, themarks,the consequ ences of human nature.

How wretched is the condi tion of on e who is hauntedwi th conscious guilt, andtrembl ing u nder the idea of dreaded vengeance And what a placid calm, what a charm ingsecre t enj oymen t i t gives, to bosom the kind feel ings offri endsh i p and the fond throes of lo v e ! Out upon the

tempest of anger, theacrimon ious gall of fretful impat i ence,the sullen frost of lower ing resen tment, or the corrodingpoison of wi thered envy ! They eat up the immortal partof man ! If they spen t th ei r fury only on the unfortunateobj ects of them ,

it would b e somethi ng i n th ei r favourbu t these

'

miserable passi ons, l ike trai tor Iscariot, betraytheir lord andmaster.Thou , Alm ighty Author of peace, and goodness, and

love do then give me the social heart that kindly tastes ofevery man ’

s cup ! IS it a draugh t ofjoy —warm and openmy heart to share i t wi th cordial , unen vy ing rej o icing ! IS

i t the b itter poti on of sorrow —mel t my heart wi th sin

cerely sympatheti c wo ! Above all, do thou gi ve me the

manly m i nd, that resolu tely exempl ifies, i n l i fe and man

n ers, those sen timen ts wh ich I would wish to b e thoughtto possess ! The fri end of my soul—there may I neverdeviate from thefirmest fideli ty, andmost activ e ki ndness !There may the most sacred, i nv iolate honour, the mostfa i th ful , kindl ing constancy, ever watch and arnmate my

every though t and imaginat ionDid you ever meet wi th the following l i nes Spoken of

rel igionTis this, my friend, that streaks our morning brigh t

’Tis this, that gilds the horror of our nigh t !When wealth forsakes us, and wh en friends are few ;Wh en friends are faithless, or wh en foes pursue ;’Tis th is that wards the blow, or stills the smart,Disarms affliction, or repels its dart ;With in the breast b ids purest raptures rise,Bids sm iling conscience Spread her cloudless skies.

3 92 FRAGMENTS .

I met wi th th ese verses very early in l ife, andwas so del ighted with them that I have th em by me, cop i ed at school.

I have h eard and read a good deal of ph ilosophy, ben evolence, and greatness of soul : andwh en rounded with theflourish of declamatory periods, or pou red in the mellifluence of Parnass ian measu re, they have a tolerable effect ona musi cal car ; bu t when all these h igh -sounding profess i onsare compared wi th the very act and deed, as i t is usuallyperformed, I do not th i nk there is any th ing in , or belonging to

, human nature so badly disproportionate. In fact,were i t not for a very few of our kind, among whom an

honoured fri end of m i n e, whom t o you , Sir, I wi ll notname, is a dist inguished instance, the very ex istence ofmagnan im i ty, gen erosity, and all thei r kindre‘d v i rtues,would be as much a ques tion with metaphysicians as the

ex i stence of witchcraft.

There is no t ime when the conscious, th ri ll i ng chords oflo ve and friendsh i p give such delight, as i n the pensi vehou rs of what Thomson calls Ph i losoph i c Melancholy.

’

The fami ly of m isfortune, a numerous group of brothersand s isters ! Th ey n eed a res t ing-place to their souls . U n

noticed,often condemned by theworld ; i n some degree,

perhaps, condemned by themselves , they feel the full en

joyment of arden t love, del ica te tender endearmen ts, mutualesteem, andmutual rel iance.In th is l igh t I have often admi red religion . In propor

t ion as we arewrung with gri ef, or distracted with anxi ety,the ideas of a compassi onateDei ty, an Alm igh ty Protecto r,are doubly dear.

I have been , th is morn ing, taking a peep throughYoung finely says, thedark postern of time long elapsed ;’twas a rueful prospect ! What a t issue of thoughtlessn ess,weakness , and folly ! My l ife rem i nded me of a ru inedtemple; What strength, what proportion i n some parts !

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3 94 FRAGMENTS .

your true Old-styl e Caledonian feel i ngs ; at any rate, I'

am

truly happy to have an opportun i ty of assur i ng you howS incerely I am,

Revered S ir,Your gratefully i ndebted humble servan t,

ROBERT BURNS .

LAWN MARKET, Aug. 1790.

NAE BIRDIES SANG THE MIRKY HOUR.

Tune Willi e’s Rare.

NAE b irdi es sang them i rky hourAmang the b raes o’ Yarrow,

But Slumber’

d on the dewy bonghsTo wai t thewaukeningmorrow.

Where shall I gang, my ain true love,Where Shall I gang to h ide me?

For weel ye ken , i’

yere father’

s bower,It wad be death to find me.

”

0 go you to you tavern house,An’ there count owre your lawin

’

An’ i f I b e a woman true,I’ll m eet you i n the dawi n

’.

O he’s gone to you tavern house,An ’ aye b e counted his lawi n

’

,

An’ aye he drank to her guid h ealth,Was to meet him i n the dawi n’.

O he’s gone to you tavern house,An

’ counted owre his lawin’,When in there cam’ three armed men,T0 meet him i n the dawin ’.

FRAGMENTS. 3 95

O, woe be unto woman’

s wit,I t has b egu iled many !

She prom ised to come h ersel’,But she sen t three men to slay me!

Get up, get up now, sister Ann ,I fear we’ve wrough t you sorrow

Get up, ye

’ll find your tru e love slai n ,Amang the banks of Yarrow .

”

She sough t h im eas t, she sough t him west,She sough t him bra id and narrow,

’Ti ll, i n theelint in

’ of a craig,She found him drown’d in Yarrow.

She’s ta’en three l inks of her yellow hai r,That hung down lang and yellow,

And Sh e’s t i ed i t about sweet Wi ll i e’s waist,An

’ drawn him out of Yarrow.

51:

I made my love a suit of clothes,I clad him all i n tartan ,

But ere themorn ing sun aroseHe was a’ bluid to t hegartan .

Cetera desan t .

ROB ROY .

Tune—A rude Set of Mill, Mill, 0 .

ROB ROY from theHighlands camUn to theLawlan’ border,

To S t eal awa a gay ladie,To hand h is house i n order

2 L 2

3 9 6 FRAGMENTS .

He carn’ owre the lock 0’ Lynn,

Twenty men his arms did carryHimsel’ gaed in an’ fand her out,Protes ting hewould marry.

0 will yegaewr me? he says,Or will ye be my honey ?

Or will ye be my wedded wi fe ?For I love you b es t of any.

”

I wi nna gaewi’

you,”she says,

Nor wi ll I b e your honey ;Nor wi ll I be your wedded wi feYou love me for my money.

But he set her on a coal-black steed,Himsel’ lap on beh ind her

An’he

’

s awa to the Highland h il ls,Wher e her frien ’s they canna find her.

!The song went on to narrate the forcingher to bed ;when the tun e changes to someth ing l ike Jenny dang the

Rob Roy was my father ca’d,

Macgregor was h is name, ladieHe led a band 0 ’

hero es bauld,

An’ I am here the same, ladie.Be con ten t, be conten t,Be conten t to stay, ladie

For thou art my wedded wifeUn til thy dy ing day, ladi e .

He was a h edge unto his frien’s,A heckl e to his foes, ladie ;

Every one that durst him wrang,He took h im by the nose, ladie.

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3 98 raaennur s .

S even long years he served the ki ng,Hey, &c.

An’ i t’s a’ for the sake of his daugh ter Jean .

An’ it’s hey, &c.

illustrative of the history of romantic ballad. In fact, i t isnoth ing else than a portion of the ancient English metrical rom ance of Kyng Horn ,” which some benevolent pen, peradventure, for luf of the lewed man,

”hath stripped of its quainte

Inglis, and givenIa symple spech e as he couth e,That is ligh tes t in manne’s mouthe.

Of th is the reader wi ll be at once convinced, ifhe compares i twi th the romance alluded to , or rath er with the fragment of theone preserved in the Auch inleck MS . , entitled, Horne Ch ildeand Maiden Rim inild,’ both of wh ich ancient poems are to be

found in Ritson‘

s Metrical Romances.It is, perhaps, unnecessa ry to remind the reader, that Hend or

Hynd m eans courteous, kind, afl'

able,’&c. , an ep ithet, which ,

we doub t not, the hero of the balladwas fully enti tled to assume.—MNea r Edinburgh was a young ch ild born,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian ;

And his nam e i t was called young Hynd Horn,And the b i rk and the b rume blooms bonnie.

Seven long years he served the king,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian ;

And it’

s a’

for the sake ofh is doch ter Jean,And the b irk and the brum e blooms bonnie.

The king an angry man was be,Wi th a hey lillelu and a how lo 1an

He sent young Hynd Horn to the sea,And the birk and the b rume blooms bonnie .Oh I never saw my love before,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian,

Till I saw h er th ro’ an angre bore,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.And she gave to me a gay gold ring,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan,

With three shining diamonds set therein,And the b irk and the b rum e blooms bonnie.And I gave to her a silver wand,Wi th a hey lillelu and a how lo lan,

With th ree singing lavrocks set thereon,And the b irk and the brum e blooms bonnie .

FRAGMENTS . 3 99

The king an angry man was he,He sent young Hynhorn to the sea.

it if its

An’ on his finger she put a r ing.at is file

What if those diamonds lose th eir hueWith a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 Ian

Just wh en my love begins for to rue,

And the birk and the brum e blooms bonnie.For when your ring turns pale and wan,Wi th a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 lan,

Then I’m in love with anoth er man ,

And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.He’s left the land, and he’s gone to the sea,

With a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian,A nd he

’

s stayed th ere seven years and a day,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.

Seven lang years he has been on the sea,

With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan ;And Hynd Horn has looked how h is ringmay be,And the b irk and the b rum e bloom s bonnie.

But when he looked th is ring upon,With a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 lan,

The sh ining diamonds were both pale andwan,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.

Oh the ring i t was both black and blue,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan ;

And sh e’s eith er dead, or sh e’s married,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.

He’

s left the seas, and he’s com e to the land,With 3 . hey lillelu and a how 10 lan,

And the first hemet was an auld beggar man,

And the b irk and the brum e bloom s bonnie.Wh at news ? what news my silly auld manWith a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian ;

For it’

s seven years since I h ave seen land,And the b irk and the brum e bloom s bonnie.What news what news thou auld beggar man ;With a hey lillelu and a how low lan

What news ? what news ? by sea or land?And the b i rk and the brume blooms bonnie.

400 FRAGMENTS .

When your r ing tu rns pal e andwan,

Then I’m i n love wi’ another man .

Upon a day he look’d at his r ing,

It was as pal e as any th i ng.

No news at all,” sa id the auld beggar man,

With a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian ;But there is a wedding in the k ing’s hall,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.Th ere is a k ing’s doch ter in the west,With a hey lillelu and a h ow low lan,

And she has been married th ir nine n igh ts past,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.Into the b ridebed shewinna gang,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan

Till she h ears tell of her ain Hynd Horn,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie.Wilt thou give to me thy begging coat,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 Ian,

And I’

ll give to thee m y scarlet cloak,And the b irk and the b rume bloom s bonnie.Wilt thou give to me thy begging stafi

‘

,

With a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 lan ;And I

’

ll give to thee my good gray steed,And the b irk and the brume blooms bonnie .

The auld beggar man cast off h is coat,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan,

And he’

s ta’en up the scarlet cloak,And the b irk and the brum e blooms bonnie.

The auld beggar man th rew down h is staff,With a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 Ian,

And he is m ounted the good gray steed,And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie.

The auld beggar man was bound for them ill,With a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 lan

But young Hynd Horn for the king’

s ball,And the b irk and the b rume blooms bonnie.

The auld beggar man was bound for to ride,With a hey lillelu and a h ow low lan

But young Hynd Horn was bound for the b ride,And the b irk and the b rume blooms bonnie .

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402 FRAGMENTS .

Nae n ews, nae n ews,” the auld beggar said,But the king’s dochter Jean is going to be wed.

Cas t afi', cast at? thy auld beggar-weed,An’ I’l l gi e thee my gude gray steed .

”

at it

When he cam’ to our gu id king’s yett,

He sought a glass 0 ’ win e for young Hynhorn’s sake.

He drank out thewi n e an’ he pu t i n the r ing,An’ he bade them carry

’

t to the king’s doch ter Jean .

O gat ye’

t by sea, or get ye’

t by Ian’

,

Or gat ye’

t afi‘

a dead man’s han’

P”

I gat na’

t by sea, I gat na’

t by lan’

,

9 3 ,

But I gat i t ou t of you r own han

Go take away my br idal gown ,An’ I ’ll follow him frae town to town .

Ye needna leave your bridal gown ,For I’llmake ye ladi e o

’

mony a town .

I’

ll cast offmy gowns of red,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan,

.And along with thee I’ll beg my bread,

And the b irk and the b rum e blooms bonnie.Thou need not cast off thy gowns ofbrown,With a hey lillelu and a how 10 lan,

For I can make th ee lady ofmany a town,And the b irk and the brume bloomsbonnie.Th ou need not cast off thy gowns of red,With a hey lillelu and a h ow 10 Ian,

For I can maintain th ee wi th both wine and bread,And the b irk and the brume bloom s bonnie.

”

The b ridegroom though t he had the bonnie b ride wed,With a hey lillelu and a h ow lan

But young Hynd Horn took the b ride to the bed,And the b i rk and the brume blooms bonnie.

ADD ITIONAL POEMS ,

BY BU R N S .

S ince the publication of the volumes especially devoted to thepoetry ofBurns, we have received from various quarters, th roughthe k indness of friends, the following p ieces of h is, which , we

feel confident, will be very acceptable to the adm irers of the

Bard.

DONALD BRODIE.

DONALD Baonm met a lassComi ng o’er the braes o’ Cupar ;

Donald wi’ his h i ghland hand,Rifled i lka charm about her.

Comi ng o’er the b raes o’ Cupar,Com ing o’er the braes o’ Cupar,

Highland Donald met a lass,And rowed his Highland plai d about

Weel I wat shewas a queanWadmade a bodi e’s mou th to water ;

Ou r Mess John, wi’

h is auld grey pow,

His haly l ips wad licket at her.

Com i ng o’er the braes o’ Cupar,Com i ng o’er the b raes o’ Cupar,

Highland Donald met a lass,

And rowed his Highland plai d about her.

404 ADDITIONAL POEMS ,

Afi’

she s tarted i n a fright,And through the braes what she could b icker ;

But souple Donald quicker flew,

And i n his arms he lock’

d her s icker.Com i ng through the braes o’ Cupar,Com i ng through the braes o’ Cupar,

Highland Donald met a_

lass,And rowed his Highland plaid about her.

ON AN EVENING VIEW OF THE RUINS OFLINCLUDEN CASTLE.

YE holy walls, that, st ill sublime,Resist the crumbl ing touch of tim e '

How strongly st ill you r v i ew displaysThe piety of anci en t days !As through your ru ins, boar and grey,Ruins yet beauteous i n decay,The s i lve ry moonbeams trembling playThe forms of ages long gon e byCrowd th ick on fancy

’

s wondering eye,And wake the soul to musings h igh.

E’

en now, as lost i n though t profound,I v i ew the solemn scen e around,And, pens ive, gaz e wi th wistful eyes,The pas t returns, the presen t fl i esAgai n the dom e, i n pristi n e pride,L i fts h igh its roof and arches wide,That, kn i t wi th curious t racery,Each Gothic ornamen t display .

The h igh-arched wi ndows, pai n ted fa i r,Show many a sai n t andmartyr there.As on thei r slender forms I gaze,Meth i nks they brigh ten to a blaz e !Wi th noiseless step and taper brigh t,What areyou forms that m eet my s igh t ?

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ADDITIONAL POEM S,

THE DISCREET HINT.

Las s, when your m i ther is frae hame,May I b u t b e sae bauld

As come to you r bower wi ndow,

And creep i n frae the cauld ?As com e to your bower window,When i t is cauld an’wat ,

To warm me i n thy bosom,

Sweet lass, may I do that ?

Young man, gin ye should be sae kind,When ou r guidwife

’

s frae hame,As come to my bower windowWhere I am la id my lane,

To warm thee i n my bosom,

Tak’ ten t, I’ll tell thee what,Theway to me l i es through the kirkYoung man, do ye h ear that ?

VERSES ON SEEING HIS FAVOURITE WALKSDESPOILED .

As on the banks 0 ’

wandering Ni th ,Ae sm i l ing simmer-morn I strayed,

And traced its bonn i e howes and haughs,Where l int i es sang and lambkins play

’

d,

I sat me down upon a craig,And drank my fill o’ fancy

’s dream,

When , fronr t he eddy i ng deep b elow,

Uprose the gen ius of the stream.

Dark, l ike the frown i ng rock , his brow,

And troubled, l ike h is wi ntry wave,And deep

,as sughs the boding wi nd

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave,

BY BURNS . 407

And came y e here, my son, he cri ed,To wander in my bi rken shade ?

To muse some favouri te Scottish theme,Or s ing some favouri te Scottish maid ?

There was a time, i t’s nae lang syne,Ye m igh t has seen me i n my pride,

\Vhen a’

my banks sae b ravely saw

The i r woody pictu res i n my t ide ;W hen banging beech and spreading elmShaded my stream sae clear and cool

And stately oaks thei r twisted armsT hrew broad and dark across the pool

When , gl in ting through the trees, appearedTheweewh i te cot aboon them i ll,

And peacefu’ rose its i ngl e reek,

That slowly curled up the h i ll .But now the cot is bare and cauld,Its branchy shelter’s lost and gane,

And scarce a st in ted b i rk is leftTo sh iver i n the blast its lane .

Alas ! sa id I, what ruefu’ chanceHas twin

’

d ye 0’

your stately t rees ?

Has lai d your rocky bosom bare ?Has stripp

’

d the cleading 0 ’

your b raesVVas i t the b i tter eas tern blast,That scatters bl ight i n early spri ng ?

Or was’t thewil’fire scorched thei r boughs,

Or canker-worm wi’ secret sting ?”

Nae castlen ’ blast,” the spri te repli edIt blew na here sae fierce and fell,

And on my dry and hal esome banksNae canker-worms get leave to dwell

2 M 2

ADDITIONAL POEM S ,

Man ! cruel man !” the gen i us sigh’d

As th rough the cl iffs he sank him downTheworm that gnaw

’

dmy bonni e trees,That rep til e wears a ducal crown .

”

THE RUINED MAID’S LAMENT.

O ME IKLE do I rue, fause love,0 sa irly do I ru e,

That e’er I h eard you r flatter ing tongue,That e’er your face I knew.

O I hae t i n t my rosy cheeks,L ikewise my waist sae sma

’

And I hae lost my l igh tsome heartThat l i ttl e wist a fa’.

Now I maun thole the scornfu’ sneerO ’

mony a saucy quean ;When , gin the truth were a’ but ken t,Her l ife’s been waur than m i n e.

Whene’er my father th inks on meHe stares i n to thewa’

;

My m i ther, she has ta’en the bed

\Vi’ th i nking on my fa’

.

Wh ene’er I hear my father’

s foot,My h eart wad bu rst wi

’ pai nWhen e’er I meet my m i ther

’

s e’

e,

My tears rin down l ike rai n .

Alas ! sae sweet a tree as lo veS ic b itter fru i t should bear !

Alas ! that e’er a bonni e faceShould draw a sau ty tear !

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4 10 ADDITIONAL POEMS ,

Your rosy cheeks are turned saewan,

Ye’re greener than the grass, lassie ;Your coat ie’s shorter by a span ,Yet n e’er an i nch the less, lass ie.

Ye hae l i en wrang, &c.

O , lass i e, ye hae played the fool,And yewi l l dree the scorn , lassie

For aye the b rose ye sup at e’en ,Ye bock them ere themorn , lassie.

Ye hae l ien wrang, &c.

Ance l igh tly lap ye owre the knowe,And through the wood ye sang, lassi e

But now, alas ! ye’

re dowi e grown,

I fear your m i nd gae wrang, lass ie.

Ye hae l i en wrang, &c.

THE BLACK- HEADED EAGLE.

THE black-headed eagle,As keen as a beagle,

He hun ted o’er height and o’er howeBut fell i n a trapOn the braes O’ Gemappe,

E’

en le t h im come ou t as hedowefi‘

These lines are qu ite in accordance with the political leanings of the hard.

r

Fhey allude to the celebrated battle of Gemappe, fought on November 6th , 1792, between theAustrians,under Marshal Clairfayte, and the French , under General Du

mourier, in wh ich the French ob tained a complete victory. The

Austrians bear on their ensigns a black eagle.

BY BURNS . 4 1 1

ON THE LATE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.

On one occasion, says a Correspondent, “ I reprehendedBurns on the score ofacrimony and personal sati re, and observed,s ince he indulged such propensity, why not touch h igher gametry the Duke of Queensberry, is he not obnox ious ? Burns instantly drew h is pencil, and handed th is z

”

HOW shall I s ing Drumlanrig’

s GraceDiscarded remnan t of a race

Once great in martial story !His forbears’ v irtues all con trasted,The very name of Douglas blas ted,

His that i nverted glory.

Hate, en vy, oft the Douglas boreBut he has superadded more,

And sunk them i n contemptFolli es and cr imes have stain’

d the name,But, Q ils ry , th i n e the v irgin claim,

From aught that’s good exempt.

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4 14 GLOSSARY .

Barefit, barefooted.Barm ie, of, or like barm.

Batch,a crew, a gang.

Batts , small worms in theentrails ofh orses.

Bauch les, old shoesworn as slippers.Baudrons , a cat.Bau ld, bold.

Bawk , a strip of land left unploughed, two or three feet in width ; aridge, 8 bank.

Baws’n t , having a white strip downt he face.

Be, to let be, to giveover, to cease.Bear, barley.

Beastie, diminu tive Ofbeast.Beet , to add fuel to fire.Beld, bald.

Belyy e, by and by.

‘

Ben, into the S pence or parlour.

Benmost, innermost .

Bethank it, grace or short prayerafter meals.

Benk, a book.Bicker, a kind of wooden dish ; ashort race.

B ie, or bield, shelter.

Bien, wealthy , p lentiful.B iggin, bm lding, a house.

B iggit , built.B ill, a bull.B lllle, a brother, a young fellow.

B ug, a heap ofgrain, potatoes, &c.

B irk, birch .

B irken- shaw, birchen-wood Shaw, a

small wood.

Birk ie, a clever fellow.

Birring, t he noise of partridges,when they spring.

B it . crisis, n ick of time.

Buzz, a bustle; to buzB lae, livid.

B las t ie, a shrivelled dwarf, a termofcontempt.

Blastrt , blas ted.

Blate, bashful, sheepish .

B lather, bladder.

B lal

ud, a flat piece of any th ing ; tos ap.

Blaw, to blow, to boas t.

B leeri t , bleared, sorew ith rheum.

B leert an’ b lin ,bleared and bh ud.

Bleezing, b lazing.

B lellum , idle talking fellow.

Blether, to talk idly ; nonsense.

B leth ’

rin, talking idly.

Blink , a li t tlewh ile, a sm iling look ;to look kindly , t o shine by fits .

Blinker, a term of contempt.Blink ing, sm irk ing.

Blythe, cheerful.Blue gown, one of those beggarswh o get annually, on the ki ng’sbirth-day , a blue cloak or gown,W i th a badge.

Bluid, blood.

Bluntie, snivelling.

Blype, shred, a large piece.

Bock, to vomit, to gus h intermitten t ly.

Booked, gushed, vomitedBodle, an Old copper coin, of thevalue of two pennies Scots, or oneth ird ofan English penny.

Bogles, spirits , h obgoblins.

Bonnie, h andsome, beautiful.Bonnock, a kind of th ick cake of

bread, a small j annack, or loafmadeof oatmeal.

Boord, a board.

Boor-tree, t he sh rub elder : plantedm uch of old in hedges of ha m

yards, &c.

Boost, behoved, mu st needs.Bore

,a hole in thewall.

Botch , an angry tumour.

Bonk, body , a personBousing, drink ing.

Bow-kai l, cabbage.

Bowt , bended, crooked.

Bow-hough’d, having t he lower part

of the th igh bent or crooked.

Ersehens, fern.

Brae, a declivity, the slope of a h ill.Braid, broad.

Bragin’t , reeled forward.

Brai k , a kind of harrow.

Braiuge, to run rash ly forward.Brak , broke, m ade insolvent.Branks, a. kind of wooden curb or

bridlefor h orses .

Brash , a sudden illness .

Brats , coarse clothes, rags, &c.

Brattle, a short race, h urry , fury.Braw

,tine, hands ome.

Brawlyt , or brawlie, very well, finely, heartily .

Brax ie, a morb id sheep.Breastie, dimin. of breas t.Breas t it, did spring up or forward.

Brechan, fern.

Breef, an m vulnerable or irresistiblespell.

Breeks,breeches.

Bren t , smooth .

Brewin,brewing.

Brie, j urce, liquid.

Brig, a bridge.

Brunstane, brimstone.

Brisket, t he breast, thebosom .

Brither, a brother.

Brock, a badger.

Brogue, a h um , a trick .Brose, a kind of pot tage made bypouring bm lmgwater or bro th on

oat meal, which is stirredwh ile t hewater is poured ; a race at coun

t ry-weddings,who shall first reacht he bridegroom

’s h ouse on return

ing from ch urch , so called, per

h aps, from brose being allotted tot he vict or.

Broo, broth , liquid, ,water.

Brownie, a spirit supposed, till late

GLOS SARY. 4 15

ly,~ to haunt old h ouses, particular.

ly those attach ed to farms, and

somet imes to do the drudgery of

the servan ts during the n igh t.Brugh , a burgh .

Bruilzie, a broil, a combus tion .

Brun t, did burn, burnt.Brust, to burst , burst.Buckskin , an inh abitan t OfVirginia.Bugh t , a pen.

Bugh ting- time, t he time of collect

ing t he sheep in t he pens to be

m ilked.

Bu irdly , stout-made, broad-made.

Bum -clock , a humming beetle th at

flies in t he summer even ings.

Bumming, h umm ing as bees .

Bumm le, to blunder ; a dolt, a stupidperson.

Bumm ler, a blunderer.Bunker, a window. seat.Burdies , diminu tive of birds .

Bure, did bear.Burn , wa ter, a rivulet.Burnie, dim inuti ve of burn .

Busk y, bush y .

Buskit , dressedfinely, decorated.B usks, dresses.Busle, a bustle to bustle.Buss , bush , shelter.But , with .

But an’ ben , the country kitchen

and parlour.

By himsel, lunatic, dis tracted.

Byke, a bee-hive.

Byre, a cow-house, a sheep-pen.

Ca’

, t o call, t o name, t o drive.

Ca’t , or ca

’d, called, driven , calved.

Cadger, a carrier.

Cadie, or caddie, a person, a youngfellow.

Calf, chafl'.Caird, a t inker.

Cairn, a loose heap of stones.

Calf-ward, a small enclosure forcalves.Callan , a boy.

Caller, fresh , sound, refresh ing.

Cann ie, gentle, mild, dexterous .

Cantie, cheerfu l, merry .

Cantraip , a charm,a spell.

Caprin, capering, ski ppingmerrily.

Cap- stane, cope- stone, key-stone.

Careerin, cheerfully .

Carl, an old man .

Cat emp , t he largest stalk of hemp .

Carlin , a s tout old woman.

Cartes, cards .

Caudron , a ca ldron.

Cauk and keel, ch alk and red clay.

Cauld, cold.

Caup, a wooden drinking vessel.Can e, a coop or pen for poultry .

Cesses , taxes .

Chanter, a part of a bag-pipe.Chap , a person, a fellow.

Chaup, a stroke, a blow.

Checki t, cheeked.

Cheep , a chi rp ; to ch irp .

Ch iel, a young fellow.

Chim la, or chimlie, a fire-grate, a

fire- place.

Ch imla-lug, thefire- side.

Chitt ermg, sh ivering, trembling.

Chockin, chocking.

Ch ow , to chew ; checkfor chow, sideby side.

Ch ufiie, fat- faced.

Clachan , a small village about a

church , a ham let.Claise, or claes , clothes .

Claith , cloth .

lai t hing, clothing.

Clap , clapper of a mill.Clarki t , wrote.

Cl

da

zh, an idle tale, the story of the

y .

Clat ter, an idle story ; to tell littleidle stories .

Claught, snatched at , laidh old of.

Clau t , to clean , to scrape; a heap, agreat quanti ty.

Claver, clover.Clavers, idle stories, nonsense.

Claw, t o scratch .

Claymore, a sword.

Gleed, t o clothe.

Gleeds, clothes.Cleek , to lay h old of, to hook.Clinkin , jerking, clin king.

C linkumbell, he wh o rings thechu rch-bell.Clips, sheers.

Ch shmaclaver, idleconversation .

Clock , to h atch ; a beetle.

Clockin, hatch ing.

Cloot , the h oof of a cow,sheep, &c.

lootie, an o ld name for thedevi l.Clour, a bum p or swelling after ablow.

Clout, to beat, t o strike, to mend; a

blow, a cufi”.

Cluds, clouds .

lunk , to guggle in themanner of abott lewhen i t is em ptying.

osx in, wheedh ng, flattery .

oble, a fish ing-boat.ockern ony, a. luck of hair tied upona girl

’

s head ; a cap.

Coft, bough t.Cog, a ooden dish .

Coxla, from Ky le, a district of Ayrsh ire.

ollie, a general, and sometimes a

part icular name for curs.Co lliesh angie, quarreling.

Cood, th e cud.

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny .

Cooki t,appeared and disapp eared

by fi t s.

Coo ser, a h orse kept for mares.Coost, did cast.Coot, theancle, or foot.

4 16

Contie, awooden kitchen dish fowlswhose legs are clad with feathersare said to be coat t

’

e.

Corbies, a species of the crow.

Corn’

t , fed with oats.

Cotter, the inhabit an t of a cot- house,or cottage.

Couth ie, k ind, loving.

Cove, a cave.Cowe, to terrify , to kee under

, tolop ; a frigh t, a branc of furze,broom , &c.Cowp , to barter, to tumble over ; agang.

Cowrm , cowering.

Co wu g a cMLCozie, snug.

Crack, to converse conversation.

Craft, or croft, a field near a h ouse.

Craigie, dim inutive of craig, theth roat, t heneck.Craiks, birds, incessant calls or

Crank, t he noise of an ungreasedwheel.Crankous, fretful, captions.Cranreuch , t he h oar-frost.Crap, a crop ; to crop.Craw, to crow a rook.Creel, a k ind of os ier basket ; to haveone

’: wi ts in a creel, to be fascin

ated to be crazed.

Creeshie, greasy .

Crook s, o ld ewes that have givenover bearing.

Cronie, an intimate acquaintance.

Crood, or et oud, t o coo as a dove.

Croon, a h ollow continuedmoan ; tom akea noiseliket hecontinuedroarofa bull ; to hum a t une.

Crouchie, crook. backed.Crouse, cheerful, courageous.Crowdie, a composit ion of oat mealand boned-water, someti mes fromt hebroth of beef, m u tton, &c.Crowdie- time, breakfast time.

Crowlin , crawling, creeping.

Crummock, a cow W i th crookedhorns.

Crump, hard and brittle ; spoken of

bread.Crunt, a blow on the head with a

cudgel.Cu if, a blockhead, a ninny.

Cumm ock, a shor t staffWi th a crooked head.

Curch ie, a curtesy .

Curler, a player at a game on the

ice, practised in Scotland, called

Curlie, curled; onewhose hair fallsna turally in ringlets .

Curling, a gameon t he ice.

Curmurring, murmuring.

Carping, the cru pper.

C ushat, t hedove, or wood-pigeon.

Cu tty, short ; a spoon broken in the

GLOS SARY .

m iddleof theh andle; a light we.

man.

Cut ty- stool, the stool on wh ich cul.prits sit when making publicatone.

ment in thechurch for havingwitted fornicati on

Daezt , st i ipified.

D aflin, merriment, foolishness.Daft , merry , giddy , foolish .

Daimen, rare, now and then ; da i.mem zcker, an ear of corn now andt hen.

Dainty, leasant , agreeable.Dales, p ains, valleys.Danton , to intim idate, to subdue.

Dam ,urine, p iddle.

D arklins, dark ling, beingin thedark,vond of light.

Daud, to thrash , to abuse.Daur, to dare, to defy .

Daurg, or daurk, a day’s labour.

B ay oe, David.

Dawd, a lar e piece.Dawtit , or au tet, fondled, caressed.

Dearthfu’, dear.Deave

, t o deafen.

DeiLma-care ! no matter !Deleeri t, delirious.Descrive, t o describe.

D iddle, t o shake, to jog.

Digh t to wipe, to clean corn fromch aff.”

D igh ts, cleans.D in , sallow.

D ing, to worst, to push.

D inna, do not.

D id , a slight tremulous motion or

am .

Di zzen, a dozen.

Domed, stupified, hebetated.Dolt, s tupified, crazed.

Donsie, u nlucky.

Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, to la

ment, to mourn.

Doos, doves.

Dorty, saucy , nice, discontented.Douce, sober, W i se, prudent.Dought, was or were able.Doup, backside.Doup-skelper, one whobackside.

Dour,sullen ,

obstinate dour and

dm, sullen and sallow.

Doure, stout, durable.Dow, am or are able, can .

Dowfi , pith less, wan ting spirit.Dowie, worn W ith grief, fatigue, &0.half- as leep.

Downa, am or arenot able, cannot.D oylt, stupid.

Drap , a drop to drop.Drapping, dropping.

Draunting, drawling.

Dreep, to drop, to ooze.Dreigh , tedious , long about it.Dribble, drizzling, slaver.

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418 GLOSSARY.

Girdle, a round plate of iron for

toasting cakes over t hefire.

Girn, to grin , t o twist t hefeatures inrage, agony , &c.

Gizz, a periw ig.

G laiket, inatten tive, foolish.

Glaive, a sword.

Glaizie, glittering, smooth , like a

lassgGleg, sh arp, ready.

G leibe, glebe.

Glen , dale, deep valley.

Gley , asquint ; to squint.Glib-gabbet , that speaks smooth lyand readily.

Glint , to peep.G loam in, t he twiligh t.G lowr, t o stare, to look ; a stare, alook.

C oay an , walking stupidly, or awkwardly.

Gowan, t heflower of thedaisy, dan

delion, h awkweed, &c.Gowd, gold.

Gowfi'

, t hegameof golf; to strikeast hebat does the ball at golf.

Gowk, a cuckoo, a cuckold ; a termof con tempt.

G ow],to howl.

Grafi”

, a grave.

Graip, a pronged instrument forcleanin stab les.Graith , urn it ure, accoutrements,dress .

Grane, a groan t o groan.

G ranu le, grandmother.Grape, to grope.

Grat, wep t , shed tears.Great, intimate, fam i liar.

Gree, to agree ; to bear the gree, tobedecidedly v ictor.

Greet, to weep, to shed tears.G rippet , catched, seized.Grousome, loath somely grim.

Grozet, a gooseberry .

Grumph , a grunt ; to grunt.Grum ph ie, a sow.

Grun’

, ground.

Gruns tane, a gr indstone.

Gruntle, t he ph iz, a grunting noise.Grunzie, themouth .

Grushie, th ick, of thrivinggrowth .

Gullie, a. large kn ife.

Gulravage, running in a confused,disorderly manner.

G umlie, muddy, turbid.Gumpti on, understand1ng,j udgment.Ha

’, hall.

Hae, to have.

Haen , had.

H aet, fient bus t, a petty oath Of ne.gat ion ; noth ing.

Haifet , t he temple, the side of thehead.

Hafliin s, nearly half, partly.

Hag, a gulf in mosses or moors.

hop-skip-and

Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled int he s tomach of a cow or sheep.Hain, to spare, to save.Hairst, harves t .Haith , a pett y oath .

Haivers, nonsense.

Hallan, a particular part ition-wallin a cottage a seat of turf at theoutside.

H allowmas , Hallow-eve.

Hantle, a great many.

Hap, an outer garment ; to cover.Happer, a hopper.

Happing, hopp ing.

Hap-step- an’doup,leap.Harri , very coarse linen.

Hash , a fellow who neither knowsh ow to dress nor act with pro.

prietHand, to hold.

sughs, low-lying, rich lands, val.

leys.

Haurl, to drag, t o peel.H averel, a foo lish person.

H avins , goodmanners .

Hawkie, a cow, properly one witha wh ite face.Heather, heath .

ech ! o h l strange!Hecht, foretold, ofi'eredeeze, to elevate, to raise.

erry , to takeaway, to plunder.et , hot.Heugh , a crag, a coaLpit.H i lch , to bubble, to halt.

H i lt ie-skilt ie, in rapid succession.

H iney , honey .

H irple, to walk lamely or crazily.

H issel, so many cattleas onepersoncan attend.

H istie, dray , barren.

H itch , a loop , a knot.H izzie, hussy, a young girlHoddin, h umble; t he mo t i on Of a

sage countryman on a cart-horse.

Hog score, a kind of distance-line,in curling, drawn across the r i nk.

Hog-shou ther, a kind of horse-play ,by j ust l

'

mg with t he shoulder ; tojustle.

Hool, outer skin or case, a nut-shell,pease-wade.

oolie, slowly, leisurely .

oord, a board to hoard.

orn ie, the (187 11.Host , or b oast , a cough ; to cough.Hotch

’d, turned topsy- t urvy , blend.ed, m ixed.

Houghmagandie, fornication.

Hoo p, h ope.

Hove, to h eave, to swell.H owdie, a m idwife.H owe, hollow ; a h ollow or dell.

How-backit , sunk in t heback, spokenof a h orse, &c.

Howfi’

, a place of resort.

GLOS SARY. 4 19

Howk, to dig.

Howlet, or houlet, an owl.B oy, to urge.

Hoyse, a pull upwards.Hoyte, to amblecrazily .

Hunkers, the ham , or h inder part oft he th igh .

Hurcheon , a hedgehog ; a term ofsligh t anger.

Hurdies, t he loins, the crapper.

Hushion , a cushion, stockings W 1

ou t feet.I ’, in.

Ier-oe, a great-grandchild.Ilk

,or ilk

’

a, each , every.

Ill willie, ill-natured, mggardly.

‘Jlgine, genius, ingenuit y.

Ingle, fire, fire- place.

I’se, I shall or will.Ither, other, one another.Jad, jade.

Jag, to prick , to pierce.Jauk, to dally, to trifle.

Jap, a jerk ofwater to splash .

J illet, j ilt , a giddy girl.J imp, slender in thewaist.Jink , to turn a corner suddenly.

Jo, a sweetheart.J octeleg, a kind ofknife.

Jouk, t o stoop.Jow, to swing.

Jundie, to jus tle.

Kae, a daw.

Kail, colewort, a kind ofbroth .

K aiLrunt , t he stem of colewort.Kain , fowls, &c. paid as rent byfarmer.Kebars, rafters.Kebbuck, a cheese.

Keek , a peep ; to peep.Kelp ies, a sort ofmisch ievous spiritssaid t o h aunt fords and ferriesnigh t, especially in storms.

Kennin , a smallm atter.Kenspeckle, well known.

Ket , matted, h airy ; a fleece ofwoolKiaugh , carking anx iety .

Kilt, to truss up the cloth es.Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip.

King’s-h ood, a certain part of t he entrails ofan ox, &c.

K im , the h arvest supper, a churn.

Kirsen, to christen or baptize.Kis t , a chest, shop-coun ter.Kitchen, any th ing that is eaten withbread, t o servefor soup , gravy , &c.

Kith , kindred.

K itt le, to tickle ticklish , diflicult.Ki t t lin, a young cat.

Kiut tle, t o cuddle.

Knaggie, like knags or points ofrocks.

Knappim hammer, a. h ammer forbreaking stones.

Knowe, a small round hillock.Knurl, a dwarf.Kye, cows .

Ky te, thebelly .

Kythe, to discover, to show oneself.

Laggen, the angle between thesideandbottom of a wooden

Laigh , low.

Lairing, wadingandsinking in snow,

mud, &c.

Laith , loath.

Lait hfu’

, bashful, modest.Lalland, a native Of t heLowlands ofScotland.

Lallans, Scottish dialect.Lampit , a kind or shelLfish .

Lane, lone, alone.Lang, long.

Lap, did leap .

Lave, t herest, the others.Laverock , the lark .

Lawin, t he reckoning.

Lea, pas tureground.

Leal, loyal, true, faithful.Lea-rig, grassy ridge.

Lear, learning.

Lee-lang, live- long.

Leesome, pleasan t .Lecze me, a phrase Of congratulation.

Leister, a three pronged dart fors triking fish .

Leugh , d’

id laugh .

Leuk, a look ; t o look.

Libbet , gelded.

Lift, the sky .

Lilt, a ballad, a tune to sing.

Limmer, a kept m istress; a strumpet.Link , to trip along.

Lint, flax ; lint i’ thebell, flax in theflower.

Lin twh ite, a linnet.Lippen

’d, put confidence in.

Loan,or loanin, theplace Ofm ilking.

Loof, (p l. looves), t he palm of t heh and.Loot , did let .Loup , a fellow, a ragamuflin.

Loup, a leap to leap .Lowe, a flame.

Lowse, to loose.Lug, t he ear, a handle.

Lnggie, a small wooden dish with a

handle.

um, the chimney .

unt , a column of smoke to smoke.Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey.

Mae, or mair, more.Maist, most .

Mailin, a farm.

Manse, the parsonage-h ouse.

Mark, or merk, an ancien t Scottishsilver coin, in value t hirteen pencethree-farth ings , sterling.

Mashlum , mixed corn.

2 N 2

420

Maukin, a hare.Mann , must.Mavis, the th rush .

Maw, to mow.

Meickle, or meikle, much .

Melder, corn , or grain Of any kindsent to t hemill to beground.

Mell, a mallet ; to meddle.

Melvie, to soil wi th meal.Mense, good manners, decorum.

Mess in , a small dogMidden, a small dunghill.Miiddenwreels , baskets for h oldingung.

Midden-hole, a gutter at thebottomofa dungh i ll.M im, prim, affected

‘

y meek .

M innie, m other, dam.

M irk , dark .

M islear‘d, unmannerly .

M i t her, mother.M ix t ie-max tie, confusedly mixed.

Moil, labour.

Monie, many .

Moop, to nibbleas a sheep.Mon , themouth .

Moudiewort, t hemole.Muckle, or meik le, great, big.

M uslim kail, bro th com posed ofwater, barley , andgreens.

Mutchkin, an English pint.Na, no, not , nor.Nae, no, not any.Naeth ing, nothing.Naig, a h orse.

Nane,none.

Nappy , ale; to be tipsy .

Natch , to lay h old of v iolently.

Neuk, nook , corner.N iest , next i n order or time.

Nieve, thefis t.Nievefu’

, a handful.Nifi

'

er, an exchange to barter.Niger, a negro.Ni t , a nut.

Norland, Of, or belonging to, thenorth.

Nowts , black cattle.

O’, Of.

Onie, any.

Orra, superfluous, unwanted.

Ough tlins, in the samedegree.

Ourie, sh ivering, drooping.

Outlers, cat tle not h oused.Owre, over, too.

Owre-hip, a way of fetching a blowwith thehammer over the arm .

Pack , intimate, familiar ; twelvestone Ofwoo l.

Paidel, t o paddle, t o play in water.Painch , t he paunch .

Pai trick, a partridge.

Pang, to cram.

Porridge, oatmeal pudding.

GLO SSARY .

Prig, to cheapen.

Primsie, demure, precise.Propone, to lay down , t o propose.

Provos t , the ch ief magi strate of a

royal borough , answering to lordmayor OfEngland.

Pund, pound, pounds.

Pyle, a. py leo’cafi, a single grain of

chafil

Q uak , to quake.

Q uey, a cow from one to two yearsold.

Ragweed, herb ragwort .Ra ible, to talk foolish ly.Rair, to roar.

Raize, to m adden, to inflame.

Ram-feezl’d, fatigued, overspread.

Ram-s tam, though tless, forward.

Pat , did put ; a pot.Pattle, or pettle, a plou h -stafi

’

.

Paughty , proud, haugh y.

Paukie, or pawkie, cunmng, slyPay ’t, paid, beat.Peat , a p iece Ofdried turf.Pech, to fetch thebreath short, as inan asthma.Pechan, t he crop , thestomach .

Peclin,peeling.

Pet , a great favourite.

Pettle,to cherish ; a plough -staff.

Ph ilibegs , short petti coats worn byH igh landmen.

Ph raise, fair speeches, flattery ; toflatter, to wheedle.

Phraisin, flatt ery .

Pibroch , a H igh landwar-songadapted t o the bagp ipe.Pickle, a small quantity .

P i t , to pu t .Plack , an Old Scottish coin, the th irdpart of a Scot ti sh penny , twelve ofwh ich makean English penny .

Plackless , penny -less, withou t money .

Plaid, an ou ter loosegarment.Pleugh , a plough .

Plisk ie, a trick , a mischief.Pack , a bag, a small sack.

Poind, to seizeon cattle, or take thegoods , as t he laws Of Scotland ai

low, for rent.Poortith , poverty.Fun, t o pull.Pouch , a pocket.Pouk, to pluck.Pouse, t o push .

Pou t , a poult, a ch ick.

Pou’t, did pull.powder, powder.Pow, t he head.

Powni e, a li t t lehorse.

Preen; a pin.

Prent, print.Prie, to taste.

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422 GLOSSARY.

S liddery, slippery .

S loken, to quench .

Slype, to slip, to fall over as a wetfurrow from the plough .

Smeddum, dust, mettle, sense.Smiddy, a smith y.Smoor, to smo ther.

Smou t ie, smutty , obscene, ugly.

Smy trie, a num erous collection ofsm all individuals .

S h ak ing, t he champing of a dog’s

teeth when aim ing at h is prey .

Snapper, a stumble.

S nas h , abuse, Billingsgate.Snaw, snow; to snow.

S naw-broo, melted snow.

S naW ie, snowy .

S neck , latch of a door.

S ued, t o lop, t o cu t off.S neesh in, snuff.

Sneesh in-m ill, a snuff-box.

S nell, bitter, biting.

S nick . See Sneck .

Snick-drawing, trick -contriving.

S noods, ribbons for binding t he hair.Snool, one whose spirit is brokenwi th oppress ive slavery ; to submittamely, to sneak, to oppress .

Snoove, to go smooth ly and con.

s tantly , to sneak .

Snowk, to scent or snuff, as a dog,h orse, &c.

Sonsy, h aving sweet engaging lookslucky , jo lly.

Soom , to Swim.

Soo th , truth , a petty oath .

Sough , a sigh , a sound dying on t heare

Souple, swift , flexible.

Sou ter, a sh oemaker.S owens, a dish made of the seeds of

oatmeal soured, &c. boiled up to

t he consistence of a pudding.

Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity ofany th ing liquid.

Sowt li , to try over a tunewith s lowwh istle.

Sowther, solder to solder.

S pae, to prophesy, to divine.

Spairge, to dash , to soil. as withm ire.

S paul, a limb.

S pavie, t he spavin.

Speat , or spate, a sweeping torrentafter rain or thaw.

Speel, to climb.

Spect , to S pit, thrust through.

S pence, t he country parlour.S pier, to ask, to inquire.

S p leuchan , a tobacco- pouch.S plo re, a frolic, a noise, a riot.S prattle, to scramble.

S preckled, spot ted, clambered.

Spring, 3 quick air in muS ic, a Scott ish reel.

Sprit , a tough -rooted plant, some.thing like rushes .

Spunkie, mettlesome; Wi ll 0’wisp,

or ignis fatuus.Spurtle, a stick used in mak ing oatmeal-pudding, or porridge.

Squatter, to flutter in water.

Squattle, to sprawl, to struggle.

Squeel, a scream to scream.

S tat-her, to stagger.S talwar t , strong, stout.S tane, a stone.

S tank , did s t ink ; a ditch .

S tark , stout.tartle, to run as cattle stung by thegad-fly.

t aukin, stalking, walking with a

stately step.

taumrel, a lockhead, half-witted.taw, did steal to surfeit.tech , to cram the belly.S teek, to shut ; a stitch.S teer, t o moles t , to stir.S teeve, firm, compacted.Stell, a still.Sten , to rear as a h orse.Stents , tribute, dues ofany kind.

Stey , s teep.S tibble, stubble.

ti bble-rig, thereaperwho takes thelead during harvest.tick-an’

-s tow,totally , altogether.tilt, a crutch ; t o halt, to limp.

timpart, theeighth part of a Winchester bushel.

Stirk , a cow or bullock a year old.

Stock , 3 plant , or root of colewort,cabbage, &c.

S tile, a gate in a fence.

S took, a sh ock ofcorn .

S toor, sounding hollow, strong andhoarse.

Stot, an ox .

S toup, or stowp, a kind of j ug witha handle.

Stoure, dust, more particularly dustin motion.

S towlins, by stealth .

S town ,s tolen.

S toy te, stumble.

Strack, did strike.

S trae, straw ; to die a fa ir straedea th , to die in bed.

Straik, did st rike.

Strappan, tall and handsome.S traugh t , straight.S treek, stretched to stretch .

Striddle, to straddle.Stroam, to spout, to piss.Strunt, sp iri tuous liquor ofany kindto walk sturdi ly .

S tuddy , an anvil.S tumpie, diminutive of stuS tuff, corn or pu lseofanyS t urt , trouble ; to molest.S turt in, frigh ted.

S ucker, sugar.

Sugh , t hecontinued rushing ofwindor water.

GLOS SARY .

Suthron, an oldname for an English .

man.

Swaird, award.

Swall’d, swelled.

Swank , stately , jolly.Swankie, or swanker, a tight strapping young fellow or gi rl.

Swap , an exchange to barter.Swarf, swoon.

Swat, did sweat.Swatch , a sample.Swats, drink, good ale.

Sweer, lazy , averseextremely averse.

Swoor, swore, did swear.

Swinge, to beat, to wh ip.

Swirl, a curve, an eddying blast orpool, a knot in w ood.

Swirlie,knaggy , full ofknots .

Swith ! get away.

Swither, to hesitate in choice;resolutewavering in choice.Syne, since, ago, then.

Tackets , a kind of nails for drivinginto t heheels of shoes.

Tae, a toe three-wed, having threeprongs.Tairge, to examine a target.Tak , to take.

Tamtallan, thenameofamountain.

Tangle, a sea-weed.

Tap, t he top.

Tapetless, headless, foolish .

Tarrow, to murmur at one’s allowance.

Tarry-breeks, a sailor.Tartan , a kind of cloth chequeredwith stripes of various colours.

Taupie, a foolish, th oughtless youngperson.

Tau ted, or tantie, matted together ;spoken of hair or wool.

Tawie, that allows itself eaceablyto be handled ; spoken of

Pa h orse,

cow, &c.

Teat, a small quantity .

Tedding, spreading after themower.Ten~ hours’-b ite, a sligh t feed toh orses wh ile in the yoke inforenoon.

Tent, a field-pulpit, heed, caution ;

to take heed.Tangs , tongs .Teugh , tough .

Th ack, thatch ; tha ck an’

reap ,clothing, necessaries.

Thae, t hese.Thairms, small guts, fiddle-strings.Theekit , thatched.

Th ick , intimate, familiarTh ieveless, cold, dry, spited ; spokenofa person ‘

s demeanour.Thir, these.Th irl, to thrill, to vibrate.

Thole, to suffer, to endure.

Thowe, a thaw ; to thaw.

Thowless, slack, lazy.

Thrapple, throat, windpipe.Thraw, to twist, to contrad

Threap, to maintain by dint of assertion.

Thresh in, thrash ing.

Threteen, thirteen.

Thristle, th istle.

Throu ther, pel ell, confusedly.

Thud, to make a loud in termittentnoise; a blow producing a dullheavy sound.

Timmer, timber.

Timmer-prop t , proppedwith timber.Tine, t o lose; t int thegate, los t t heway .

Tinkler, a tinker.Tip, a ram .

Tirl, to make a sligh t noise, to un

cover.Tocher, marriage portion.

Tod, a fox.

Toddle, to totter, like thewalk of achild.

Toom , empty.

Toun, a h amlet.Tout, the blast ofa horn or trumpet ;to blow a h orn, &c.

Tow, a rope.

Towmond, a twelvemonth.Touzie, rough , shaggy .

Toy , a very Old femaleheadd ress.Toy te, to totter like old age.Trains

, shaft s,Trash trie, trash .

Trig, spruce, neat.Trimly , excellently.

Trysted, appom ted ; to try ste, tomake an appom tment .

Tug, raw h ide, of which , in old

times, plough traces werefrequently made.ulzie, a quarrel; to quarrel, to figh t.

Twa, two.

Twa- three, a few.

’Twad, it wou ld.Twal, twelve ; twal—penm’

ewor tk, asmall quanti ty, 3 pennyworth .

Twin, t o part .Tyke, a dog.

Unco, strange, uncouth , very, verygreat, prodigi ous.

Uncos, news .

Unfauld, unfold.Unkenn ’

d, mi known.

U nsicker, unsure, unsteady.Unsca i th ’d, uninjured, unh urt.U nweeting, unwitting, unknowing.

Upo’

, u pon.

Urch in. SeeHurcheon.

Vap’rin, vapouring, bullying, brag

ging.

Vauntie, vain, proud.

Vera, very .

Virl, a ring round a column, &c.

424

W a’

, a walLWa

’s, walls .

Wabs ter, a weaver.W ad, would ; t o bet ; a pledge.W adna, would not .W ae

, wo .

Waesucks ! orwaesme! alas ! O thep ity !Waft , woof.W ai fu

’

, wailing.

Weir, to lay ou t , to expend.

W ale, cho ice; t o choose.

Wahe, am ple, large, j olly ; an interjecti on ofdistress .

W ame, t he belly .

Wamefou, a belly-full.W auchancie, unlucky , ilLomened,inauspimuus.

W anres tfu‘

, restless , uneasy.W ark, work.Wark- lume, a tool to work with .

Warl, or warid, world.Warlock , a wizard.

Warly , worldly, eager on amassingwealth.

W arran, warrant ; to warrant.Warst, worst.W arst l’d, or warsl

’d, wrestled.

W astrie, prodigality .

W at , wet ; 1 wet, I wot , I know.

Waten brose, brosemadeofmeal andwater simply ,W i th out t headdi tionofm ilk , butter, &c.Watt le, a twig, a wand.

W'

auble, to sw mg, to reel.NVaugh t , draugh t .Wauk it, th ickened as fullers doclot h , folded.

W aukrife, not apt to sleep.Waur, worse; to wors t.

Wean, or weanie, a ch ild\Veerie, or weary ; mom ebody , many a difierent person.

Weas on, weasand.W ee

,li ttle.

Wee th ings , little ones.

Wee b i t , a smallmatter.Weel

, well.Weelfare, welfare.

Weet , rain, wetness .

W eird, fate.

We’

se, we shall.Wha izle, to wheeze.

XVhalpi t , whelped.

VVh ang, a leathern string, a pieceof cheese, bread, &c. ; to give thes trapado.Whare, where.W hatreck , nevertheless .

W haup , the curlew .

Wheep, t o fly n imbly, to jerk ; pennywheep , small beer.

W h id, t hemotion of a hare, running

bu t no t frigh ted ; a lie.

Whiddin, running as a hare or

(o ney.

Whigmeleeries, wh ims, crotchets.

GLO S SARY .

Wh ingin, crying, complaining, fret.t ing.

Wh irligigums, useless ornaments,trifli ng appendages.irrin’

, wh irring ; thesoundmade

by t heflight of t he partridge, &c.

Wh isht, silence ; to hold one’st o be silent.W h isk, to sweep , to lash .

Wh isk in, large, sweeping.

W h issle, wh istle.

Wh itter, a heart y draught of liquor.Wh un-stane, a whm -stone.

Whyles, wh iles, sometimes .

W i’

, with .

Wick, to strikea stone in an obliquedirection a term in curling.

Widdiefu ’

, wrathful, angry, raging ;one deserving thegallo n s .

W iddle, struggle, bustle, eliot t.Wiel, a small whirlpool.W ide, diminutive ofW ife.

W ilfu’

,Wi lling stubborn.

Willyart, bashful, reserved, timid.Wim ple, t o meander.W in, to winnowW in ’

, wind.

W in’

s, winds.

W in’t, winded, as a bottom of yarn.

W'

inna, will no t .

W innock, a W indow.

W insome, hearty, gay.

Wintle, t o made a sudden and in

vo luntary motion.

Wiiize, an oath .

Wiss, to wish .

With outen, without.Witless, simple, easi imposed on.

W izen’d, hide-bound, dried, shrunk.Wonner, a wonder, a con temptuousappellati on.

Wons, dwells, resides .

Woo‘

, wool.Woodie, a rope, more properly onemade ofwith s or willows , a halter,t hegallows.

Wooen bab, thegarter knottedbelowt he kneewith a coupleof loops.Wordy, worthy.

Worset , worsted.Wow, an exclamation of pleasure,or wonder.W rack, to tease, to vex .

Wraith , a sp irit , a ghos t ; an apparition exactly like a h u ng person,whoseappearanceis said to forbodethe person’

s approaching death.Wrang, wrong

.

Wreetn, a dr ted heap of snowWriters, attorneys, lawyers.Wud-mad, distracted, Wi ld.

Wumble, a wimble.

W yle, to begu ile.

Wy liecoat , a flannel vest.Wyte, blame; to blame,

Ye, a pro. frequently usedfor then.

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