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 LIFE 
 
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Preparing for Publication, 
 
 THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 
 
 With a Preliminary Essay and Notes. 
 
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 LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
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 1828. 
 
LIFE 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 N BY 
 
 X G.YoCKHART, LL.B. 
 
 OF HIM WHO WALKED IN GLORY AND IN JOY, 
 BEHIND HIS PLOUGH UPON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE. 
 
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JAMES HOGG, AND ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS 
 
 INSCRIBED, 
 
 IN TESTIMONY OF 
 
 ADMIRATION AND ESTEEM, 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE, 
 
 Some apology must be deemed necessary 
 for any new attempt to write the Life of 
 Burns. The present adventurer on that 
 field has only this to offer — that Dr Cur- 
 rie's Memoir cannot be, with propriety, de- 
 tached from the collection of the Poet's 
 works, which it was expressly designed to 
 accompany ; and the regretted projector of 
 Constable's Miscellany sought in vain for 
 any other narrative sufiiciently detailed to 
 meet the purposes of his publication. 
 
 The last reprint of Dr Currie's Edition 
 had the advantage of being superintended 
 by Mr Gilbert Burns ; and that excellent 
 man, availing himself of the labours of 
 Cromek, Walker, and Peterkin, and sup- 
 plying many blanks from the stores of his 
 
vi PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 own recollection, produced at last a book, 
 in which almost everything that should be 
 (and some things that never should have 
 been) told, of his brother's history, may be 
 found. There is, however, at least for in- 
 dolent readers, no small inconvenience in 
 the arrangement which Currie's Memoir, 
 thus enlarged, presents. The frequent re- 
 ferences to notes, appendices, and Letters 
 not included in the same volume, are some- 
 what perplexing. And it may, moreover, 
 be seriously questioned, whether Gilbert 
 Burns's best method of answering many of 
 his amiable author's unconscious mis-state- 
 ments and exaggerations, would not have 
 been to expunge them altogether from a 
 work with which posterity were to connect, 
 in any shape or measure, the authority of 
 his own name. 
 
 As to criticism on Burns's poetry, no one 
 can suppose that anything of consequence 
 remains to be added on a subject which 
 has engaged successively the pens of Mac- 
 kenzie, Heron, Currie, Scott, Jeffrey, Wal- 
 ker, Wordsworth, Campbell, and Wilson. 
 
 The humble purpose of the following Es- 
 say was, therefore, no more than to com- 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE. Vll 
 
 press, within the limits of a single small 
 volume, the substance of materials already 
 open to all the world, and sufficient, in 
 every point of view, for those who have lei- 
 sure to collect, and candour to weigh them. 
 For any little touches of novelty that may 
 be discovered in a Narrative, thus unambi- 
 tiously undertaken, the writer is indebted 
 to respectable authorities, which shall be 
 cited as he proceeds. As to the earlier part 
 of Burns's history, Currie and Walker ap- 
 pear, to have left little unexplored ; it is 
 chiefly concerning the incidents of his clo- 
 sing years that their accounts have been 
 supposed to admit of a supplement. 
 
LIFE 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " My father was a farmer upon the Carrick Border, 
 And soberly he brought me up in decency and order." 
 
 Ivobert Burns was born on the 25th of January 
 1759, in a clay-built cottage, about two miles to 
 the south of the town of Ayr, and in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of the Kirk of Alloway, and the 
 " Auld Brig o' Doon." About a week after- 
 wards, part of the frail dwelling, which his father 
 had constructed with his own hands, gave way at 
 midnight ; and the infant poet and his mother 
 were carried through the storm, to the shelter of a 
 neighbouring hovel. 
 
 The father, William Burnes or Burness, (for 
 so he spelt his name,) was the son of a farmer in 
 Kincardineshire, whence he removed at 19 years 
 of age, in consequence of domestic embarrassments. 
 The farm on which the family lived, formed part 
 of the estate forfeited, in consequence of the Re- 
 bellion of 1715, by the noble house of Keith 
 Marischall ; and the poet took pleasure in saying, 
 a 2 
 
10 LIFE OF 
 
 that his humble ancestors shared the principles and 
 the fall of their chiefs. Indeed, after William 
 Burnes settled in the west of Scotland, there pre- 
 vailed a vague notion that he himself had been out 
 in the insurrection of 1745-6; but though Robert 
 would fain have interpreted his father's silence in 
 favour of a tale which flattered his imagination, his 
 brother Gilbert always treated it as a mere fiction, 
 and such it was.* It is easy to suppose that when 
 any obscure northern stranger fixed himself in 
 those days in the Low Country, such rumours 
 were likely enough to be circulated concerning 
 him. 
 
 William Burnes laboured for some years in the 
 neighbourhood of Edinburgh as a gardener, and 
 then found his way into Ayrshire. At the time 
 when Robert was born, he was gardener and 
 overseer to a gentleman of small estate, Mr Fer- 
 guson of Doonholm ; but resided on a few acres 
 of land, which he had on lease from another pro- 
 prietor, and where he had originally intended to 
 establish himself as a nurseryman. He married 
 Agnes Brown in December 1757, and the poet 
 was their first-born. 
 
 William Burnes seems to have been, in his hum- 
 ble station, a man eminently entitled to respect. 
 He had received the ordinary learning of a Scot- 
 tish parish school, and profited largely both by that 
 and by his own experience in the world. " I have 
 met with few" (said the poet, f after he had him- 
 self seen a good deal of mankind) " who under- 
 
 * Gilbert found among his father's papers a certificate 
 of the minister of his native parish, testifying that u the 
 bearer, William Burnes, had no hand in the late wicked 
 rebellion." 
 
 f Letter of Burns to Dr Moore, 22d August 1787- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 11 
 
 stood men, their manners, and their ways, equal to 
 my father." He was a strictly religious man. 
 There exists in his handwriting a little manual of 
 theology, in the form of a dialogue, which he drew 
 up for the use of his children, and from which it 
 appears that he had adopted more of the Arminian 
 than of the Calvinistic doctrine; a circumstance 
 not to be wondered at, when we consider that he 
 had been educated in a district which was never 
 numbered among the strongholds of the Presby- 
 terian church. The affectionate reverence with 
 which his children ever regarded him, is attested 
 by all who have described him as he appeared in 
 his domestic circle ; but there needs no evidence 
 beside that of the poet himself, who has painted, 
 in colours that will never fade, " the saint, the fa- 
 ther, and the husband," of the Cottars Saturday 
 Night. 
 
 Agnes Brown, the wife of this good man, is 
 described as " a very sagacious woman, without 
 any appearance of forwardness, or awkwardness of 
 manner ;" * and it seems that, in features, and, as 
 he grew up, in general address, the poet resembled 
 her more than his father.^ She had an inexhaust- 
 ible store of ballads and traditionary tales, and ap- 
 pears to have nourished his infant imagination by 
 this means, while her husband paid more attention 
 to " the weightier matters of the law." 
 
 These worthy people laboured hard for the sup- 
 port of an increasing family. William was occu- 
 pied with Mr Ferguson's service, and Agnes, — like 
 the wyfe of Auchtermuchtie, who ruled 
 " Baith calvis and kye, 
 And a' the house baith in and out," — 
 
 * Letter of Mr Mackenzie, surgeon at Irvine. Morri- 
 "son, vol. ii. p. 261. -f Ibid, 
 
la LIFE OF 
 
 contrived to manage a small dairy as well as her 
 children. But though their honesty and diligence 
 merited better things, their condition continued to 
 be very uncomfortable; and our poet (in his letter to 
 Dr Moore) accounts distinctly for his being born 
 and bred '« a very poor man's son," by the remark, 
 that " stubborn ungainly integrity, and headlong 
 ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying circum- 
 stances." 
 
 These defects of temper did not, however, ob- 
 scure the sterling worth of William Burnes in the 
 eyes of Mr Ferguson ; who, when 'lis gardener 
 expressed a wish to try his fortune on a farm of 
 his then vacant, and confessed at the same time his 
 inability to meet the charges of stocking it, at once 
 advanced 100/. towards the removal of the diffi- 
 culty. Burnes accordingly removed to this farm 
 (that of Mount Oliphant, in the parish of Ayr) at 
 Whitsuntide 1766, when his eldest son was be- 
 tween six and seven years of age. But the soil 
 proved to be of the most ungrateful description ; 
 and Mr Ferguson dying, and his affairs falling in- 
 to the hands of a harsh factor, (who afterwards 
 sat for his picture in the Twa Dogs,) Burnes was 
 glad to give up his bargain at the end of six years. 
 He then removed about ten miles to a larger and 
 better farm, that of Lochlea, in the parish of Tar- 
 bolton. But here, after a short interval of pros- 
 perity, some unfortunate misunderstanding took 
 place as to the conditions of the lease ; the dis- 
 pute was referred to arbitration ; and, after three 
 years of suspense, the result involved Burnes in 
 ruin. The worthy man lived to know of this 
 decision ; but death saved him from witnessing its 
 necessary consequences. He died of consumption 
 oh the 13th February 1781. Severe labour, and 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 13 
 
 hopes only renewed to be baffled, had at last ex- 
 hausted a robust but irritable structure and tempe- 
 rament of body and of mind. 
 
 In the midst of the harassing struggles which 
 found this termination, William Burnes appears to 
 have used his utmost exertions for promoting the 
 mental improvement of his children — a duty rare- 
 ly neglected by Scottish parents, however humble 
 their station, and scanty their means may be. Ro- 
 bert was sent, in his sixth year, to a small school 
 at Alloway Miln, about a mile from the house in 
 which he y r as born ; but Campbell, the teacher, 
 being in the course of a few months removed to 
 another situation, Burnes and four or five of his 
 neighbours engaged Mr John Murdoch to supply 
 his place, lodging him by turns in their own houses, 
 and ensuring to him a small payment of money 
 quarterly. Robert Burns, and Gilbert his next 
 brother, were the aptest and the favourite pupils of 
 this worthy man, who survived till very lately, and 
 who has, in a letter published at length by Currie, 
 detailed, with honest pride, the part which he had 
 in the early education of our poet. He became 
 the frequent inmate and confidential friend of the 
 family, and speaks with enthusiasm of the virtues 
 of William Burnes, and of the peaceful and happy 
 life of his humble abode. 
 
 " He was (says Murdoch) a tender and affec- 
 tionate father; he took pleasure in leading his 
 children in the path of virtue ; not in driving them, 
 as some parents do, to the performance of duties 
 to which they themselves are averse. He took 
 care to find fault but very seldom; and therefore y. 
 when he did rebuke, he was listened to with a 
 kind of reverential awe. A look of disapproba- 
 tion was felt ; a reproof was severely so : and a 
 
14 LIFE OF 
 
 stripe with the tawz, even on the skirt of the coat, 
 gave heart-felt pain, produced a loud lamentation, 
 and brought forth a flood of tears. 
 
 " He had the art of gaining the esteem and 
 good-will of those that were labourers under him. 
 I think 1 never saw him angry but twice : the one 
 time it was with the foreman of the band, for not 
 reaping the field as he was desired ; and the other 
 time, it was with an old man, for using smutty 
 inuendos and double entendres" 
 
 " In this mean cottage, of which I myself was 
 at times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt 
 a larger portion of content than in any place in 
 Europe. The Cottars Saturday Night will give 
 some idea of the temper and manners that prevail- 
 ed there." 
 
 The boys, under the joint tuition of Murdoch 
 and their father, made rapid progress in reading, 
 spelling, and writing ; they committed psalms and 
 hymns to memory with extraordinary ease — the 
 teacher taking care (as he tell us) that they should 
 understand the exact meaning of each word in the 
 sentence ere they tried to get it by heart. " As 
 soon," * says he, " as they were capable of it, I 
 taught them to turn verse into its natural prose or- 
 der ; sometimes to substitute synonymous expres- 
 sions for poetical words ; and to supply all the el- 
 lipses. Robert and Gilbert were generally at the 
 upper end of the class, even when ranged with 
 boys by far their seniors. The books most com- 
 monly used in the school were the Spelling Book, 
 the New Testament, the Bible, Mason s Collec- 
 tion of Prose and Verse, and Fishers English 
 Grammar" — u Gilbert always appeared to me to 
 
 * Cume's Life. p. U". 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 15 
 
 possess a more lively imagination, and to be more of 
 the wit, than Robert. I attempted to teach them 
 a little church-music. Here they were left far be- 
 hind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear, 
 in particular, was remarkably dull, and his voice 
 untunable. It was long before I could get them 
 to distinguish one tune from another. Robert's 
 countenance was generally grave and expressive 
 of a serious, contemplative, and thoughtful mind. 
 Gilbert's face said, Mirth, with thee I mean to 
 live; and certainly, if any person who knew the two 
 boys, bad been asked which of them was the most 
 likely to court the Muses, he would never have 
 guessed that Robert had a propensity of that kind." 
 " At those years," says the poet himself, in 
 1787, " I was by no means a favourite with any- 
 body. I was a good deal noted for a retentive 
 memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my dis- 
 position, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say 
 idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though 
 it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made 
 an excellent English scholar ; and by the time 
 I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a cri- 
 tic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In my 
 infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
 old woman who resided in the family, remarkable 
 for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She 
 had, I suppose, the largest collection in the coun- 
 try of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, 
 fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kel- 
 pies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
 cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and 
 other trumpery, * This cultivated the latent seeds 
 
 * Mr Robert Chambers tells me that this woman's name 
 was Jenny Wilson, and that she outlived Burns, with 
 whom she was a great favourite. 
 
16 lifi: 01 
 
 of poetry ; but had bo strong an effect on my ima- 
 gination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal ram- 
 bles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspi- 
 cious places ; and though nobody can be more 
 sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often 
 takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these 
 idle terrors. The earliest composition that I re- 
 collect taking pleasure in, was TJie Vision of 
 Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, How 
 are thy servants blest, O Lord! I particularly 
 remember one half-stanza, which was music to my 
 boyish ear — 
 
 ' For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
 High on the broken wave — ' 
 
 I met with these pieces in Masons English Col- 
 lection, one of my school-books. The two first 
 books I ever read in private, and which gave me 
 more pleasure than any two books I ever read 
 since, were, The Life of Hannibal, and TJie His- 
 tory of Sir William Wallace. * Hannibal gave 
 my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut 
 in raptures up and down after the recruiting drum 
 and bagpipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a 
 soldier ; while the story of Wallace poured a tide 
 of Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil 
 along there till the flood-gates of life shut in 
 eternal rest." \ 
 
 And speaking of the same period and books 
 to Mrs Dunlop, he says, " for several of my 
 earlier years I had few other authors; and many 
 a solitary hour have I stole out, after the labori- 
 
 ■ The Hannibal was lent by Mr Murdoch ; the Wal- 
 lace by a neighbouring blacksmith. 
 f Letter to Dr Moore, I707. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 17 
 
 ous vocations of the day, to shed a tear over 
 their glorious but unfortunate stories. In those 
 boyish days I remember in particular being struck 
 with that part of Wallace's story where these 
 lines occur — 
 
 4 Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late, 
 To make a silent and a safe retreat.' 
 
 " I chose a fine summer day, the only day my 
 line of life allowed, and walked half a dozen 
 miles to pay my respects to the Leglen wood, 
 with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim 
 did to Loretto ; and explored every den and dell 
 where I could suppose my heroic countryman to 
 have lodged." 
 
 Murdoch continued his instructions until the 
 family had been about two years at Mount Oli- 
 phant — when he left for a time that part of the 
 country. " There being no school near us," says 
 Gilbert Burns, " and our little services being al- 
 ready useful on the farm, my father undertook to 
 teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings by can- 
 dle light — and in this way my two elder sisters 
 received all the education they ever received." 
 
 Gilbert tells an anecdote which must not be 
 omitted here, since it furnishes an early instance 
 of the liveliness of his brother's imagination. Mur- 
 doch, being on a visit to the family, read aloud 
 one evening part of the tragedy of Titus Androni- 
 cus — the circle listened with the deepest interest 
 until he came to Act 2, sc. 5, where Lavinia is in- 
 troduced " with her hands cut off, and her tongue 
 cut out." At this the children entreated, with 
 one voice, in an agony of distress, that their friend 
 would read no more. " If ye will not hear the 
 play out," said William Burnes, " it need not be 
 jb 
 
18 LIFE OF 
 
 left with you." — " If it be left," cries Robert, 
 " I will burn it." His father \va9 about to chide 
 him for this return to Murdoch's kindness — but 
 the good young man interfered, saying he liked to 
 see so much sensibility, and left Tlte School for 
 Love in place of his truculent tragedy. At this 
 time Robert was nine years of age. 
 
 " Nothing," continues Gilbert Burns, " could 
 be more retired than our general manner of living 
 at Mount Oliphant ; we rarely saw anybody but 
 the members of our own family. There were no 
 boys of our own age, or near it, in the neighbour- 
 hood. Indeed the greatest part of the land in the 
 vicinity was at that time possessed by shopkeepers, 
 and people of that stamp, who had retired from 
 business, or who kept their farm in the country, 
 at the same time that they followed business in 
 town. My father was for some time almost the 
 only companion we had. He conversed familiar- 
 ly on all subjects with us, as if we had been men ; 
 and was at great pains, while we accompanied 
 him in the labours of the farm, to lead the conver- 
 sation to such subjects as might tend to increase 
 our knowledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits. 
 He borrowed Salmon's Geographical Grammar 
 for us, and endeavoured to make us acquainted 
 with the situation and history of the different 
 countries in the world ; while, from a book-society 
 in Ayr, he procured for us the reading of Der- 
 ham's Physico and Astro- Theology, and Ray's 
 Wisdom of God in the Creation, to give us some 
 idea of astronomy and natural history. Robert 
 read all these books with an avidity and industry 
 scarcely to be equalled. My father had been a 
 subscriber to Stackhouses History of the Bible. 
 From tins Robert collected a competent know- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 19 
 
 ledge of ancient history ; for no book was so volu- 
 minous as to slacken his industry, or so antiqua- 
 ted as to damp his researches." A collection of 
 letters by eminent English authors, is mentioned 
 as having fallen into Burns's hands much about 
 the same time, and greatly delighted him. 
 
 When Burns was about thirteen or fourteen 
 years old, his father sent him and Gilbert " week 
 about, during a summer quarter," to the parish 
 school of Dalrymple, two or three miles distant 
 from Mount Oliphant, for the improvement of 
 their penmanship. The good man could not pay 
 two fees ; or his two boys could not be spared at 
 the same time from the labour of the farm ! 
 
 " We lived very poorly," says the poet. " I 
 was a dexterous ploughman for my age ; and the 
 next eldest to me was a brother, (Gilbert,) who 
 could drive the plough very well, and help me to 
 thrash the corn. A novel writer might perhaps 
 have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction, 
 but so did not I. My indignation yet boils at the 
 recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent let- 
 ters, which used to set us all in tears." 
 
 Gilbert Burns gives his brother's situation at 
 this period in greater detail — " To the buffetiDgs 
 of misfortune," says he, " we could only oppose 
 hard labour and the most rigid economy. W T e 
 lived very sparingly. For several years butcher's 
 meat was a stranger in the house, while all the 
 members of the family exerted themselves to the 
 utmost of their strength and rather beyond it, in 
 the labours of the farm. My brother, at the age 
 of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop of corn, 
 and at fifteen was the principal labourer on the 
 farm, for we had no hired servant, male or female, 
 The anguish of mind we felt at our tender years, 
 
M Lirii or 
 
 under these straits and difficulties, was very great. 
 To think of our father growing old, (for he was 
 now above fifty,) broken down with the long-con- 
 tinued fatigues of his life, with a wife and five 
 other children, and in a declining state of circum- 
 stances, these reflections produced in my brother's 
 mind and mine sensations of the deepest distress. 
 I doubt not but the hard labour and sorrow of 
 this period of his life, was in a great measure the 
 cause of that depression of spirits with which 
 Robert was so often afflicted through his whole 
 life afterwards. At this time he was almost con- 
 stantly afflicted in the evenings with a dull head- 
 ach, which, at a future period of his life, was ex- 
 changed for a palpitation of the heart, and a threat- 
 ening of fainting and suffocation in his bed, in the 
 night-time." 
 
 The year after this, Burns was able to gain 
 three weeks of respite, one before, and two after 
 the harvest, from the labours which were thus strain- 
 ing his youthful strength. His tutor Murdoch 
 was now established in the town of Ayr, and 
 the boy spent one of these weeks in revising the 
 English grammar with him ; the other two were 
 given to French. He laboured enthusiastically in 
 the new pursuit, and came home at the end of a 
 fortnight with a dictionary and a Telemaque, of 
 which he made such use at his leisure hours, by 
 himself, that in a short time (if we may believe 
 Gilbert) he was able to understand any ordinary 
 book of French prose. His progress, whatever it 
 really amounted to, was looked on as something of 
 a prodigy ; and a writing-master in Ayr, a friend 
 of Murdoch, insisted that Robert Burns must next 
 attempt the rudiments of the Latin tonyuc. He 
 did so, but with little perseverance, we may be 
 sure, since the results were of no sort of value. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 21 
 
 Burns's Latin consisted of a few scraps of hack- 
 neyed quotation, such as many that never looked 
 into Ruddiman's Rudiments can apply, on occa- 
 sion, quite as skilfully as he ever appeal's to have 
 done. The matter is one of no importance ; we 
 might perhaps safely dismiss it with parodying 
 what Ben Jonson said of Shakspeare ; he had little 
 French, and no Latin ; and yet it is proper to men- 
 tion, that he is found, years after he left Ayrshire, 
 writing to Edinburgh in some anxiety about a copy 
 ofMoliere. 
 
 He had read, however, and read well, ere his 
 sixteenth year elapsed, no contemptible amount of 
 the literature of his own country. In addition to 
 the books which have already been mentioned, he 
 tells us that, ere the family quitted Mount Oli- 
 phant, he had read " the Spectator, some plays of 
 Shakspeare, Pope, (the Homer included,) Tull 
 and Dickson on Agriculture, Locke on the Human 
 Understanding, Justice's British Gardener s Di- 
 rectory, Boyle's Lectures, Taylor's Scripture Doc- 
 trine of Original Sin, A Select Collection of Eng- 
 lish Songs, Harvey's Meditations" (a book which 
 has ever been very popular among the Scottish 
 peasantry,) " and the Works of Allan Ramsay ;" 
 and Gilbert adds to this list Pamela, (the first no- 
 vel either of the brothers read,) two stray volumes 
 of Peregrine Pickle, two of Count Fathom, and a 
 single volume of " some English historian," con- 
 taining the reigns of James L, and his son. The 
 " Collection of Songs," says Burns,* " was my vade 
 mecum. I pored over them, driving my cart, or 
 walking to labour, song by song, verse by verse ; 
 carefully noticing the true, tender, or sublime, from 
 
 * Letter to Dr Moore, 1707. 
 3 2 
 
22 LIFE OF 
 
 affectation or fustian ; and I am convinced I owe 
 to this practice much of my critic-craft, such as it 
 is." 
 
 He derived, during this period, considerable ad- 
 vantages from the vicinity of Mount Oliphant to 
 the town of Ayr — a place then, and still, distin- 
 guished by the residence of many respectable gen- 
 tlemen's families, and a consequent elegance of 
 society and manners, not common in remote pro- 
 vincial situations. To his friend, Mr Murdoch, he 
 no doubt owed, in the first instance, whatever at- 
 tentions he received there from people older as well 
 as higher than himself: some such persons appear 
 to have taken a pleasure in lending him books, and 
 surely no kindness could have been more useful 
 to him than this. As for his coevals, he himself 
 says, very justly, " It is not commonly at that 
 green age that our young gentry have a just sense 
 of the distance between them and their ragged 
 playfellows. My young superiors," he proceeds, 
 " never insulted the clouterly appearance of my 
 plough-boy carcass, the two extremes of which 
 were often exposed to all the inclemencies of all 
 the seasons. They would give me stray volumes 
 of books : among them, even then, I could pick up 
 some observation ; and one, whose heart I am sure 
 not even the Munny * Begum scenes have tainted, 
 helped me to a little French. Parting with these, 
 my young friends and benefactors, as they occa- 
 sionally went off for the East or West Indies, was 
 often to me a sore affliction, — but I was soon call- 
 ed to more serious evils." — (Letter to Moore.) 
 The condition of the family during the last two 
 years of their residence at Mount Oliphant, when 
 
 " The allusion here is to one of the sons of Dr John 
 Malcolm, afterwards highly distinguished in the service of 
 (he East India Company. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 23 
 
 the struggle which ended in their removal was ra- 
 pidly approaching its crisis, has been already de- 
 scribed ; nor need we dwell again on the untimely 
 burden of sorrow, as well as toil, which fell to the 
 share of the youthful poet, and which would have 
 broken altogether any mind wherein feelings like 
 his had existed, without strength like his to con- 
 trol them. 
 
 The removal of the family to Lochlea, in the 
 parish of Tarbolton, took place when Burns was 
 in his sixteenth year. He had some time before 
 this made his first attempt in verse, and the oc- 
 casion is thus described by himself in his letter to 
 Moore. 
 
 " This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a 
 hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, 
 brought me to my sixteenth year ; a little before 
 which period I first committed the sin of Rhyme. 
 You know our country custom of coupling a man 
 and woman together as partners in the labours of 
 harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was 
 a bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. 
 My scarcity of English denies me the power of 
 doing her justice in that language ; but you know 
 the Scottish idiom — she was a bonnie, stoeet, son- 
 sie lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to 
 herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, 
 which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse 
 prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be 
 the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here 
 below ! How she caught the contagion, I cannot 
 tell : you medical people talk much of infection 
 from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; but 
 I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did 
 not know myself why I liked so much to loiter be- 
 hind with her, when returning in the evening from 
 
24 LIFE OF 
 
 our labours ; why the tones of her voice made my 
 heart- strings thrill like an iEolian harp ; and par- 
 ticularly why my pulse beat such a furious ratan, 
 when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to 
 pick out the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among 
 her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweet- 
 ly ; and it was her favourite reel, to which I at- 
 tempted giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I 
 was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could 
 make verses like printed ones, composed by men 
 who had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a 
 song, which was said to be composed by a small 
 country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, 
 with whom he was in love ; and I saw no reason 
 why I might not rhyme as well as he ; for, ex- 
 cepting that he could smear sheep, and cast peats, 
 his father living in the moorlands, he had no more 
 scholar-craft than myself. 
 
 " Thus with me began love and poetry ; which 
 at times have been my only, and till within the 
 last twelve months, have been my highest enjoy- 
 ment." 
 
 The earliest of the poet's productions is the little 
 ballad, 
 
 " O once I loved a bonnie lass, 
 
 Ay, and I love her still, 
 And whilst that honour warms my breast, 
 
 I'll love my handsome Nell," &c. 
 
 Burns himself characterises it as " a very puerile 
 and silly performance ;" yet it contains here and 
 there lines of which he need hardly have been 
 ashamed at any period of his life : — 
 
 " She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 
 
 Baith decent and genteel, 
 And then there'' s something in her gait 
 
 Gars ony dress look wed" 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 25 
 
 tc Silly and puerile as it is," said the poet, long 
 afterwards, " I am always pleased with this song, 
 as it recalls to my mind those happy days when 
 my heart was yet honest, and my tongue sincere. . . 
 I composed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and 
 to this hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, 
 my blood sallies, at the remembrance." (MS. 
 Memorandum book, August 1783.) 
 
 In his first epistle to Lapraik(1785) he says — 
 
 " Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
 I to the crambo-jingle tell, 
 
 Tho' rude and rough ; 
 Yet crooning to a body's sell 
 
 Does zveel eneugh." 
 
 And in some nobler verses, entitled " On my 
 Early Days," we have the following passage : — - 
 
 " I mind it weel in early date, 
 
 When I was beardless, young and blate, 
 
 And first could thrash the barn, 
 Or haud a yokin' o' the pleugh, 
 AiC tho'' forfoughten sair eneugh, 
 
 Yet unco proud to learn— - 
 When first amang the yellow corn 
 
 A man J reckoned was. 
 An* reV the lave ilk merry mom 
 
 Could rank my rig and lass— 
 Still shearing and clearing 
 
 The tither stookit raw, 
 Wi' claivers and haivers 
 
 Wearing the day awa — 
 E'en then a wish, I mind its power, 
 A wish that to my latest hour 
 
 Shall strongly heave my breast : 
 That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
 Some useful plan or book could make, 
 
 Or sing a sang, at least : 
 The rough bur-thistle spreading wide 
 
 Amang the bearded bear, 
 J turned the xceeder-clips aside, 
 
 And spared the symbol dear.' 1 '' 
 
26 LIFE OF 
 
 He is hardly to be envied who cancontemplate 
 without emotion, this exquisite picture of young 
 nature and young genius. It was amidst such 
 scenes that this extraordinary being felt those first 
 indefinite stirrings of immortal ambition, which he 
 has himself shadowed out under the magnificent 
 image of " the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops, 
 around the walls of his cave." * 
 
 * Letter to Dr Moore. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 
 n 
 
 
 JP 
 
 c? 
 
 
 *""" 
 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 
 
 " O enviable early days, 
 
 When dancing thoughtless pleasure's niazs, 
 
 To care and guilt unknown ! 
 How ill exchanged for riper times, l~ 
 To feel the follies or the crimes 
 
 Of others — or my own VI 
 
 .. y 
 
 As has been already mentioned, William Burne? 
 now quitted Mount Oliphant for Loehlea, in the 
 parish of Tarbolton, where, for some little space, 
 fortune appeared to smile on his industry and 
 frugality. Robert and Gilbert were employed by 
 their father as regular labourers — he allowing 
 them 11. of wagv^s each per annum ; from which 
 sum, however, the value of any home-made 
 clothes received by the youths was exactly de- 
 ducted. Robert Burns's person, inured to daily 
 toil, and continually exposed to every variety of 
 weather, presented, before the usual time, every 
 characteristic of robust and vigorous manhood. 
 He says himself, that he never feared a compe- 
 titor in any species of rural exertion ; and Gilbert 
 Burns, a man of uncommon bodily strength, adds, 
 that neither he, nor any labourer he ever saw at 
 work, was equal to the youthful poet, either in 
 the corn field, or the severer tasks of the thrash- 
 ing-floor. Gilbert says, that Robert's literary zeal 
 slackened considerably after their removal to Tar- 
 bolton. He was separated from his acquaintances 
 of the town of Ayr, and probably missed not only 
 
28 LIFE OF 
 
 the stimulus of their conversation, but the kind- 
 ness that had furnished him with his supply, such 
 as it was, of books. But the main source of his 
 change of habits about this period was, it is con- 
 fessed on all hands, the precocious fervour of one 
 of his own turbulent passions. 
 
 " In my seventeenth year," says Burns, " to give 
 my manners a brush, I went to a country dancing- 
 school. — My father had an unaccountable anti- 
 pathy against these meetings ; and my going was, 
 what to this moment I repent, in opposition to 
 his wishes. My father was subject to strong pas- 
 sions ; from that instance of disobedience in me, 
 he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe 
 was one cause of the dissipation which marked my 
 succeeding years.* I say dissipation, comparative- 
 ly with the strictness, and sobriety, and regularity 
 of Presbyterian country life ; for though the Will- 
 o'-Wisp meteors of thoughtless whim were almost 
 the sole lights of my path, yet early ingrained 
 
 * " I wonder," says Gilbert, " how Robert could attri- 
 bute to our father that lasting resentment of his going to 
 a dancing-school against his will, of which he was inca- 
 pable. I believe the truth was, that about this time he 
 began to see the dangerous impetuosity of my brother's 
 passions, as well as his not being amenable to counsel, 
 which often irritated my father, and which he would na- 
 turally think a dancing-school was not likely to correct. 
 But he was proud of Robert's genius, which he bestowed 
 more expense on cultivating than on the rest of the family 
 —and he was equally delighted with his warmth of heart, 
 and conversational powers. He had indeed that dislike 
 of dancing-schools which Robert mentions ; but so far 
 overcame it during Robert's first month of attendance, 
 that he permitted the rest of the family that were fit for it, 
 to accompany him during the second month. Robert ex- 
 celled in dancing, and was for some time distractedly fond 
 of it." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 29 
 
 piety and virtue kept me for several years after- 
 wards within the line of innocence. The great 
 misfortune of my life was to want an aim. I saw 
 my father's situation entailed on me perpetual la- 
 bour. The only two openings by which 1 could 
 enter the temple of Fortune, were the gate of nig- 
 gardly economy, or the path of little chicaning 
 bargain-making. The first is so contracted an 
 aperture, I could never squeeze myself into it ; — 
 the last I always hated — there was contamination 
 in the very entrance ! Thus abandoned of aim or 
 view in life, with a strong appetite for sociability, 
 as well from native hilarity, as from a pride of ob- 
 servation and remark ; a constitutional melancholy 
 or hypochondriacism that made me fly solitude ; 
 add to these incentives to social life, my reputa- 
 tion for bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical 
 talent, and a strength of thought, something like 
 the rudiments of good sense ; and it will not seem 
 surprising that I was generally a welcome guest 
 where I visited, or any great wonder that, always 
 where two or three met together, there was I 
 among them. But far beyond all other impulses of 
 my heart, was un penchant pour V adorable moitie 
 du genre humain. My heart was completely tinder, 
 and was eternally lighted up by some goddess or 
 other ; and as in every other warfare in this world 
 my fortune was various, sometimes I was received 
 with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with 
 a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, 
 I feared no competitor, and thus I set absolute 
 want at defiance ; and as I never cared farther for 
 my labours than while I was in actual exercise, I 
 spent the evenings in the way after my own heart. 
 A country lad seldom carries on a love adventure 
 c 
 
30 LIFE OF 
 
 without an assisting confident. I possessed a cu- 
 riosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recom- 
 mended me as a proper second on these occa- 
 sions, and I dare say, I felt as much pleasure in 
 being in the secret of half the loves of the parish 
 of Tarbolton, as ever did statesman in knowing 
 the intrigues of half the courts of Europe." 
 
 In regard to the same critical period of Burns's 
 life, his excellent brother writes as follows . — " The 
 seven years we lived in Tarbolton parish (extend- 
 ing from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth of 
 my brother's age) were not marked by much li- 
 terary improvement ; but, during this time, the 
 foundation was laid of certain habits in my bro- 
 ther's character, which afterwards became but too 
 prominent, and which malice and envy have taken 
 delight to enlarge on. Though, when young, he 
 was bashful and awkward in his intercourse with 
 women, yet when he approached manhood, his 
 attachment to their society became very strong, 
 and he was constantly the victim of some fair en- 
 slaver. The symptoms of his passion were often 
 such as nearly to equal those of the celebrated 
 Sappho. I never indeed knew that he fainted, 
 sunk, and died away ; but the agitations of his 
 mind and body exceeded anything of the kind I 
 ever knew in real life. He had always a particu- 
 lar jealousy of people who were richer than him- 
 self, or who had more consequence in life. His 
 love, therefore, rarely settled on persons of this 
 description. When he selected any one out of 
 the sovereignty of his good pleasure to whom he 
 should 1 pay his particular attention, she was in- 
 stantly invested with a sufficient stock of charms, 
 out of the plentiful stores of his own imagination ; 
 1 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 31 
 
 and there was often a great dissimilitude between 
 his fair captivator, as she appeared to others, and 
 as she seemed when invested with the attributes 
 he gave her. One generally reigned paramount 
 in his affections ; but as Yorick's affections flowed 
 out toward Madame de L — at the remise door, 
 while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, 
 so Robert was frequently encountering other at- 
 tractions, which formed so many under-plots in 
 the drama of his love." 
 
 Thus occupied with labour, love, and dancing, 
 the youth " without an aim" found leisure occa- 
 sionally to clothe the sufficiently various moods of 
 his mind in rhymes. It was as early as seventeen, 
 (he tells us,)* that he wrote some stanzas which 
 begin beautifully : 
 
 " I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 
 
 Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
 Listening to the wild birds singing, 
 
 By a falling crystal stream. 
 Straight the sky grew black and daring, 
 
 Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave, 
 Trees with aged arms were warring, 
 
 O'er the swelling drumlie wave. 
 Such was life's deceitful morning," &c 
 
 On comparing these verses with those on 
 " Handsome Nell," the advance achieved by the 
 young bard in the course of two short years, must 
 be regarded with admiration ; nor should a minor 
 circumstance be entirely overlooked, that in the 
 piece which we have just been quoting, their oc- 
 curs but one Scotch word. It was about this time, 
 also, that he wrote a ballad of much less ambitious 
 vein, which, years after, he says, he used to con 
 
 * Reliques, p. 242. 
 
32 LIFE OF 
 
 over with delight, because of the faithfulness with 
 which it recalled to him the circumstances and 
 feelings of his opening manhood. 
 
 — " My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, 
 And carefully he bred me up in decency and order. 
 He bade me act a manly part, tho' I had ne'er a farthing ; 
 For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth 
 regarding. 
 
 Then out into the world my course I did determine ; 
 Tho* to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charm- 
 ing ; 
 My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education; 
 Resolved was I at least to try to mend my situation. 
 
 No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me ; 
 So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, and labour to sustain me. 
 To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me 
 
 early ; 
 For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for fortune 
 
 fairly. 
 
 Thus all obscure, unknown and poor, thro' life I'm doom- 
 ed to wander ; 
 
 Till down my weary bones I lay, in everlasting slumber. 
 
 No view, nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me 
 pain or sorrow ; 
 
 I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow." 
 &c. 
 
 These are the only two of his very early pro- 
 ductions in which we have nothing expressly about 
 love. The rest were composed to celebrate the 
 charms of those rural beauties who followed each 
 other in the dominion of his fancy — or shared the 
 capacious throne between them ; and we may 
 easily believe, that one who possessed, with his 
 other qualifications, such powers of flattering, fear- 
 ed competitors as little in the diversions of his 
 evenings as in the toils of his day. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 3S 
 
 The rural lover, in those districts, pursues his 
 tender vocation in a style, the especial fascination 
 of which town-bred swains may find it somewhat 
 difficult to comprehend. After the labours of the 
 day are over, nay, very often after he is supposed 
 by the inmates of his own fireside to be in his bed, 
 the happy youth thinks little of walking many long 
 Scotch miles to the residence of his mistress, who, 
 upon the signal of a tap at her window, comes forth 
 to spend a soft hour or two beneath the harvest 
 moon, or, if the weather be severe, (a circumstance 
 which never prevents the journey from being ac- 
 complished,) amidst the sheaves of her father's 
 barn. This " chappin' out," as they call it, is a cus- 
 tom of which parents commonly wink at, if they 
 do not openly approve, the observance ; and the 
 consequences are far, very far, more frequently 
 quite harmless, than persons not familiar with the 
 peculiar manners and feelings of our peasantry may 
 find it easy to believe. Excursions of this class form 
 the theme of almost all the songs which Bums is 
 known to have produced about this period, — and 
 such of these juvenile performances as have been 
 preserved, are, without exception, beautiful. They 
 show how powerfully his boyish fancy had been 
 affected by the old rural minstrelsy of his own 
 country, and how easily his native taste caught the 
 secret of its charm. The truth and simplicity of 
 nature breathe in every line — the images are al- 
 ways just, often originally happy — and the grow- 
 ing refinement of his ear and judgment, may be 
 traced in the terser language and more mellow flow 
 of each successive ballad. 
 
 The best of the songs written at this time is that 
 beginning, — 
 
 c 2 
 
34 LIFE OF 
 
 li It was upon a Lammas night, 
 
 When corn rigs are bonnie, 
 Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 
 
 I held awa to Annie. 
 The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 
 
 Till, 'tween the late and early, 
 Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 
 
 To see me thro' the barley," &c. 
 
 We may let the poet cany on his own story. 
 *' A circumstance," says he,* " which made some 
 alteration on my mind and manners, was, that I 
 spent my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, 
 a good distance from home, at a noted school,f to 
 learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, &c, in which 
 I made a good progress. But I made a greater 
 progress in the knowledge of mankind. The con- 
 traband trade was at that time very successful, and 
 it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those 
 who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and 
 roaring dissipation were till this time new to me ; 
 but I was no enemy to social life. Here, though 
 I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear 
 in a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high 
 hand with my geometry, till the sun entered Virgo, 
 a month which is always a carnival in my bosom, 
 when a charming Jilette, who lived next door to 
 the school, overset my trigonometry, and set me 
 off at a tangent from the sphere of my studies. I, 
 however, struggled on with my shies and cosines 
 for a few days more ; but stepping into the garden 
 one charming noon to take the sun's altitude, there 
 I met my angel, like 
 
 ( ' Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
 
 Herself a fairer flower.' 
 
 * Letter to Dr Moore. 
 
 f This was the school of Kirkoswald's. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 35 
 
 " It was in vain to think of doing any more 
 good at school. The remaining week I staid, I 
 did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about 
 her, or steal out to meet her ; and the two last 
 nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a 
 mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent 
 girl had kept me guiltless. 
 
 " I returned home very considerably improved. 
 My reading was enlarged with the very important 
 addition of Thomson's and Shenstone's Works ; 
 I had seen human nature in a new phasis ; and I 
 engaged several of my school-fellows to keep up a 
 literary correspondence with me. This improved 
 me in composition. I had met with a collection of 
 letters by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, and I 
 pored over them most devoutly ; I kept copies of 
 any of my own letters that pleased me ; and a 
 comparison between them and the composition of 
 most of my correspondents flattered my vanity. 
 I carried this whim so far, that though I had not 
 three farthings worth of business in the world, yet 
 almost every post brought me as many letters as 
 if I had been a broad plodding son of day-book 
 and ledger. 
 
 " My life flowed on much in the same course 
 till my twenty-third year. Vive V amour, et vive la 
 bagatelle, were my sole principles of action. The 
 addition of two more authors to my library gave 
 me great pleasure ; Sterne and M'Kenzie — Tris- 
 tram Shandy and The Man of Feeling — were my 
 bosom favourites. Poesy was still a darling walk 
 for my mind ; but it was only indulged in accord- 
 ing to the humour of the hour. I had usually half 
 a dozen or more pieces on hand ; I took up one 
 or other, as it suited the momentary tone of the 
 
36 LIFE OF 
 
 mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered on 
 fatigue. My passions, once lighted up, raged like 
 so many devils, till they found vent in rhyme ; and 
 then the conning over my verses, like a spell, 
 soothed all into quiet." 
 
 Of the rhymes of those days, few, when he 
 wrote his letter to Moore, had appeared in print. 
 Winter, a dirge, an admirably versified piece, is of 
 their number ; the Death of Poor Mailie, Mailie's 
 Elegy, and John Barleycorn ; and one charming 
 song, inspired by the Nymph of Kirkoswald's, whose 
 attractions put an end to his trigonometry. 
 
 " Now westlin winds, and slaughtering guns, 
 
 Bring Autumn's pleasant weather ; 
 The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 
 
 Amang the blooming heather. . . . 
 — Peggy dear, the evening's clear, 
 
 Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
 The sky is blue, the fields in view, 
 
 All fading green and yellow ; 
 Come let us stray our gladsome way," &c. 
 
 John Barleycorn is a clever old ballad, very 
 cleverly new-modelled and extended ; but the 
 Death and Elegy of Poor Mailie deserve more 
 attention. The expiring animal's admonitions 
 touching the education of the " poor toop lamb, 
 her son and heir/' and the " yowie, silly thing," 
 her daughter, are from the same peculiar vein of 
 sly homely wit, embedded upon fancy, which he 
 afterwards dug with a bolder hand in the Twa 
 Dogs, and perhaps to its utmost depth, in his 
 Death and Doctor Hornbook. It need scarcely be 
 added, that Poor Mailie was a real personage, 
 though she did not actually die until some time 
 after her last words were written. She had been 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 37 
 
 purchased by Burns in a frolic, and became ex- 
 ceedingly attached to his person. 
 
 " Thro' all the town she trotted by him ; 
 A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
 W? kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 
 
 She ran wi' speed : 
 A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him, 
 
 Than Mailie dead." 
 
 These little pieces are in a much broader dialect 
 than any of their predecessors. His merriment 
 and satire were, from the beginning, Scotch. 
 
 Notwithstanding the luxurious tone of some of 
 Burns's pieces produced in those times, we are as- 
 sured by himself (and his brother unhesitatingly con- 
 firms the statement) that no positive vice mingled 
 in any of his loves, until after he had reached his 
 twenty-third year. He has already told us, that 
 his short residence " away from home" at Kirk- 
 oswald's, where he mixed in the society of sea- 
 faring men and smugglers, produced an unfavour- 
 able alteration on some of his habits ; but in 1781-2 
 he spent six months at Irvine ; and it is from this 
 period that his brother dates a serious change. 
 
 " As his numerous connexions," says Gilbert, 
 " were governed by the strictest rules of virtue and 
 modesty, (from which he never deviated till his 
 twenty-third year,) he became anxious to be in a 
 situation to marry. This was not likely to be the 
 case while he remained a farmer, as the stocking 
 of a farm required a sum of money he saw no 
 probability of being master of for a great while. 
 He and I had for several years taken land of our 
 father, for the purpose of raising flax on our own 
 account ; and in the course of selling it, Robert 
 began to think of turning flax-dresser, both as be- 
 
38 LIFE OF 
 
 ing suitable to his grand view of settling in life, 
 and as subservient to the flax-raising." * Burns, 
 accordingly, went to a half-brother of his mother's, 
 by name Peacock, a flax-dresser in Irvine, with the 
 view of learning this new trade, and for some time 
 he applied himself diligently ; but misfortune after 
 misfortune attended him. The shop accidentally 
 caught fire during the carousal of a new-year's- day's 
 morning, and Robert " was left, like a true poet, 
 not worth a sixpence." — " I was obliged," says he, 
 " to give up this scheme ; the clouds of misfortune 
 were gathering thick round my father's head ; and 
 what was worst of all, he was visibly far gone in 
 a consumption ; and, to crown my distresses, a 
 belle fille whom I adored, and who had pledged 
 her soul to meet me in the field of matrimony, 
 jilted me, with peculiar circumstances of mortifica- 
 tion, f The finishing evil that brought up the rear 
 
 * David Sillar assured Mr Robert Chambers that this 
 notion originated with William Burnes, who thought of 
 becoming entirely a lint-farmer; and, by way of keeping 
 as much of the profits as he could within his family, of 
 making his eldest son a flax-dresser. 
 
 •f* Some letters referring to this affair are omitted in the 
 " General Correspondence" of Gilbert's edition ; for what 
 reason I know not. They are surely as well worth pre- 
 serving as many in the Collection, particularly when their 
 early date is considered. The first of them begins thus : — 
 *' I verily believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feel- 
 ings of love are as rare in the world as the pure genuine 
 principles of virtue and piety. This, I hope, will account 
 for the uncommon style of all my letters to you. By un- 
 common, I mean their being written in such a serious 
 manner, which, to tell you the truth, has made me often 
 afraid lesf you should take me for some zealous bigot, who 
 conversed with his mistress as he would converse with his 
 minister. I don't know how it is, my dear ; for though, 
 except your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so 
 much pleasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me those 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 39 
 
 of this infernal file, was, my constitutional melan- 
 choly being increased to such a degree, that for 
 three months I was in a state of mind scarcely to 
 be envied by the hopeless wretches who have got 
 their mittimus — Depart from me, ye cursed." The 
 following letter, addressed by Burns to his father, 
 three days before the unfortunate fire took place, 
 will show abundantly that the gloom of his spirits 
 had little need of that aggravation. When we 
 consider by whom, to whom, and under what cir- 
 cumstances, it was written, the letter is every way 
 a remarkable one : — 
 
 giddy raptures so much talked of among lovers. I have of- 
 ten thought, that if a well-grounded affection be not really 
 a part of virtue, 'tis something extremely akin to it. When- 
 ever the thought of my E. warms my heart, every feeling 
 of humanity, every principle of generosity, kindles in my 
 breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark of malice and. 
 envy, which are but too apt to invest me. I grasp every 
 creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally 
 participate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathize 
 with the miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, 
 I often look up to the divine Disposer of Events, with an 
 eye of gratitude for the blessing which I hope he intends to 
 bestow on me, in bestowing you." 
 
 What follows is from Burns' s Letter, in answer to that 
 in which the young woman intimated her final rejection 
 of his vows. — " I ought in good manners to have acknow- 
 ledged the receipt of your letter before this time, but my 
 heart was so shocked with the contents of it, that I can 
 scarcely yet collect my thoughts so as to write to you on the 
 subject. I will not attempt to describe what I felt on re- 
 ceiving your letter. I read it over and over, again and 
 again ; and though it was in the politest language of refu- 
 sal, still it was peremptory ; ' you were sorry you could not 
 make me a return, but you wish me' what, without you, I 
 never can obtain, ' you wish me all kind of happiness.' It 
 would be weak and unmanly to say that without you I ne- 
 ver can be happy ; but sure I am, that sharing life with you, 
 would have given it a relish, that, wanting you, I never can 
 taste." In such excellent English did Burns woo hiscoun= 
 try maidens in at most his twentieth year. 
 
40 LIFE OF 
 
 " Honoured Sir, 
 
 " I have purposely delayed writing, in the 
 hope that I should have the pleasure of seeing 
 you on New-year's day ; but work comes so hard 
 upon us, that I do not choose to be absent on 
 that account, as well as for some other little 
 reasons, which I shall tell you at meeting. My 
 health is nearly the same as when you were here, 
 only my sleep is a little sounder ; and, on the 
 whole, I am rather better than otherwise, though 
 I mend by very slow degrees. The weakness of 
 my nerves has so debilitated my mind, that I dare 
 neither review past wants, nor look forward into 
 futurity ; for the least anxiety or perturbation in 
 my breast produces most unhappy effects on my 
 whole frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an 
 hour or two my spirits are alightened, I glimmer 
 a little into futurity ; but my principal, and indeed 
 my only pleasurable employment, is looking back- 
 wards and forwards in a moral and religious way. 
 I am quite transported at the thought, that ere 
 long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu 
 to all the pains and uneasiness, and disquietudes of 
 this weary life ; for I assure you I am heartily ti- 
 red of it ; and, if I do not very much deceive my- 
 self, I could contentedly and gladly resign it. 
 
 ' The soul, uneasy, and confined at home, 
 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come.' 
 " It is for this reason I am more pleased with 
 the 15tb, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chapter 
 of Revelations, than with any ten times as many 
 verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange 
 the noble enthusiasm with which they inspire me 
 for all that this world has to offer.* As for this 
 
 * The verses of Scripture here alluded to, are as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " 15. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 4-1 
 
 world, I despair of ever making a figure in it. I 
 am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the 
 flutter of the gay. I shall never again be capable 
 of entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am altoge- 
 ther unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I 
 foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await 
 me, and I am in some measure prepared, and daily 
 preparing, to meet them. I have but just time and 
 paper to return you my grateful thanks for the 
 lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, 
 which were too much neglected at the time of gi- 
 ving them, but which I hope have been remember- 
 ed ere it is yet too late. Present my dutiful re- 
 spects to my mother, and my compliments to Mr 
 and Mrs Muir ; and, with wishing you a merry 
 New-year's- day, I shall conclude. 
 
 " I am, honoured Sir, your dutiful son, 
 
 i( Robert Burns." 
 
 " P. S. — My meal is nearly out ; but I am go- 
 ing to borrow, till I get more." 
 
 " This letter," says Dr Currie, " written several 
 years before the publication of his Poems, when 
 his name was as obscure as his condition was 
 humble, displays the philosophic melancholy which 
 so generally forms the poetical temperament, and 
 that buoyant and ambitious spirit which indicates 
 
 serve him day and night in his temple ; and he that sitteth 
 on the throne shall dwell among them. 
 
 " 16. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any 
 more ; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. 
 
 " 17. For the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne 
 shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains 
 of waters ; and God shall wipe away all tears from their 
 eves." 
 
 D 2" 
 
42 LIFE OF 
 
 a mind conscious of its strength. At Irvine, Bums 
 at this time possessed a single room for his lodg- 
 ings, rented, perhaps, at the rate of a shilling a- 
 week. He passed his days in constant labour as a 
 flax-dresser, and his food consisted chiefly of oat- 
 meal, sent to him from his father's family. The 
 store of this humble, though wholesome nutriment, 
 it appears, was nearly exhausted, and he was about 
 to borrow till he should obtain a supply. Yet even 
 in this situation, his active imagination had formed 
 to itself pictures of eminence and distinction. His 
 despair of making a figure in the world, shows 
 how ardently he wished for honourable fame ; and 
 his contempt of life, founded on this despair, is 
 the genuine expression of a youthful and generous 
 mind. In such a state of reflection, and of suffer- 
 ing, the imagination of Burns naturally passed the 
 dark boundaries of our earthly horizon, and rested 
 on those beautiful representations of a better world, 
 where there is neither thirst, nor hunger, nor sor- 
 row, and where happiness shall be in proportion to 
 the capacity of happiness." — Life, p. 102. 
 
 Unhappily for himself and for the world, it was 
 not always in the recollections of his virtuous home 
 and the study of his Bible, that Burns sought for 
 consolation amidst the heavy distresses which " his 
 youth was heir to." Irvine is a small sea-port ; 
 and here, as atKirkoswald's,the adventurous spirits 
 of a smuggling coast, with all their jovial habits, 
 were to be met with in abundance. " He contract- 
 ed some acquaintance," says Gilbert, " of a freer 
 manner of thinking and living than he had been 
 used to, whose society prepared him for overleap- 
 ing the bounds of rigid virtue, which had hitherto 
 restrained him." 
 
 I, owe to Mr Robert Chambers (author of Tra- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 43 
 
 ditions of Edinburgh) the following note of a 
 conversation which he had in June 1826, with a 
 respectable old citizen of this town : — " Burns was, 
 at the time of his residence among us, an older- 
 looking man than might have been expected from 
 his age — very darkly complexioned, with a strong 
 dark eye — of a thoughtful appearance, amounting 
 to what might be called a gloomy attentiveness ; 
 so much so, that when in company which did not 
 call forth his brilliant powers of conversation, he 
 might often be seen, for a considerable space toge- 
 ther, leaning down on his palm, with his elbow 
 resting on his knee. He was in common silent 
 and reserved ; but when he found a man to his 
 mind, he constantly made a point of attaching him- 
 self to his company, and endeavouring to bring out 
 his powers. It was among women alone that he 
 uniformly exerted himself, and uniformly shone. 
 People remarked even then, that when Robert 
 Burns did speak, he always spoke to the point, 
 and in general with a sententious brevity. His 
 moody thoughtfulness, and laconic style of expres- 
 sion, were both inherited from his father, who, for 
 his station in life, was a very singular person." 
 
 One of the most intimate companions of Burns, 
 while he remained at Irvine, seems to have been 
 that David Sillar, to whom the Epistle to Da- 
 vie, a Brother Poet, was subsequently addressed. 
 Sillar was at this time a poor schoolmaster in Ir- 
 vine, enjoying considerable reputation as a writer 
 of local verses : and, according to all accounts, ex- 
 tremely jovial in his life and conversation.* 
 
 * If this person had some share in leading Burns into 
 convivial dissipations, it is proper to observe, that his own 
 conduct in after life made abundant atonement for that, 
 and all his other early irregularities. Mr Sillar became in 
 
44 LIFE OF 
 
 Burns himself thus sums up the results of his 
 residence at Irvine: — iC From this adventure I 
 learned something of a town life ; but the princi- 
 pal thing which gave my mind a turn, was a friend- 
 ship I formed with a young fellow, a very noble 
 character, but a hapless son of misfortune. He 
 was the son of a simple mechanic; but a great 
 man in the neighbourhood, taking him under his 
 patronage, gave him a genteel education, with a 
 view of bettering his situation in life. The patron 
 dying just as he was ready to launch out into the 
 world, the poor fellow in despair went to sea; 
 where, after a variety of good and ill fortune, a 
 little before I was acquainted with him, he had 
 been set ashore by an American privateer, on the 
 wild coast of Connaught, stripped of everything. 
 His mind was fraught with independ- 
 ence, magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I 
 loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, 
 and of course strove to imitate him. In some mea- 
 sure I succeeded ; I had pride before, but he taught 
 it to flow in proper channels. His knowledge of 
 the world was vastly superior to mine ; and I was 
 all attention to learn. He was the only man I ever 
 saw who was a greater fool than myself, where 
 woman was the presiding star ; but he spoke of il- 
 licit love with the levity of a sailor — which hither- 
 
 the sequel much more remarkable for strict habits of ab- 
 stemiousness, than his unfortunate friend ever in reality 
 was for the reverse ; and worldly prosperity having attend- 
 ed his industry in a very uncommon degree, he survived 
 till lately (if he does not still survive) one of the most re- 
 spectable, as well as wealthy, inhabitants of his native 
 town. He published a volume of poems, in some of which 
 considerable ingenuity is displayed ; and often filled with 
 much credit the situation of a borough magistrate. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 45 
 
 to I had regarded with honour. Here his friend- 
 ship did me a mischief" Professor Walker, when 
 preparing to write his Sketch of the Poet's life, was 
 informed by an aged inhabitant of Irvine, that Burns's 
 chief delight while there was in discussing religious 
 topics, particularly in those circles which usual- 
 ly gather in a Scotch churchyard after service. 
 The senior added, that Burns commonly took the 
 high Calvinistic side in such debates ; and conclu- 
 ded with a boast, that " the lad" was indebted to 
 himself in a great measure for the gradual adop- 
 tion of " more liberal opinions." It was during 
 the same period, that the poet was first initiated 
 in the mysteries of free masoniy, " which was," 
 says his brother, " his first introduction to the life 
 of a boon companion." He was introduced to 
 St Mary's Lodge of Tarbolton by John Ranken, 
 a very dissipated man of considerable talents, to 
 whom he afterwards indited a poetical epistle, 
 which will be noticed in its place. 
 
 " Rhyme," Bums says, " I had given up ;" (on 
 going to Irvine ;) "but meeting with Ferguson's 
 Scottish Poems, I strung anew my wildly sounding 
 lyre with emulating vigour." Neither flax-dress- 
 ing nor the tavern could keep him long from his 
 proper vocation. But it was probably this accidental 
 meeting with Ferguson, that in a great measure 
 finally determined the Scottish character of Burns's 
 poetry; and indeed, but for the lasting sense of 
 this obligation, and some natural sympathy with 
 the personal misfortunes of Ferguson's life, it would 
 be difficult to account for the very high terms in 
 which Burns always mentions his productions. 
 
 Shortly before Burns went to Irvine, he, his 
 brother Gilbert, and some seven or eight young 
 men besides, all of the parish of Tarbolton, had 
 
46 LIFE OF 
 
 formed themselves into a society, which they call- 
 ed the Bachelor's Club ; and which met one even- 
 ing in every month for the purposes of mutual en- 
 tertainment and improvement. That their cups 
 were but modestly filled is evident ; for the rules 
 of the club did not permit any member to spend 
 more than threepence at a sitting. A question 
 was announced for discussion at the close of each 
 meeting ; and at the next they came prepared to 
 deliver their sentiments upon the subject-matter 
 thus proposed. Burns drew up the regulations, 
 and evidently was the principal person. He in- 
 troduced his friend Sillar during his stay at 
 Irvine, and the meetings appear to have conti- 
 nued as long as the family remained in Tarbolton. 
 Of the sort of questions discussed, we may form 
 some notion from the minute of one evening, still 
 extant in Bums's hand-writing. — Question for 
 Halloween, (Nov. 11,) 1780. — " Suppose a 
 young man, bred a farmer, but without any for- 
 tune, has it in his power to marry either of two 
 women, the one a girl of large fortune, but neither 
 handsome in person, nor agreeable in conversation, 
 but who can manage the household affairs of a 
 farm well enough; the other of them a girl every 
 way agreeable in person, conversation, and be- 
 haviour, but without any fortune : ivhich of them 
 shall he choose?" Burns, as may be guessed, 
 took the imprudent side in this discussion. 
 
 " On one solitary occasion," says he, " we re- 
 solved to meet at Tarbolton in July, on the race- 
 night, 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 mer- 
 riment, such cheerfulness and good humour, that 
 every brother will long remember it with delight/*' 
 
ROBERT BURNS, 47 
 
 There can be no doubt that Burns would not have 
 patronized this sober association so long, unless he 
 had experienced at its assemblies the pleasure of a 
 stimulated mind ; and as little, that to the habit 
 of arranging his thoughts, and expressing them in 
 somewhat of a formal shape, thus early cultivated, 
 we ought to attribute much of that conversational 
 skill which, when he first mingled with the upper 
 world, was generally considered as the most re- 
 markable of all his personal accomplishments. — 
 Burns's associates of the Bachelor's Club, must 
 have been young men possessed of talents and ac- 
 quirements, otherwise such minds as his and Gil- 
 bert's could not have persisted in measuring them- 
 selves against theirs ; and we may believe that 
 the periodical display of the poet's own vigour and 
 resources, at these club -meetings, and (more fre- 
 quently than his brother approved) at the Free 
 Mason Lodges of Irvine and Tarbolton, extended 
 his rural reputation; and, by degress, prepared 
 persons not immediately included in his own circle, 
 for the extraordinary impression which his poetical 
 efforts were ere long to create all over " the Car- 
 rick border." 
 
 Mr David Sillar gives an account of the begin- 
 ning of his own acquaintance with Bums, and in- 
 troduction into this Bachelor's Club, which will 
 always be read with much interest. — " Mr Robert 
 Burns was some time in the parish of Tarbolton 
 prior to my acquaintance with him, His social 
 disposition easily procured him acquaintance ; but 
 a certain satirical seasoning with which he and all 
 poetical geniuses are in some degree influenced, 
 while it set the rustic circle in a roar, was not un- 
 accompanied with its kindred attendant, suspicious 
 fear. I recollect hearing his neighbours observe? 
 
48 LIFE OF 
 
 he had a great deal to say for himself, and that 
 they suspected his principles. He wore the only 
 tied hair in the parish: and in the church, his 
 plaid, which was of a particular colour, I think 
 fillemot, he wrapped in a particular manner round 
 his shoulders. These surmises, and his exterior, 
 had such a magnetical influence on my curiosity, 
 as made me particularly solicitous of his acquaint- 
 ance. Whether my acquaintance with Gilbert was 
 casual or premeditated, I am not now certain. 
 By him I was introduced, not only to his brother, 
 but to the whole of that family, where, in a short 
 time, I became a frequent, and I believe, not un- 
 welcome visitant. After the commencement of 
 my acquaintance with the bard, we frequently met 
 upon Sundays at church, when, between sermons, 
 instead of going with our friends or lasses to the 
 inn, we often took a walk in the fields. In these 
 walks, I have frequently been struck with his faci- 
 lity in addressing the fair sex ; and many times, 
 when I have been bashfully anxious how to express 
 myself, he would have entered into conversation 
 with them with the greatest ease and freedom ; 
 and it was generally a death-blow to our conversa- 
 tion, however agreeable, to meet a female acquaint- 
 ance. Some of the few opportunities of a noon- 
 tide walk that a country life allows her laborious 
 sons, he spent on the banks of the river, or in the 
 woods, in the neighbourhood of Stair, a situation 
 peculiarly adapted to the genius of a rural bard. 
 Some book (generally one of those mentioned in 
 his letter to Mr Murdoch) he always carried and 
 read, when not otherwise employed. It was like- 
 wise his custom to read at table. In one of my 
 visits to Lochlea, in time of a sowen supper, he 
 was so intent on reading, I think Tristram Shandy, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 49 
 
 that his spoon falling out of his hand, made him 
 exclaim, in a tone scarcely imitable, < Alas, poor 
 Yorick !' Such was Burns, and such were his 
 associates, when, in May 1781, I was admitted a 
 member of the Bachelor's Club." — Letter to Mr 
 Aiken of Ayr, in Morrisons Burns, vol. ii. pp. 
 257-260. 
 
 The misfortunes of William Burnes thickened 
 apace, as has already been seen, and were ap- 
 proaching their crisis at the time when Robert 
 came home from his flax-dressing experiment at 
 Irvine. The good old man died soon after ; and 
 among other evils which he thus escaped, was an 
 affliction that would, in his eyes, have been severe. 
 The poet had not, as he confesses, come unscath- 
 ed out of the society of those persons of " liberal 
 opinions" with whom he consorted in Irvine ; and 
 he expressly attributes to their lessons, the scrape 
 into which he fell soon after " he put his hand to 
 plough again." He was compelled, according to 
 the then all but universal custom of rural parishes 
 in Scotland, to do penance in church, before the 
 congregation, in consequence of the birth of an ille- 
 gitimate child ; and whatever may be thought of 
 the propriety of such exhibitions, there can be no 
 difference of opinion as to the culpable levity with 
 which he describes the nature of his offence, 
 and the still more reprehensible bitterness with 
 which, in his Epistle to Rank en,* he inveighs 
 
 * There is much humour in some of the verses; as, 
 " 'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 
 I gaed a roving wi' my gun, 
 An' brought a paitrick to the grun', 
 
 A bonnie hen, 
 And, as the twilight was begun, 
 
 Thought nane wad ken," &c. 
 
50 life or 
 
 against the clergyman, who, in rebuking hiin, only 
 performed what was then a regular part of the cleri- 
 cal duty, and a part of it that could never have 
 been at all agreeable to the worthy man whom he 
 satirizes under the appellation of " Daddie Auld." 
 The Poets Welcome to an Illegitimate Child 
 was composed on the same occasion — a piece in 
 which some very manly feelings are expressed, 
 along with others which it can give no one plea- 
 sure to contemplate. There is a song in honour of 
 the same occasion, or a similar one about the same 
 period, The rantiri Dog the Daddie o't, — which 
 exhibits the poet as glorying, and only glorying in 
 his shame. 
 
 When I consider his tender affection for the 
 surviving members of his own family, and the re- 
 verence with which he ever regarded the memoiy 
 of the father whom he had so recently buried, I 
 cannot believe that Burns has thought fit to record 
 in verse all the feelings which this exposure ex- 
 cited in his bosom. " To wave (in his own lan- 
 guage) the quantum of the sin," he who, two years 
 afterwards, wrote the Cottars Saturday Night,had 
 not, we may be sure, hardened his heart to the 
 thought of bringing additional sorrow and unex- 
 pected shame to the fireside of a widowed mother. 
 But his false pride recoiled from letting his jovial 
 associates guess how little he was able to drown 
 the whispers of the still small voice ; and the fer- 
 menting bitterness of a mind ill at ease within it- 
 self, escaped (as may be too often traced in the 
 history of satirists) in the shape of angry sarcasms 
 against others, who, whatever their private errors 
 might be, had at least done him no wrong. 
 
 It is impossible not to smile at one item of con- 
 
ROBERT BURXS. 51 
 
 solation which Burns proposes to himself on this 
 occasion : — 
 
 « The mair they talk, I'm kcnd the letter ,• 
 
 E'en let them clash !" 
 
 This is indeed a singular manifestation of " the 
 last infirmity of noble minds," 
 
52 LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 e( The star that rules my luckless lot 
 
 Has fated me the russet coat, 
 
 And damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 
 
 But in requit, 
 Has bless'd me wi' a random shot 
 
 O' country wit." 
 
 Three months before the death of William 
 Burnes, Robert and Gilbert took the farm of Moss- 
 giel,* in the neighbouring parish of Mauchline, 
 with the view of providing a shelter for their pa- 
 rents in the storm, which they had seen gradually 
 thickening, and knew must soon burst ; and to this 
 place the whole family removed on William's 
 death. " It was stocked by the property and in- 
 dividual savings of the whole family, (says Gilbert,) 
 and was a joint concern among us. Every mem- 
 ber of the family was allowed ordinary wages for 
 the labour he performed on the farm. My bro- 
 ther's allowance and mine was L.7 per annum 
 each. And during the whole time this family con- 
 cern lasted, which was four years, as well as du- 
 ring the preceding period at Lochlea, Robert's ex- 
 penses never, in any one year, exceeded his slen- 
 der income." 
 
 " I entered on this farm," says the poet,-j- " with 
 a full resolution, come, go, I will be wise. I read 
 farming books, I calculated crops, I attended mar- 
 
 * The farm consisted of 119 acres, and the rent was 
 L.90. 
 f Letter to Dr Moore. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 53 
 
 kets ; and, in short, in spite of the devil, and the 
 ivorld, and tlie flesh, I believe I should have been 
 a wise man ; but the first year, from unfortunately 
 buying bad seed, the second, from a late harvest, we 
 lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, 
 and I returned, like the dog to his vomit, and the sow 
 that was washed to her walloiving in the mire." 
 
 " At the time that our poet took the resolution 
 of becoming wise, he procured," says Gilbert, " a 
 little book of blank paper, with the purpose, express- 
 ed on the first page, of making farming memoran- 
 dums. These farming memorandums are curious 
 enough," Gilbert slyly adds, " and a specimen may 
 gratify the reader." — Specimens accordingly he 
 gives; as, 
 
 " O why the deuce should I repine, 
 
 And be an ill foreboder ? 
 I'm twenty-three, and five-foot nine, — 
 
 I'll go and be a sodger," &c. 
 
 " O leave novells, ye Mauchline belles, 
 Ye're safer at your spinning wheel ; 
 Such witching books are baited hooks 
 For rakish rooks — like Rob Mossgiel. 
 Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel, 
 They heat your veins, and fire your brains, 
 And then ye're prey for Rob Mossgiel," &c. &c. 
 
 The four years during which Burns resided on 
 this cold and ungrateful farm of Mossgiel, were 
 the most important of his life. It was then that 
 his genius developed its highest energies ; on the 
 works produced in these years his fame was first 
 established, and must ever continue mainly to rest : 
 it was then also that his personal character came 
 out in all its brightest lights, and in all but its 
 darkest shadows : and indeed from the commence- 
 
54 LIFE OF 
 
 ment of this period, the history of the man may 
 be traced, step by step, in his own immortal wri- 
 tings. 
 
 Burns now began to know that nature had 
 meant him for a poet ; and diligently, though as 
 yet in secret, he laboured in what he felt to be his 
 destined vocation. Gilbert continued for some 
 time to be his chief, often indeed his only confi- 
 dent ; and anything more interesting and delight- 
 ful than this excellent man's account of the manner 
 in which the poems included in the first of his bro- 
 ther's publications were composed, is certainly not 
 to be found in the annals of literary history. 
 
 The reader has already seen, that long before 
 the earliest of them was known beyond the domes- 
 tic circle, the strength of Burns's understanding, 
 and the keenness of his wit, as displayed in his or- 
 dinary conversation, and more particularly at ma- 
 sonic meetings and debating clubs, (of which he 
 formed one in Mauchline, on the Tarbolton model, 
 immediately on his removal to Mossgiel,) had 
 made his name known to some considerable extent 
 in the country about Tarbolton, Mauchline, and 
 Irvine ; and this prepared the way for his poetry. 
 Professor Walker gives an anecdote on this head, 
 which must not be omitted. Burns already num- 
 bered several clergymen among his acquaintances : 
 indeed, we know from himself, that at this period 
 he was not a little flattered, and justly so, no 
 question, with being permitted to mingle occasion- 
 ally in their society.* One of these gentlemen 
 told the Professor, that after entering on the cleri- 
 cal profession, he had repeatedly met Burns in 
 company, " where," said he, " the acuteness and 
 
 * Letter to Pr Moore, sul initio* 
 
BOBERT BURNS. 55 
 
 originality displayed by him, the depth of his dis- 
 cernment, the force of his expressions, and the au- 
 thoritative energy of his understanding-, had crea- 
 ted a sense of his power, of the extent of which I 
 was unconscious, till it was revealed to me by ac- 
 cident. On the occasion of my second appearance 
 in the pulpit, I came with an assured and tranquil 
 mind, and though a few persons of education were 
 present, advanced some length in the service with 
 my confidence and self-possession unimpaired ; 
 but when I saw Burns, who was of a different 
 parish, unexpectedly enter the church, I was af- 
 fected with a tremor and embarrassment, which 
 suddenly apprised me of the impression which my 
 mind, unknown to itself, had previously received." 
 The Professor adds, that the person who had 
 thus unconsciously been measuring the stature of 
 the intellectual giant, was not only a man of good 
 talents and education, but " remarkable for a more 
 than ordinary portion of constitutional firmness."* 
 Every Scotch peasant who makes any preten- 
 sion to understanding, is a theological critic — at 
 least such was the case — and Burns, no doubt, had 
 long ere this time distinguished himself consider- 
 ably among those hard-headed groups that may 
 usually be seen gathered together in the church- 
 yard after the sermon is over. It may be guessed 
 that from the time of his residence at Irving, his 
 strictures were too often delivered in no reverend 
 vein. " Polemical divinity," says he to Dr Moore, 
 in 1787, " about this time, was putting the coun- 
 try half mad, and I, ambitious of shining in con- 
 versation-parties on Sundays, at funerals, &c. used 
 to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indis- 
 
 * Life prefixed to Morrison's Burns, p. 45. 
 
'56 LIFE OF 
 
 cretion, that I raised a hue-and-cry of heresy 
 against me, which has not ceased to this hour." 
 There are some plain allusions to this matter in 
 Mr David Sillar's letter, already quoted, and a sur- 
 viving friend told Allan Cunningham, the other 
 day, " that he first saw Burns on the afternoon of 
 the Monday of a Mauchline Sacrament, lounging 
 on horseback at the door of a public house, hold- 
 ing forth on religious topics to a whole crowd of 
 country people, who presently became so much 
 shocked with his levities, that they fairly hissed 
 him from the ground." 
 
 To understand Burns's situation at this time, at 
 once patronized by a number of clergymen, and 
 attended with " a hue-and- cry of heresy," we must 
 remember his own words, " that polemical divinity 
 was putting the country half mad." Of both the 
 two parties which, ever since the revolution of 
 1688, have pretty equally divided the Church of 
 Scotland, it so happened that some of the most 
 zealous and conspicuous leaders and partizans 
 were thus opposed to each other, in constant war- 
 fare, in this particular district; and their feuds 
 being of course taken up among their congregations, 
 and spleen and prejudice at work, even more furi- 
 ously in the cottage than in the manse, he who, to 
 the annoyance of the one set of belligerents, could 
 talk like Burns, might count pretty surely, with 
 whatever alloy his wit happened to be mingled, 
 in whatever shape the precious " circulating me- 
 dium" might be cast, on the applause and counte- 
 nance of the enemy. And it is needless to add, 
 they were the less scrupulous sect of the two that 
 enjoyed the co-operation, such as it was then, and 
 far more important, as in the sequel it came to be, 
 of our poet. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 51 
 
 William Burnes,as we have already seen, though 
 a most exemplary and devout man, entertained 
 opinions very different from those which common- 
 ly obtained among the rigid Calvinists of his dis- 
 trict. The worthy and pious old man himself, 
 therefore, had not improbably infused into his 
 son's mind its first prejudice againt these persons.; 
 though, had he lived to witness the manner in which 
 Robert assailed them, there can be no doubt his 
 sorrow would have equalled their anger. The jo- 
 vial spirits with whom Burns associated at Irvine, 
 and afterwards, were of course habitual deriders 
 of the manners, as well as the tenets of the 
 
 " Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox.'* 
 
 We have already observed the effect of the young 
 poet's own first collision with the ruling powers of 
 presbyterian discipline ; but it was in the very act 
 of settling at Mossgiel that Bums formed the con- 
 nexion, which, more than any circumstance be- 
 sides, influenced him as to the matter now in 
 question. The farm belonged to the estate of the 
 Earl of Loudoun, but the brothers held it on a 
 sub-lease from Mr Gavin Hamilton, writer (i. e, 
 attorney) in Mauchline, a man, by every account, 
 of engaging manners, open, kind, generous, and 
 high-spirited, between whom and Robert Burns, 
 in spite of considerable inequality of condition, a 
 close and intimate friendship was ere long formed. 
 Just about this time it happened that Hamilton 
 was at open feud with Mr Auld, the minister of 
 Mauchline, (the same who had already rebuked 
 the poet,) and the ruling elders of the parish, in 
 consequence of certain irregularities in his personal 
 conduct and deportment, which, according to the 
 usual strict notions of kirk discipline, were consi- 
 
58 LIFE OF 
 
 dered as fairly demanding tbe vigorous interference 
 of these authorities. The notice of this person, 
 his own landlord, and, as it would seem, one of the 
 principal inhabitants of the village of Maucbline at 
 the time, must, of course, have been very flatter- 
 ing to our polemical young farmer. He espoused 
 Gavin Hamilton's quarrel warmly. Hamilton 
 was naturally enough disposed to mix up his per- 
 sonal affair with the standing controversies where- 
 on Auld was at variance with a large and power- 
 ful body of his brother clergymen ; and by degrees 
 Mr Hamilton's ardent protege came to be as ve- 
 hemently interested in the church politics of Ayr- 
 shire, as he could have been in politics of another 
 order, had he happened to be a freeman of some 
 open borough, and his patron a candidate for the 
 honour of representing it in St Stephen's. 
 
 Mr Cromek has been severely criticised for some 
 details of Mr Gavin Hamilton's dissensions with 
 his parish minister;* but perhaps it might have 
 been well to limit the censure to the tone and spi- 
 rit of the narrative,-)- since there is no doubt that 
 these petty squabbles had a large share in direct- 
 ing the early energies of Burns's poetical talents. 
 Even in the west of Scotland, such matters would 
 hardly excite much notice now-a-days, but they 
 were quite enough to produce a world of vexation 
 and controversy forty years ago ; and the English 
 reader to whom all such details are denied, will 
 certainly never be able to comprehend either the 
 merits or the demerits of many of Burns's most re- 
 markable productions. Since I have touched on 
 this matter at all, I may as well add, that Hamil- 
 ton's family, though professedly adhering (as, in- 
 
 * Edinburgh Review, vol. XIII. p. 273. 
 f Reliqucs,- p« 164. &c. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 59 
 
 deed, if they were to be Christians at all in that 
 district, they must needs have done) to the Pres- 
 byterian Establishment, had always lain under 
 a strong suspicion of Episcopalianism. Gavin's 
 grandfather had been curate of Kirkoswald's in the 
 troubled times that preceded the Revolution, and 
 incurred great and lasting 'popular hatred, in con- 
 sequence of being supposed to have had a princi- 
 pal hand in bringing a thousand of the Highland, 
 host into that region in 1677-8. The district was 
 commonly said not to have entirely recovered the 
 effects of that savage visitation in less than a hun- 
 dred years ; and the descendants and representa- 
 tives of the Covenanters, whom the curate of Kirk- 
 oswald's had the reputation at least of persecuting, 
 were commonly supposed to regard with anything 
 rather than ready good-will, his grandson, the 
 witty writer of Mauchline. A well-nursed preju- 
 dice of this kind was likely enough to be met by 
 counter-spleen, and such seems to have been the 
 truth of the case. The lapse of another generation 
 has sufficed to wipe out every trace of feuds, that 
 were still abundantly discernible, in the days 
 when Ayrshire first began to ring with the equally 
 zealous applause and vituperation of,— 
 " Poet Burns, 
 And his priest-skelping turns." 
 It is impossible to look back now to the civil 
 war, which then raged among the churchmen of 
 the west of Scotland, without confessing, that on 
 either side there was much to regret, and not a 
 little to blame. Proud and haughty spirits were 
 unfortunately opposed to each other ; and in the 
 superabundant display of zeal as to doctrinal points, 
 neither party seems to have mingled much of the 
 charity of the Christian temper. The whole exhi- 
 
60 LIFE OF 
 
 bition was most unlovely — the spectacle of such 
 indecent violence among the leading Ecclesiastics 
 of the district, acted most unfavourably on many 
 men's minds — and no one can doubt, that in the 
 at best unsettled state of Robert Burns's princi- 
 ples, the unhappy effect must have been powerful 
 indeed as to him. 
 
 Macgill and Dalrymple, the two ministers of 
 the town of Ayr, had long been suspected of en- 
 tertaining heterodox opinions on several points, 
 particularly the doctrine of original sin, and even 
 of the Trinity ; and the former at length published 
 an Essay, which was considered as demanding the 
 notice of the Church-courts. More than a year was 
 spent in the discussions which arose out of this ; 
 and at last Dr Macgill was fain to acknowledge 
 his errors, and promise that he would take an early 
 opportunity of apologizing for them to his own 
 congregation from the pulpit — which promise, how- 
 ever, he never performed. The gentry of the 
 country took, for the most part, the side of Mac- 
 gill, who was a man of cold unpopular manners, 
 but of unreproached moral character, and possess- 
 ed of some accomplishments, though certainly not 
 of distinguished talents. The bulk of the lower 
 orders espoused, with far more fervid zeal, the 
 cause of those who conducted the prosecution 
 against this erring doctor. Gavin Hamilton, and 
 all persons of his stamp, were of course on the 
 side of Macgill — Auld, and the Mauchline elders, 
 with his enemies. Mr Robert Aiken, a writer in 
 Ayr, a man of remarkable talents, particularly in 
 public speaking, had the principal management of 
 Macgill's cause before the Presbytery, and, I be- 
 lieve, also before the Synod. He was an intimate 
 friend of Hamilton, and through him had about 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 61 
 
 this time formed an acquaintance, which soon ri- 
 pened into a warm friendship, with Burns. Burns, 
 therefore, was from the beginning a zealous, as in 
 the end he was perhaps the most effective parti- 
 zan, of the side on which Aiken had staked so 
 much of his reputation. Macgill, Dalrymple, and 
 their brethren, suspected, with more or less justice, 
 of leaning to heterodox opinions, are the New 
 Light pastors of his earliest satires. 
 
 The prominent antagonists of these men, and 
 chosen champions of the Auld Light, in Ayrshire, 
 it must now be admitted on all hands, presented, 
 in many particulars of personal conduct and de- 
 meanour, as broad a mark as ever tempted the 
 shafts of a satirist. These men prided themselves 
 on being the legitimate and undegenerate descend- 
 ants and representatives of the haughty Puritans, 
 who chiefly conducted the overthrow of Popery in 
 Scotland, and who ruled for a time, and would 
 fain have continued to rule, over both king and 
 people, with a more tyrannical dominion than ever 
 the Catholic priesthood itself had been able to ex- 
 ercise amidst that high-spirited nation. With the 
 horrors of the Papal system for ever in their 
 mouths, these men were in fact as bigoted monks, 
 and almost as relentless inquisitors in their hearts, 
 as ever wore cowl and cord — austere and ungra- 
 cious of aspect, coarse and repulsive of address 
 and manners — very Pharisees as to the lesser mat- 
 ters of the law, and many of them, to all outward 
 appearance at least, overflowing with pharisaical 
 self-conceit, as well as monastic bile. That ad- 
 mirable qualities lay concealed under this ungainly 
 exterior, and mingled with and checked the worst 
 of these gloomy passions, no candid man will per- 
 mit himself to doubt or suspect for a moment ; and 
 
62 LIFE OF 
 
 that Bums has grossly overcharged his portraits of 
 them, deepening shadows that were of themselves 
 sufficiently dark, and excluding altogether those 
 brighter, and perhaps softer, traits of character, 
 which redeemed the originals within the sympa- 
 thies of many of the worthiest and best of men, 
 seems equally clear. Their bitterest enemies dared 
 not at least to bring against them, even when the 
 feud was at its height of fervour, charges of that 
 heinous sort, which they fearlessly, and I fear justly, 
 preferred against their antagonists. No one ever 
 accused them of signing the Articles, administering 
 the sacraments, and eating the bread of a Church, 
 whose fundamental doctrines they disbelieved, and, 
 by insinuation at least, disavowed. 
 
 The law of Church-patronage was another sub- 
 ject on which controversy ran high and furious in 
 the district at the same period ; the actual condi- 
 tion of things on this head being upheld by all the 
 men of the New Light, and condemned as equally 
 at variance with the precepts of the gospel, and 
 the rights of freemen, by not a few of the other 
 party, and, in particular, by certain conspicuous 
 zealots in the immediate neighbourhood of Burns. 
 While this warfare raged, there broke out an in- 
 testine discord within the camp of the faction 
 which he loved not. Two of the foremost leaders 
 of the Auld Light party quarrelled about a ques- 
 tion of parish-boundaries ; the matter was taken up 
 in the Presbytery of Kilmarnock, and there, in the 
 open court, to which the announcement of the dis- 
 cussion had drawn a multitude of the country peo- 
 ple, and Burns among the rest, the reverend di- 
 vines, hitherto sworn friends and associates, lost all 
 command of temper, and abused each other coram 
 populo, with a fiery virulence of personal invective. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 63 
 
 such as has long been banished from all popular 
 assemblies, wherein the laws of courtesy are en- 
 forced by those of a certain unwritten code. 
 
 " The first of my poetic offspring that saw the 
 light," says Burns, " was a burlesque lamentation 
 on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both 
 of them dramatis persona in my Holy Fair. I 
 had a notion myself, that the piece had some me- 
 rit ; but to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it 
 to a friend who was very fond of such things, and 
 told him that I could not guess who was the au- 
 thor of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. With 
 a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, 
 it met with a roar of applause." 
 
 This was The Holy Tuilzie, or Twa Herds, a 
 piece not given either by Currie or Gilbert Burns, 
 though printed without scruple by the Rev. Ha- 
 milton Paul, and certainly omitted, for no very in- 
 telligible reason, in editions where The Holy Fair, 
 The Ordination, fyc. found admittance. The two 
 herds, or pastors, were Mr Moodie, minister of 
 Riccartoun, and that favourite victim of Burns's, 
 John Russell, then minister at Kilmarnock, and 
 afterwards of Stirling. 
 
 " From this time," Burns says, " I began to be 
 known in the country as a maker of rhymes. .... 
 Holy Willie's Prayer next made its appearance, and 
 alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held 
 several meetings to look over their spiritual artil- 
 lery, and see if any of it might be pointed against 
 profane rhymers" — — : and to a place among pro- 
 fane rhymers, the author of this terrible infliction 
 had unquestionably established his right. Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott speaks of it as " a piece of satire more 
 exquisitely severe than any which Burns ever after- 
 wards wrote-o-but unfortunately cast in a form too 
 
64 LIFE OF 
 
 daringly profane to be received into Dr Currie's 
 collection."* Burns's reverend editor, Mr Paul, 
 nevertheless presents Holy Willies Prayer at full 
 length ; and even calls on the Mends of religion to 
 bless the memory of the poet who took such a ju- 
 dicious method of " leading the liberal mind to a 
 rational view of the nature of prayer." 
 
 " This," says that bold commentator, " was not 
 only the prayer of Holy Willie, but it is merely 
 the metrical version of every prayer that is offered 
 up by those who call themselves the pure reform- 
 ed church of Scotland. In the course of his read- 
 ing and polemical warfare, Burns embraced and 
 defended the opinions of Taylor of Norwich, Mac- 
 gill, and that school of Divines. He could not re- 
 concile his mind to that picture of the Being, whose 
 very essence is love, which is drawn by the high 
 Calvdnists or the representatives of the Covenant- 
 ers — namely, that he is disposed to grant salva- 
 tion to none but a few of their sect ; that the whole 
 Pagan world, the disciples of Mahomet, the Roman 
 Catholics, the Lutherans, and even the Calvinists 
 who differ from them in certain tenets, must, tike 
 Korah, Dathan and Abiram, descend to the pit of 
 perdition, man, woman, and child, without the pos- 
 sibility of escape ; but such are the identical doc- 
 trines of the Cameronians of the present day, and 
 such was Holy Willie's style of prayer. The hy- 
 pocrisy and dishonesty of the man, who was at the 
 time a reputed Saint, were perceived by the dis- 
 cerning penetration of Burns, and to expose them 
 lie considered his duty. The terrible view of the 
 Deity 'exhibited in that able production is precisely 
 the same view which is given of him, in different 
 
 * Quarterly Review, No. T. p. 22. 
 
ROBERT RURNS. 65 
 
 words, by many devout preachers at present. 
 They inculcate, that the greatest sinner is the great- 
 est favourite of heaven — that a reformed bawd is 
 more acceptable to the Almighty than a pure vir- 
 gin, who has hardly ever transgressed even in 
 thought — that the lost sheep alone will be saved, 
 and that the ninety-and-nine out of the hundred 
 will be left in the wilderness, to perish without 
 mercy — that the Saviour of the world loves the 
 elect, not from any lovely qualities which they pos- 
 sess, for they are hateful in his sight, but ' he loves 
 them because he loves them.' Such are the sen- 
 timents which are breathed by those who are de- 
 nominated High Calvinists, and from which the 
 soul of a poet who loves mankind, and who has not 
 studied the system in all its bearings, recoils with 
 horror. . . . The gloomy forbidding representation 
 which they give of the Supreme Being, has a ten- 
 dency to produce insanity, and lead to suicide." — 
 Life of Bums, pp. 40 — 41. 
 
 The Reverend Hamilton Paul may be consider- 
 ed as expressing in the above, and in other passa- 
 ges of a similar tendency, the sentiments with which 
 even the most audacious of Burns's anti-calvinistic 
 satires were received among the Ayrshire divines 
 of the New Light ; that performances so blasphe- 
 mous should have been, not only pardoned, but 
 applauded by ministers of religion, is a singular cir- 
 cumstance, which may go far to make the reader 
 comprehend the exaggerated state of party feeling 
 in Burns's native county, at the period when he 
 first appealed to the public ear: nor is it fair to 
 pronounce sentence upon the young and reckless 
 satirist, without taking into consideration the un- 
 deniable fact — that in his worst offences of this 
 kind, he was encouraged and abetted by those, 
 
 F 
 
66 LIFE OF 
 
 who, to say nothing more about their professional 
 character and authority, were almost the only per- 
 sons of liberal education whose society he had any 
 opportunity of approaching at the period in ques- 
 tion. Had Burns received, at this time, from his 
 clerical friends and patrons, such advice as was 
 tendered, when rather too late, by a layman who 
 was as far from bigotry on religious subjects as any 
 man in the world, this great genius might have 
 made his first approaches to the public notice in a 
 very different character. 
 
 " Let your bright talents," — (thus wrote the ex- 
 cellent John Ramsay of Ochtertyre, in October 
 1787,) — " Let those bright talents which the Al- 
 mighty has bestowed on you, be henceforth em- 
 ployed to the noble purpose of supporting the cause 
 of truth and virtue. An imagination so varied and 
 forcible as yours, may do this in many different 
 modes ; nor is it necessary to be always serious, 
 which you have been to good purpose ; good mo- 
 rals may be recommended in a comedy, or even in 
 a song. Great allowances are due to the heat and 
 inexperience of youth ; — and few poets can boast, 
 like Thomson, of never having written a line, which, 
 dying, they would wish to blot. In particular, I 
 wish you to keep clear Of the thorny walks of sa- 
 tire, which makes a man an hundred enemies for 
 one friend, and is doubly dangerous when one is 
 supposed to extend the slips and weaknesses of in- 
 dividuals to their sect or party. About modes of 
 faith, serious and excellent men have always dif- 
 fered ; and there are certain curious questions, 
 which may afford scope to men of metaphysical 
 heads, but seldom mend the heart or temper. 
 Whilst these points are beyond human ken, i't is 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 67 
 
 sufficient that all our sects concur in their views 
 of morals. You will forgive me for these hints." 
 
 Few such hints, it is likely, ever reached his ears 
 in the days when they might have been most use- 
 ful — days of which the principal honours and dis- 
 tinctions are thus alluded to by himself: — 
 
 " I've been at drunken writers' feasts ; 
 Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests." 
 
 It is amusing to observe how soon even really 
 Bucolic bards learn the tricks of their trade : Burns 
 knew already what lustre a compliment gains from 
 being set in sarcasm, when he made Willie call for 
 special notice to 
 
 " Gaun Hamilton's deserts, 
 
 He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts ; 
 Yet has sae mony takin' arts 
 
 Wi' great and sma', 
 Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts 
 
 He steals awa," &c 
 
 Nor is his other patron, Aiken, introduced with 
 inferior skill, as having merited Willie's most fer- 
 vent execration by his iC glib-tongued" defence of 
 the heterodox doctor of Ayr : 
 
 " Lord ! visit them wha did employ him, 
 And for thy people's sake destroy 'em." 
 
 Burns owed a compliment to this gentleman's 
 elocutionary talents. " I never knew there was 
 any merit in my poems," said he, " until Mr Aiken 
 read them into repute." 
 
 Encouraged by the " roar of applause" which 
 greeted these pieces, thus orally promulgated and 
 recommended, he produced in succession various 
 satires wherein the same set of persons were lashed; 
 as The Ordination ; The Kirks Alarm, &c. &c. ; 
 and last, and best undoubtedly, The Holy Fair, 
 
68 LIFE OF 
 
 in which, unlike the others that have been men- 
 tioned, satire keeps its own place, and is subservi- 
 ent to the poetry of Burns. This was, indeed, an 
 extraordinary performance ; no partizan of any sect 
 could whisper that malice had formed its principal 
 inspiration, or that its chief attraction lay in the 
 boldness with which individuals, entitled and ac- 
 customed to respect, were held up to ridicule : it 
 was acknowledged amidst the sternest mutterings 
 of wrath, that national manners were once more in 
 the hands of a national poet ; and hardly denied by 
 those who shook their heads the most gravely 
 over the indiscretions of particular passages, or 
 even by those who justly regretted a too prevail- 
 ing tone of levity in the treatment of a subject es- 
 sentially solemn, that the Muse of Christ's Kirk on 
 the Green had awakened, after the slumber of ages, 
 with all the vigour of her regal youth about her, in 
 " the auld clay biggin" of Mossgiel. 
 
 The Holy Fair, however, created admiration, not 
 surprise, among the circle of domestic friends who 
 had been admitted to watch the steps of his pro- 
 gress in an art of which, beyond that circle, little 
 or nothing was heard until the youthful poet pro- 
 duced at length a satirical master-piece. It is not 
 possible to reconcile the statements of Gilbert and 
 others, as to some of the minutiae of the chronolo- 
 gical history of Burns's previous performances ; but 
 there can be no doubt, that although from choice 
 or accident, his first provincial fame was that of a 
 satirist, he had, some time before any of his philip- 
 pics on the Auld Light divines made their appear- 
 ance, exhibited to those who enjoyed his personal 
 confidence, a range of imaginative power hardly 
 inferior to what the Holy Fair itself displays ; and, 
 at least, such a rapidly improving skill in poetical 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 69 
 
 language and versification, as must have prepared 
 them for witnessing, without wonder, even the most 
 perfect specimens of his art. 
 
 Gilbert says, that " among the earliest of his 
 poems," was the Epistle to Davie, (i. e. Mr Da- 
 vid Sillar,) and Mr Walker believes that this was 
 written very soon after the death of William Burnes. 
 This piece is in the very intricate and difficult mea- 
 sure of the Cherry and the Slae ; and, on the whole, 
 the poet moves with ease and grace in his very un- 
 necessary trammels ; but young poets are careless 
 beforehand of difficulties which would startle the 
 experienced ; and great poets may overcome any 
 difficulties if they once grapple with them ; so that 
 I should rather ground my distrust of Gilbert's 
 statement, if it must be literally taken, on the ce- 
 lebration of Jean, with which the epistle termi- 
 nates : and, after all, she is celebrated in the con- 
 cluding stanzas, which may have been added some 
 time after the first draught. The gloomy circum- 
 stances of the poet's personal condition, as described 
 in this piece, were common, it cannot be doubted, 
 to all the years of his youthful history ; so that 
 no particular date is to be founded upon these ; 
 and if this was the first, certainly it was not the last 
 occasion, on which Burns exercised his fancy in the 
 colouring of the very worst issue that could attend 
 a life of unsuccessful toil. But Gilbert's recollec- 
 tions, however on trivial points inaccurate, will 
 always be more interesting than anything that 
 could be put in their place. 
 
 " Robert," says he, " often composed without any 
 regular plan. When anything made a strong im- 
 pression on his mind, so as to rouse it to poetic 
 exertion, he would give way to the impulse, and 
 embodv the thought in rhyme. If he h;t on two 
 z2 
 
70 LIFE OF 
 
 or three stanzas to please him, he would then 
 think of proper introductory, connecting, and con- 
 cluding stanzas ; hence the middle of a poem was 
 often first produced. It was, I think, in summer 
 1784?, when in the interval of harder labour, he 
 and I were weeding in the garden, (kail-yard,) that 
 he repeated to me the principal part of this epistle 
 (to Davie). I believe the first idea of Robert's 
 becoming an author was started on this occasion. 
 I was much pleased with the epistle, and said to 
 him I was of opinion it would bear being printed, 
 and that it would be well received by people of 
 taste ; that I thought it at least equal, if not supe- 
 rior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that 
 the merit of these, and much other Scotch poetry, 
 seemed to consist principally in the knack of the 
 expression — but here, there was a strain of inte- 
 resting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the language 
 scarcely seemed affected, but appeared to be the 
 natural language of the poet ; that, besides, there 
 was certainly some novelty in a poet pointing out 
 the consolations that were in store for him when 
 he should go a-begging. Robert seemed very well 
 pleased with my criticism, and we talked of send- 
 ing it to some magazine ; but as this plan afforded 
 no opportunity of knowing how it would take, the 
 idea was dropped. 
 
 " It was, I think, in the winter following, as we 
 were going together with carts for coal to the 
 family, (and I could yet point out the particu- 
 lar spot,) that the author first repeated to me the 
 Address to the Deil. The curious idea of such an 
 address was suggested to him, by running over in 
 his mind the many ludicrous accounts and repre- 
 sentations we have, from various quarters, of this 
 august personage. Death and Doctor Hornbooh 
 
ROBERT BURNS. T 1 
 
 though not published in the Kilmarnock edition, 
 was produced early in the year 1785. The school- 
 master of Tarbolton parish, to eke up the scanty 
 subsistence allowed to that useful class of men, 
 had set up a shop of grocery goods. Having ac- 
 cidentally fallen in with some medical books, and 
 become most hobby-horsically attached to the 
 study of medicine, he had added the sale of a few 
 medicines to his little trade. He had got a shop- 
 bill printed, at the bottom of which, overlooking 
 his own incapacity, he had advertised, that " Ad- 
 vice would be given in common disorders at the 
 shop gratis." Robert was at a mason-meeting 
 in Tarbolton, when the Dominie unfortunately 
 made too ostentatious a display of his medical 
 skill. As he parted in the evening from this mix- 
 ture of pedantry and physic, at the place where 
 he describes his meeting with Death, one of those 
 floating ideas of apparitions, he mentions in his let- 
 ter to Dr Moore, crossed his mind ; this set him 
 to work for the rest of the way home. These cir- 
 cumstances he related when he repeated the verses 
 to me next afternoon, as I was holding the plough, 
 and he was letting the water off the field beside 
 me. The Epistle to John Lapraik was produced 
 exactly on the occasion described by the author. 
 He says in that poem, On Fasten-e'en we had a 
 rockiri (p. 235). I believe he has omitted the word 
 rocking in the glossary. It is a term derived from 
 those primitive times, when the country-women 
 employed their spare hours in spinning on the rock, 
 or distaff. This simple implement is a very port- 
 able one, and well fitted to the social inclination of 
 meeting in a neighbour's house ; hence the phrase 
 of going a-rocking, or ivith the rock. As the con- 
 nexion the phrase had with the implement was 
 
72 LIFE OF 
 
 forgotten when the rock gave place to the spin- 
 ning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by both 
 sexes on social occasions, and men talk of going 
 with their rocks as well as women. It was at one 
 of these rocking s at our house, when we had twelve 
 or fifteen young people with their rocks, that La- 
 praik's song, beginning — " When I upon thy bo- 
 som lean," * was sung, and we were informed who 
 was the author. Upon this Robert wrote his first 
 epistle to Lapraik ; and his second in reply to his 
 answer. The verses to the Mouse and Mountain 
 Daisy were composed on the occasions mentioned, 
 and while the author was holding the plough ; I 
 could jDoint out the particular spot where each was 
 composed. Holding the plough was a favourite 
 situation with Robert for poetic compositions, and 
 some of his best verses were produced while he 
 was at that exercise. Several of the poems were 
 produced for the purpose of bringing forward some 
 favourite sentiment of the author. He used to 
 remark to me, that he could not well conceive a 
 more mortifying picture of human life, than a man 
 seeking work. In casting about in his mind how 
 this sentiment might be brought forward, the elegy, 
 Man was made to Mourn, was composed. Robert 
 had frequently remarked to me, that he thought 
 there was something peculiarly venerable in the 
 phrase, " Let us worship God," used by a decent 
 sober head of a family introducing family worship. 
 
 * Burns was never a fastidious critic ; but it is not very 
 easy to understand his admiration of Lapraik's poetry. Era- 
 boldenedby Burns's success, he, too, published : but the only 
 one of his productions that is ever remembered now is this ; 
 and even this survives chiefly because Burns has praised it. 
 The opening verse, however, is pretty. It may be seen at 
 length in Allan Cunningham's " Scottish Songs," vol. iii. 
 P-2U0. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 73 
 
 To this sentiment of the author the world is in- 
 debted for the Cottars Saturday Night, The 
 hint of the plan, and title of the poem, were taken 
 from Ferguson's Farmer s Ingle. 
 
 " When Robert had not some pleasure in view, in 
 which I was not thought fit to participate, we used 
 frequently to walk together, when the weather was 
 favourable, on the Sunday afternoons, (those pre- 
 cious breathing-times to the labouring part of the 
 community,) and enjoyed such Sundays as would 
 make one regret to see their number abridged. 
 It was in one of these walks that I first had the 
 pleasure of hearing the author repeat the Cottars 
 Saturday Night. I do not recollect to have read 
 or heard anything by which I was more highly 
 electrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the 
 eighteenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through 
 my soul." 
 
 The poems mentioned by Gilbert Burns in the 
 above extract, are among the most popular of his 
 brother's performances ; and there may be a time 
 for recurring to some of their peculiar merits as 
 works of art. It may be mentioned here, that 
 John Wilson, alias Dr Hornbook, was not merely 
 compelled to shut up shop as an apothecary, or 
 druggist rather, by the satire which bears his name ; 
 but so irresistible was the tide of ridicule, that 
 his pupils, one by one, deserted him, and he aban- 
 doned his schoolcraft also. Removing to Glasgow, 
 and turning himself successfully to commercial 
 pursuits, Dr Hornbook survived the local storm 
 which he could not effectually withstand, and was 
 often heard in his latter days, when waxing cheer- 
 ful and communicative over a bowl of punch, " in 
 the Saltmarket," to bless the lucky hour in which 
 the dominie of Tarbolton provoked the castigation 
 
74 LIFE OF 
 
 of Robert Burns. In those days the Scotch uni- 
 versities did not turn out doctors of physic by the 
 hundred, according to the modern fashion introdu- 
 ced by the necessities of the French revolutionary 
 war ; Mr Wilson's was probably the only medicine- 
 chest from which salts and senna were distributed 
 for the benefit of a considerable circuit of parishes ; 
 and his advice, to say the least of the matter, was 
 perhaps as good as could be had, for love or money, 
 among the wise women who were the only rivals 
 of his practice. The poem which drove him from 
 Ayrshire was not, we may believe, either expect- 
 ed or designed to produce any such serious effect. 
 Poor Hornbook and the poet were old acquaint- 
 ances, and in some sort rival wits at the time in 
 the mason lodge. 
 
 In Man was made to Mourn, whatever might 
 be the casual idea that set the poet to work, it 
 is but too evident, that he wrote from the habi- 
 tual feelings of his own bosom. The indignation 
 with which he through life contemplated the in- 
 equality of human condition, and particularly, 
 —and who shall say, with absolute injustice ? — the 
 contrast between his own worldly circumstances 
 and intellectual rank, was never more bitterly, nor 
 more loftily expressed, than in some of those 
 stanzas. 
 
 *' See yonder poor o'erlabour'd wight, 
 So abject, mean, and vile, 
 
 Who begs a brother of the earth 
 To give him leave to toil. 
 
 If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave- 
 By Nature's laws design'd — 
 ' Why was an independent wish 
 E'er planted in my mind ?'* 
 
 The same feeling strong, but triumphed over in 
 the moment of inspiration, as it ought ever to 
 
ROBERT BURNS. ?5 
 
 have been in the plain exercise of such an under- 
 standing as his, may be read in every stanza of 
 the Epistle to Davie, 
 
 fc< It's no in titles nor in rank, 
 
 It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 
 
 To purchase peace and rest ; 
 It's no in books, it's no in lear, 
 
 To mak us truly blest 
 
 Think ye, that such as you and I, 
 
 Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, 
 
 Wi' never- ceasing toil ; 
 Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
 Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 
 
 As hardly worth their while ?".... 
 
 In Man was made to Mourn, Burns appears to 
 have taken many hints from an ancient ballad, en- 
 titled The Life and Age of Man, which begins 
 thus : 
 
 " Upon the sixteen hunder year of God, and fifty-three, 
 Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear, as writings 
 
 testifie ; 
 On January, the sixteenth day, as I did lie alone, 
 With many a sigh and sob did say — Ah ! man is made 
 
 to moan !" 
 
 " I had an old grand-uncle," says the poet, in 
 one of his letters to Mrs Dunlop, " with whom 
 my mother lived in her girlish years ; the good old 
 man, for such he was, was blind long ere he died ; 
 during which time his highest enjoyment was to 
 sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the 
 simple old song of The Life and Age of Man?* 
 
 The Cottars Saturday Night is, perhaps, of 
 all Burns's pieces, the one whose exclusion from 
 
 * This ballad may be seen in Cromek's Select Scottish 
 Songs. 
 
76 LIFE OF 
 
 the collection, were such things possible nowa- 
 days, would be the most injurious, if not to the 
 genius, at least to the character, of the man. In 
 spite of many feeble lines, and some heavy stan- 
 zas, it appears to me, that even his genius would 
 suffer more in estimation, by being contemplated 
 in the absence of this poem, than of any other 
 single performance he has left us. Loftier flights 
 he certainly has made, but in these he remained 
 but a short while on the wing, and effort is too 
 often perceptible ; here the motion is easy, gentle, 
 placidly undulating. There is more of the con- 
 scious security of power, than in any other of his 
 serious pieces of considerable length ; the whole 
 has the appearance of coming in a full stream 
 from the fountain of the heart — a stream that 
 soothes the ear, and has no glare on the surface. 
 
 It is delightful to turn from any of the pieces 
 which present so great a genius as writhing under 
 an inevitable burden, to this, where bis buoyant 
 energy seems not even to feel the pressure. The 
 miseries of toil and penury, who shall affect to 
 treat as unreal ? Yet they shrunk to small dimen- 
 sions in the presence of a spirit thus exalted at 
 once, and softened, by the pieties of virgin love, 
 filial reverence, and domestic devotion. 
 
 That he who thus enthusiastically apprehended, 
 and thus exquisitely painted, the artless beauty and 
 solemnity of the feelings and thoughts that enno- 
 ble the life of the Scottish peasant, could witness 
 observances in which the very highest of these re- 
 deeming influences are most powerfully and grace- 
 fully displayed, and yet describe them in a vein of 
 unmixed merriment- — that the same man should 
 have produced the Cottar's Saturday Night and 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 7? 
 
 the Holy Fair about the same time — will ever 
 continue to move wonder and regret. 
 
 " The annual celebration of the Sacrament of 
 the Lord's Supper in the rural parishes of Scotland, 
 has much in it," says the unfortunate Heron, " of 
 those old popish festivals, in which superstition, 
 traffic, and amusement, used to be strangely inter- 
 mingled. Burns saw and seized in it one of the 
 happiest of all subjects to afford scope for the display 
 of that strong and piercing sagacity, by which he 
 could almost intuitively distinguish the reason- 
 able from the absurd, and the becoming from the 
 ridiculous; of that picturesque power of fancy 
 which enabled him to represent scenes, and per- 
 sons, and groups, and looks, and attitudes, and 
 gestures, in a manner almost as lively and impres- 
 sive, even in words, as if all the artifices and 
 energies of the pencil had been employed ; of that 
 knowledge which he had necessarily acquired of 
 the manners, passions, and prejudices of the rus- 
 tics around him — of whatever was ridiculous, no 
 less than whatever was affectingly beautiful in 
 rural life." * This is very good so far as it goes ; 
 but who ever disputed the exquisite graphic truth, 
 so far as it goes, of the poem to which the critic 
 refers ? The question remains as it stood ; is there 
 then nothing besides a strange mixture of super- 
 stition, traffic, and amusement, in the scene which 
 such an annual celebration in a rural parish of Scot- 
 land presents ? Does nothing of what is " affect- 
 ingly beautiful in rural life," make a part in the 
 original which was before the poet's eyes ? Were 
 " Superstition," " Hypocrisy," and " Fun," the only 
 influences which he might justly have imperson- 
 
 . • Heron's Memoirs of Burns, (Edinburgh, 1797,) p« 14. 
 g 3 
 
78 LIFE Otf 
 
 ated ? It would be hard, I think, to speak so even 
 of the old popish festivals to which Mr Heron al- 
 ludes ; it would be hard, surely, to say it of any 
 festival in which, mingled as they may be with sanc- 
 timonious pretenders, and surrounded with gid- 
 dy groups of onlookers, a mighty multitude of de- 
 vout men are assembled for the worship of God, 
 beneath the open heaven, and above the tombs 
 of their fathers. 
 
 Let us beware, however, of pushing our censure 
 of a young poet, mad with the inspiration of the 
 moment, from whatever source derived, too far. 
 It can hardly be doubted that the author of the 
 Cottars Saturday Night had felt, in his time, 
 all that any man can feel in the contemplation of 
 the most sublime of the religious observances of 
 his country ; and as little, that had he taken up the 
 subject of this rural sacrament in a solemn mood, 
 he might have produced a piece as gravely beauti- 
 ful, as his Holy Fair is quaint, graphic, and pic- 
 turesque. A scene of family worship, on the 
 other hand, I can easily imagine to have come 
 from his hand as pregnant with the ludicrous as 
 that Holy Fair itself. The family prayers of the 
 Saturday's night, and the rural celebration of the 
 Eucharist, are parts of the same system — the sys- 
 tem which has made the people of Scotland what 
 they are — and what, it is to be hoped, they will 
 continue to be. And when men ask of themselves 
 what this great national poet really thought of a 
 system in which minds immeasurably inferior to his 
 can see so much to venerate, it is surely just that 
 they should pay most attention to what he has de- 
 livered under the gravest sanction. In noble na- 
 tures, we may be sure, the source of tears lies 
 nearer. the heart than that of smiles. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 19 
 
 The Reverend Hamilton Paul does not desert 
 bis post on occasion of the Holy Fair; he defends 
 that piece as manfully as Holy Willie ; and, in- 
 deed, expressly applauds Burns for having endea- 
 voured to explode " abuses discountenanced by 
 the General Assembly." The General Assembly 
 would no doubt say, both of the poet and the 
 commentator, non tali auxilio. 
 
 Hallowe'en, a descriptive poem, perhaps even 
 more exquisitely wrought than the Holy Fair, and 
 containing nothing that could offend the feelings of 
 anybody, was produced about the same period. 
 Burns's art had now reached its climax ; but it is 
 time that we should revert more particularly to the 
 personal history of the poet. 
 
 He seems to have very soon perceived, that the 
 farm of Mossgiel could at the best furnish no more 
 than the bare means of existence to so large a fa- 
 mily ; and wearied with the " prospects drear/ * 
 from which he only escaped in occasional intervals 
 of social merriment, or when gay flashes of solitary 
 fancy, for they were no more, threw sunshine on 
 everything, he very naturally took up the notion 
 of quitting Scotland for a time, and trying his for- 
 tune in the West Indies, where, as is well known, 
 the managers of the plantations are, in the great 
 majority of cases, Scotchmen of Burns's own rank 
 and condition. His letters show, that on two or 
 three different occasions, long- before his poetry 
 had excited any attention, he had applied for, and 
 nearly obtained" appointments of this sort, through 
 the intervention of his acquaintances in the sea- 
 port of Irvine. Petty accidents, not worth de- 
 scribing, interfered to disappoint him from time to 
 time ; but at last a new burst of misfortune ren- 
 dered him doubly anxious to escape from his na- 
 
80 Ll¥E Of 
 
 live laud j and but for an accident, which no one 
 will call petty, his arrangements would certainly 
 have been completed. 
 
 But we must not come quite so rapidly to the 
 last of his Ayrshire love-stories. 
 
 How many lesser romances of this order were 
 evolved and completed during his residence at 
 Mossgiel, it is needless to inquire ; that they were 
 many, his songs prove, for in those days he wrote 
 no love-songs on imaginary heroines.* Mary Mo- 
 rison — Behind yon kills where Stinchar flows — 
 On Cessnock bank there lives a lass — belong to 
 this period ; and there are three or four inspired 
 by Mary Campbell — the object of by far the deep- 
 est passion that ever Burns knew, and which he 
 has accordingly immortalized in the noblest of his 
 elegiacs. 
 
 In introducing to Mr Thomsons notice the 
 
 " Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 And leave auld Scotia's shore ?— 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 Across the Atlantic's roar ?" 
 
 Burns says, " In my early years, when I was 
 thinking of going to the West Indies, I took this 
 farewell of a dear girl ;" and, afterwards, in a note 
 
 " Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 The Castle o' Montgomerie ; 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie ; 
 There Summer first unfaulds^her robes. 
 
 And there they langest tarry, 
 For there I took the last farewell 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary," 
 
 Letters to Mr Thomson. No. IV. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 81 
 
 he adds, — " After a pretty long trial of the most 
 ardent reciprocal affection, we met by appointment 
 on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered 
 spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent a day 
 in taking a farewell before she should embark for 
 the West Highlands, to arrange matters among 
 her friends for our projected change of life. At the 
 close of the autumn following she crossed the sea 
 to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce 
 landed when she was seized with a malignant fe- 
 ver, which hurried my dear girl to her grave in a 
 few days, before I could even hear of her illness ;" 
 and Mr Cromek, speaking of the same " day of 
 parting love," gives, though without mentioning 
 his authority, some further particulars, which no 
 one would willingly believe to be apocryphal. 
 " This adieu," says that zealous inquirer into the 
 details of Burns's story, " was performed with all 
 those simple and striking ceremonials, which rustic 
 sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotions, 
 and to impose awe. The lovers stood on each side 
 of a small purling brook — they laved their hands 
 in the limpid stream — and, holding a Bible be- 
 tween them, pronounced their vows to be faithful 
 to each other. They parted — never to meet again." 
 It is proper to add, that Mr Cromek's story, which 
 even Allan Cunningham was disposed to receive 
 with suspicion, has recently been confirmed very 
 strongly by the accidental discovery of a Bible, 
 presented by Burns to Mary Campbell, in the pos- 
 session of her still surviving sister at Ardrossan. 
 Upon the boards of the first volume is inscribed, 
 in Burns's hand-writing,— " And ye shall not 
 swear by my name falsely — I am the Lord. — Le- 
 vit. chap. xix. v. 12." On the second volume, — 
 ** Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt per- 
 g 2 
 
82 JLIFE OF 
 
 form unto the Lord thine oath. — St Matth. chap. 
 v., v. 33." And, on a blank leaf of either, — M Ro- 
 bert Burns, Mossgiel." 
 
 How lasting was the poet's remembrance of this 
 pure love, and its tragic termination, will be seen 
 hereafter.* 
 
 Highland Mary, however, seems to have died 
 ere her lover had made any of his more serious at- 
 tempts in poetry. In the Epistle to Mr Sillar, 
 (as we have already hinted,) the very earliest, ac- 
 cording to Gilbert, of these attempts, the poet 
 celebrates " his Davie and his Jean." 
 
 This was Jean Armour, a young woman, a step, 
 if anything, above Bums's own rank in life,f the 
 daughter of a respectable man, a master-mason, 
 in the village of Mauchline, where she was at the 
 time the reigning toast, and who still survives, as 
 the respected widow of our poet. There are num- 
 berless allusions to her maiden charms in the best 
 pieces which he produced at Mossgiel. 
 
 The time is not yet come, in which all the de- 
 tails of this story can be expected. Jean Armour 
 found herself " as ladies wish to be that love their 
 lords." And how slightly such a circumstance 
 might affect the character and reputation of a young 
 woman in her sphere of rural life at that period, 
 every Scotsman will understand — to any but a 
 
 * Cromek, p. 238. 
 "j- " In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles. 
 The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a' ; 
 Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
 In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 
 
 " M,iss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 
 Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw ; 
 
 There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morten, 
 But Armour\ the jewel for me o' them a'." 
 
ROBERT BURKS. So 
 
 Scotsman, it might, perhaps, be difficult to explain. 
 The manly readiness with which the young rustics 
 commonly come forward to avert by marriage the 
 worst consequences of such indiscretions, cannot 
 be denied ; nor, perhaps, is there any class of so- 
 ciety in any country, in which matrimonial infide- 
 lity is less known than among the female peasan- 
 try of Scotland. 
 
 Burns's worldly circumstances were in a most 
 miserable state when he was informed of Miss Ar- 
 mour's condition ; and the first announcement of 
 it staggered him like a blow. He saw nothing for 
 it but to fly the country at once ; and, in a note to 
 James Smith of Mauchline, the confident of his 
 amour, he thus wrote: — "'Against two things 
 I am fixed as fate — staying at home, and owning 
 her conjugally. The first, by Heaven, I will not 
 do ! — the last, by hell, I will never do !— A good 
 God bless you, and make you happy, up to the 
 
 warmest weeping wish of parting friendship 
 
 If you see Jean, tell her I will meet her, so help 
 me God in my hour of need." 
 
 The lovers met accordingly ; and the result of 
 the meeting was what was to be anticipated from 
 the tenderness and the manliness of Burns's feel- 
 ings. All dread of personal inconvenience yield- 
 ed at once to the tears of the woman he loved, and, 
 ere they parted, he gave into her keeping a writ- 
 ten acknowledgment of marriage, which, when 
 produced by a person in Miss Armour's condition, 
 is, according to the Scots law, to be accepted as 
 legal evidence of an irregular marriage having 
 really taken place ; it being of course understood 
 that the marriage was to be formally avowed as 
 soon as the consequences of their imprudence 
 could no longer be concealed from her family. 
 
84 LIFE OF 
 
 The disclosure was deferred to the last moment, 
 and it was received by the father of Miss Armour 
 with equal surprise and anger. Burns, confessing* 
 himself to be unequal to the maintenance of a fa- 
 mily, proposed to go immediately to Jamaica, 
 where he hoped to find better fortunes. He offer- 
 ed, if this were rejected, to abandon his farm, which 
 was by this time a hopeless concern, and earn 
 bread at least for his wife and children as a daily 
 labourer at home ; but nothing could appease the 
 indignation of Armour, who, Professor Walker 
 hints, had entertained previously a very bad opi- 
 nion of Burns's whole character. By what argu- 
 ments he prevailed on his daughter to take so 
 strange and so painful a step we know not ; but the 
 fact is certain, that, at his urgent entreaty, she de 
 stroyed the document,* which must have been to 
 
 * The comments of the Rev. Hamilton Paul, on this de- 
 licate part of the poet's story, are too meritorious to be 
 omitted. 
 
 " The scenery of the Ayr," says he, " from Sorn to tho 
 ancient burgh at its mouth, though it may be equalled in 
 grandeur, is scarcely anywhere surpassed in beauty. To 
 trace its meanders, to wander amid its green woods, to lean 
 over its precipitous and rocky banks, to explore its coves, to 
 survey its Gothic towers, and to admire its modern edifices, 
 is not only highly delightful, but truly inspiring. If the 
 poet, in his excursions along the banks of the river, or in 
 penetrating into the deepest recesses of the grove, be accom- 
 panied by his favourite fair one, whose admiration of rural 
 and sylvan beauty is akin to his own, however hazardous 
 the experiment, the bliss is ecstatic. To warn the young 
 and unsuspecting of their danger, is only to stimulate their 
 curiosity. The well-meant dissuasive of Thomson is more 
 seductive in its tendency than the admirers of that poet's 
 morality are aware — 
 
 1 , . ( Ah ! then, yc Fair, 
 
 Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts ; 
 I>axe not the infectious sigh— nor in the bower, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 85 
 
 her the most precious of her possessions- — the onlv 
 evidence of her marriage. 
 
 It was under such extraordinary circumstances 
 that Miss Armour became the mother of twins. 
 
 Burns's love and pride, the two most powerful 
 feelings of his mind, had been equally wounded. 
 His anger and grief together drove him, according 
 to every account, to the verge of absolute insanity ; 
 and some of his letters on this occasion, both pub- 
 lished and unpublished, have certainly all the ap- 
 pearance of having been written in as deep a con- 
 centration of despair as ever preceded the most 
 awful of human calamities. His first thought had 
 been, as we have seen, to fly at once from the scene 
 of his disgrace and misery ; and this course seemed 
 now to be absolutely necessary. He was sum- 
 moned to find security for the maintenance of the 
 
 Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch. 
 While evening draws her crimson curtains round, 
 Trust your soft minutes with betraying man.' 
 
 We are decidedly of opinion, that the inexperienced fair 
 will be equally disposed to disregard this sentimental pro- 
 hibition, and to accept the invitation of another bard, whose 
 libertinism is less disguised, — 
 
 * Will you go to the bower I have shaded for you 
 Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew.' 
 
 ' To dear deluding woman 
 
 The joy of joys,'" 
 
 continues this divine, " Burns was partial in the extreme. 
 This was owing, as well to his constitutional temperament, 
 as to the admiration which he drew from the female world, 
 and the facility with which they met his advances. But his 
 aberrations must have been notorious, when a man in the 
 rank of Miss Armour's father refused his consent to his 
 permanent union with his unfortunate daughter. Among 
 the lower classes of the community, subsequent marriage is 
 reckoned an ample atonement for former indiscretion, and 
 ante-nuptial incontinency is looked upon as scarcely a trans- 
 gression." 
 
86 LIFE OF i 
 
 children whom he was prevented from legitimating, 
 and such was his poverty that he could not satisfy 
 the parish-officers. I suppose security for some 
 four or five pounds a-year was the utmost that 
 could have been demanded from a person of his 
 rank ; but the man who had in his desk the immor- 
 tal poems to which we have been referring above, 
 either disdained to ask, or tried in vain to find, 
 pecuniary assistance in his hour of need ; and the 
 only alternative that presented itself to his view 
 was America or a jail. 
 
 Who can ever learn without grief and indigna- 
 tion, that it was the victim of such miseries who, 
 at such a moment, could pour out such a strain as 
 the Lament ? 
 
 " O thou pale orb, that silent shines, 
 
 While care untroubled mortals sleep ! 
 Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
 
 And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
 With woe I nightly vigils keep, 
 
 Beneath thy wan un warming beam ; 
 And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
 
 How life and love are all a dream. 
 
 " No idly-feign'd poetic plaints, 
 
 My, sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
 No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 
 
 No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
 The plighted faith ; the mutual flame; 
 
 The oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
 The promised Father'' s tender name ; 
 
 These were the pledges of my love !" 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 87 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " He saw misfortune's cauld nor'-west y 
 Lang mustering- up a bitter blast ; 
 A jillet brak his heart at last, 
 
 111 may she be I 
 So, took a birth afore the mast, 
 
 An' owre the sea." 
 
 Jamaica was now his mark, and after some lit- 
 tle time, and not a little trouble, the situation of 
 assistant-overseer on the estate of a Dr Douglas 
 in that colony, was procured for him by one of his 
 friends in the town of Irvine. Money to pay for 
 his passage, however, he had not : and it at last oc- 
 curred to him that the few pounds requisite for this 
 purpose, might be raised by the publication of some 
 of the finest poems that ever delighted mankind. 
 
 His landlord, Gavin Hamilton, Mr Aiken, and 
 other friends, encouraged him warmly ; and after 
 some hesitation, he at length resolved to hazard an 
 experiment which might perhaps better his circum- 
 stances ; and, if any tolerable number of subscribers 
 could be procured, could not make them worse 
 than they were already. His rural patrons exerted 
 themselves with success in the matter ; and so 
 many copies were soon subscribed for, that Bums 
 entered into terms with a printer in Kilmarnock, 
 and began to copy out his performances for the 
 ■press. He carried his MSS. piecemeal to the 
 printer ; and encouraged by the ray of light which 
 unexpected patronage had begun to throw on 
 
88 LIFE OF 
 
 his affairs, composed, while the printing was in 
 progress, some of the best poems of the collection. 
 The tale of the Two. Dogs, for instance, with 
 which the volume commenced, is known to have 
 been written in the short interval between the pub- 
 lication being determined on and the printing be- 
 gun. His own account of the business to Dr Moore 
 is as follows : — 
 
 " I gave up my part of the farm to my brother : 
 in truth, it was only nominally mine ; and made 
 what little preparation was in my power for Ja- 
 maica. But before leaving my native land, I re- 
 solved to publish my Poems. I weighed my pro- 
 ductions as impartially as was in my power : I 
 thought they had merit ; and it was a delicious idea 
 that I should be called a clever fellow, even though 
 it should never reach my ears — a poor negro-driver 
 — or, perhaps, a victim to that inhospitable clime, 
 and gone to the world of spirits. I can truly say 
 that, pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty 
 nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works 
 as I have at this moment when the public has de- 
 cided in their favour. It ever was my opinion, that 
 the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and 
 religious point of view, of which we see thousands 
 daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of them- 
 selves. — To know myself, had been all along my 
 constant study. I weighed myself alone ; I ba- 
 lanced myself with others : I watched every means 
 of information, to see how much ground I occupied 
 as a man and as a poet : I studied assiduously Na- 
 ture's design in my formation— where the lights and 
 shades in character were intended. I was pretty 
 confident my poems would meet with some ap- 
 plause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic 
 would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty 
 l 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 89 
 
 of West Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I 
 threw off six hundred copies, for which I got sub- 
 scriptions for about three hundred and fifty.* — My 
 vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met 
 with from the public ; and besides, I pocketed, all 
 expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This 
 sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of in- 
 denting myself, for want of money to procure my 
 passage. As soon as I was master of nine gui- 
 neas, the price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I 
 took a steerage passage in the first ship that was 
 to sail from the Clyde ; for 
 
 ' Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' 
 
 a I had been for some days skulking from covert 
 to covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as some 
 ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack 
 of the law at my heels. I had taken the last fare- 
 well of my few friends ; my chest was on the road 
 to Greenock ; I had composed the last song I should 
 ever measure in Caledonia, The gloomy night is 
 gathering fast, when a letter from Dr Blacklock 
 to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by 
 opening new prospects to my poetic ambition." 
 
 To the above rapid narrative of the poet, we 
 may annex a few details, gathered from his various 
 biographers and from his own letters. 
 
 While his sheets were in the press, it appears, 
 that his friends, Hamilton and Aiken, revolved va- 
 rious schemes for procuring him the means of re- 
 maining in Scotland ; and having studied some of 
 the practical branches of mathematics, as we have 
 seen, and in particular gauging, it occurred to him- 
 
 * Gilbert Burns mentions, that a single individual, Mr 
 William Parker, merchant in Kilmarnock, subscribed for 
 35 copies, 
 
 K 
 
90 LIFE OF 
 
 self that a situation in the Excise might be better 
 suited to him than any other he was at all likely 
 to obtain by the intervention of such patrons as he 
 possessed. 
 
 He appears to have lingered longer after the 
 publication of the poems than one might suppose 
 from his own narrative, in the hope that these 
 gentlemen might at length succeed in their efforts 
 in his behalf. The poems were received with fa- 
 vour, even with rapture, in the county of Ayr, and 
 ere long over the adjoining counties. " Old and 
 young," thus speaks Robert Heron, " high and 
 low, grave and gay, learned or ignorant, were alike 
 delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time 
 resident in Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire, and 
 I can well remember how even ploughboys and 
 maid-servants would have gladly bestowed the 
 wages they earned the most hardly, and which they 
 wanted to purchase necessary clothing, if they 
 might but procure the Works of Burns." — The 
 poet soon found that his person also had become 
 an object of general curiosity, and that a lively in- 
 terest in his personal fortunes was excited among 
 some of the gentry of the district, when the de- 
 tails of his story reached them, as it was pretty 
 sure to do, along with his modest and manly pre- 
 face.* Among others, the celebrated Professor 
 
 * Preface to the First Edition. 
 " The following trifles are not the production of the poet, 
 who, with all the advantages of learned art, and, perhaps, 
 amid the elegancies and idleness of upper life, looks down 
 for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. 
 To the author of this, these and other celebrated names 
 their countrymen are, at least in their original language, a 
 fountain shut up, and a look sealed. Unacquainted with 
 the necessary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he 
 sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in him- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 91 
 
 Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh, and Lis accom- 
 plished lady, then resident at their beautiful seat 
 
 self and rustic compeers around him, in his and their native 
 language. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at least 
 from the earliest impulse of the softer passions, it was not 
 till very lately that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of 
 friendship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him think 
 anything of his worth showing ; and none of the follow- 
 ing works were composed with a view to the press. To 
 amuse himself with the little creations of his own fancy, 
 amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life ; to transcribe 
 the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the 
 fears, in his own breast ; to find some kind of counterpoise to 
 the struggles of a world, always an alien scene, a task un- 
 couth to the poetical mind — these were his motives for 
 courting the Muses, and in these he found poetry to be its 
 own reward. 
 
 " Now that he appears in the public character of an author 
 he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the 
 rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless bard, 
 shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as — An 
 impertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the 
 world ; and, because he can make a shift to jingle a few 
 doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon himself as a 
 poet of no small consequence, forsooth ! 
 
 " It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shenstone, 
 whose divine elegies do honour to our language, our nation, 
 and our species, that 4 Humility has depressed many a 
 genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame !' If any 
 critic catches at the word genius, the author tells him once 
 for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possessed of 
 some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the man- 
 ner he has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst 
 character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give 
 him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawn- 
 ings of the poor, unfortunate Fergusson, he, with equal un- 
 affected sincerity, declares, that, even in his highest pulse of 
 vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions. These two 
 justly admired Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in 
 the following pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at 
 their flame, than for servile imitation. 
 
 " To his subscribers, the author returns his most sincere 
 
92 LIFE OF 
 
 of Catrine, began to notice him with much polite 
 and friendly attention, Dr Hugh Blair, who then 
 held an eminent place in the literary society of 
 Scotland, happened to be paying Mr Stewart a 
 visit, and, on reading the Holy Fair, at once pro- 
 nounced it the " work of a very great genius ;" and 
 Mrs Stewart, herself a poetess, flattered him per- 
 haps still more highly by her warm commenda- 
 tions. But, above all, his little volume happen- 
 ed to attract the notice of Mrs Dunlop of Dun- 
 lop, a lady of high birth and ample fortune, en- 
 thusiastically attached to her country, and inte- 
 rested in whatever appeared to concern the honour 
 of Scotland. This excellent woman, while slowly 
 recovering from the languor of an illness, laid her 
 hands accidentally on the new production of the 
 provincial press, and opened the volume at the 
 Cottars Saturday Night " She read it over," 
 says Gilbert, " with the greatest pleasure and sur- 
 prise ; the poet's description of the simple cottagers 
 operated on her mind like the charm of a power- 
 ful exorcist, repelling the demon ennui, and re- 
 storing her to her wonted inward harmony and sa- 
 tisfaction." Mrs Dunlop instantly sent an express 
 to Mossgiel, distant sixteen miles from her resi- 
 
 thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the 
 heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, conscious how much 
 he owes to benevolence and friendship for gratifying him, if 
 he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom — 
 to be distinguished. He begs his readers, particularly the 
 learned and the polite, who may honour him with a perusal, 
 that they will make every allowance for education and cir- 
 cumstances of life ; but if, after a fair, candid, and impar- 
 tial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dulness and non« 
 sense, let him be done by as he would in that case do by 
 others — let him be condemned, without mercy, to contempt 
 and oblivion." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 93 
 
 deuce, with a very kind letter to Burns, requesting 
 him to supply her, if he could, with half-a-dozen 
 copies of the book, and to call at Dunlop as soon 
 as he could find it convenient. Burns was from 
 home, but he acknowledged the favour conferred 
 on him in an interesting letter, still extant; and 
 shortly afterwards commenced a personal acquain- 
 tance with one that never afterwards ceased to be- 
 friend him to the utmost of her power. His letters 
 to Mrs Dunlop form a very large proportion of all 
 his subsequent correspondence, and, addressed as 
 they were to a person, whose sex, age, rank, and 
 benevolence, inspired at once profound respect and 
 a graceful confidence, will ever remain the most 
 pleasing of all the materials of our poet's biography. 
 
 At the residences of these new acquaintances, 
 Burns was introduced into society of a class which 
 he had not before approached ; and of the manner 
 in which he stood the trial, Mr Stewart thus writes 
 to Dr Currie : — - 
 
 " His manners were then, as they continued 
 ever afterwards, simple, manly, and independent ; 
 strongly expressive of conscious genius and worth ; 
 but without anything that indicated forwardness, 
 arrogance, or vanity. He took his share in con- 
 versation, but not more than belonged to him ; and 
 listened, with apparent attention and deference, on 
 subjects where his want of education deprived him 
 of the means of information. If there had been a 
 little more of gentleness and accommodation in his 
 temper, he would, I think, have been still more 
 interesting ; but he had been accustomed to give 
 law in the circle of his ordinary acquaintance ; and 
 his dread of anything approaching to meanness or 
 servility, rendered his manner somewhat decided 
 . - -- * - - H 2 
 
94 LIFE OF 
 
 and hard. Nothing, perhaps, was more remarkable 
 among his various attainments than the fluency, 
 and precision, and originality of his language, when 
 he spoke in company, more particularly as he aim- 
 ed at purity in his turn of expression, and avoided ? 
 more successfully than most Scotchmen, the pecu- 
 liarities of Scottish phraseology. At this time, 
 Burns's prospects in life were so extremely gloomy, 
 that he had seriously formed a plan of going out 
 to Jamaica in a very humble situation, not, how- 
 ever, without lamenting that his want of patronage 
 should force him to think of a project so repugnant 
 to his feelings, when his ambition aimed at no high- 
 er an object than the station of an exciseman or 
 gauger m his own country. 
 
 The provincial applause of his publication, and 
 the consequent notice of his superiors, however flat- 
 tering such things must have been, were far from 
 administering any essential relief to the urgent ne- 
 cessities of Burns's situation. Very shortly after 
 his first visit to Catrine, where he met with the 
 young and amiable Basil Lord Daer, whose con- 
 descension and kindness on the occasion he cele- 
 brates in some well-known verses, we find the poet 
 writing to his friend, Mr Aiken of Ayr, in the fol- 
 lowing sad strain: — " I have been feeling all the 
 various rotations and movements within respecting 
 the excise. There are many things plead strongly 
 against it ; the uncertainty of getting soon into bu- 
 siness, the consequences of my follies, which may 
 perhaps make it impracticable for me to stay at 
 home ; and besides, I have for some time been 
 pining under secret wretchedness, from causes 
 which you pretty well know — the pang of disap- 
 pointment, the sting of pride, with some wandering 
 stabs of remorse; which never fail to settle on my 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 95 
 
 vitals, like vultures, when attention is not called 
 away by the calls of society, or the vagaries of the 
 muse. Even in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety 
 is the madness of an intoxicated criminal under the 
 hands of the executioner. All these reasons urge 
 me to go abroad ; and to all these reasons I have 
 only one answer — the feelings of a father. This, in 
 the present mood I am in, overbalances every- 
 thing that can be laid in the scale against it." 
 
 He proceeds to say, that he claims no right to 
 complain. " The world has in general been kind 
 to me, fully up to my deserts. I was for some 
 time past fast getting into the pining distrustful 
 snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone, un- 
 fit for the struggle of life, shrinking at every rising 
 cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere of fortune, 
 while, all defenceless, I looked about in vain for a 
 cover. It never occurred to me, at least never with 
 the force it deserved, that this world is a busy 
 scene, and man a creature destined for a progres- 
 sive struggle ; and that, however I might possess a 
 warm heart, and inoffensive manners (which last, 
 by the by, was rather more than I could well 
 boast) still, more than these passive qualities, there 
 was something to be done. When all my school- 
 fellows and youthful compeers were striking off, 
 with eager hope and earnest intent, on some 
 one or other of the many paths of busy life, I was 
 i standing idle in the market-place/ or only left 
 the chase of the butterfly from flower to flower, to 
 hunt fancy from whim to whim. You see, sir, that 
 if to hnoiv one's errors, were a probability of mend- 
 ing them, I stand a fair chance ; but, according to 
 the reverend Westminster divines, though convic- 
 tion must precede conversion, it is very far from 
 always implying it." 
 
96 LIFE OF 
 
 111 the midst of all the distresses of this period of 
 suspense, Bums found time, as he tells Mr Aiken, 
 for some " vagaries of the muse ;" and one or two 
 of these may deserve to be noticed here, as throw- 
 ing light ou his personal demeanour during this 
 first summer of his fame. The poems appeared in 
 July, and one of the first persons of superior con- 
 dition (Gilbert, indeed, says the first) who courted 
 his acquaintance in consequence of having read 
 them, was Mrs Stewart of Stair, a beautiful and 
 accomplished lady. Burns presented her on this 
 occasion with some MSS. songs ; and among the 
 rest, with one in which her own charms were ce- 
 lebrated in that warm strain of compliment which 
 our poet seems to have all along considered the 
 most proper to be used whenever fair lady was to 
 be addressed in rhyme. 
 
 " Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
 Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise: 
 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
 Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
 There oft, as mild evening sweeps over the lea, 
 The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me." 
 
 It was in the spring of the same year, that he 
 had happened, in the course of an evening ramble 
 on the banks of the Ayr, to meet with a young 
 and lovely unmarried lady, of the family of Alex- 
 ander of Ballamyle ; and now (Sept. 1786) em- 
 boldened, we are to suppose, by the reception 
 his volume had met with, he enclosed to her some 
 verses, which he had written in commemoration 
 of that passing glimpse of her beauty, and con- 
 ceived in a strain of luxurious fervour, which cer- 
 tainly, coming from a mau of Burn&'s station and 
 
KOBEKT BURNS. 91 
 
 character, must have sounded very strangely in a 
 delicate maiden's ear. 
 
 " Oh, had she been a country maid, 
 
 And I the happy country swain, 
 Though shelter'd in the lowest shed, 
 
 That ever rose on Scotia's plain ! 
 Through weary winter's wind and rain, 
 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil, 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 
 The bonny lass of Ballochmyle." 
 
 Burns is said by Allan Cunningham to have re- 
 sented bitterly the silence in which Miss Alexander 
 received this tribute to her charms. I suppose we 
 may account for his over tenderness to young la- 
 dies in pretty much the same way that Professor 
 Dugald Stewart does, in the letter above quoted, 
 for " a certain want of gentleness" in his method 
 of addressing persons of his own sex. His rustic 
 experience among the fair could have had no ten- 
 dency to whisper the lesson of reserve. 
 
 The autumn of this eventful year was now draw- 
 ing to a close, and Burns, who had already linger- 
 ed three months in the hope, which he now con- 
 sidered vain, of an excise appointment, perceived 
 that another year must be lost altogether, unless 
 he made up his mind, and secured his passage to 
 the West Indies. The Kilmarnock edition of his 
 poems was, however, nearly exhausted ; and his 
 friends encouraged him to produce another at the 
 same place, with the view of equipping himself the 
 better for the necessities of his voyage. But the 
 printer at Kilmarnock would not undertake the 
 new impression unless Burns advanced the price 
 of the paper required for it ; and with this demand 
 the poet had no means of complying. Mr Ballan- 
 iyne, the chief magistrate of Ayr, (the same gentle- 
 
98 LIFE OF 
 
 man to whom the poem on the Twa Brigs of Ayr 
 was afterwards inscribed,) offered to furnish the 
 money ; and probably this kind offer would have 
 been accepted. But, ere this matter could be ar- 
 ranged, the prospects of the poet were, in a very 
 unexpected manner, altered and improved. 
 
 Burns went to pay a parting visit to Dr Laurie, 
 minister of Loudoun, a gentleman from whom, and 
 his accomplished family, he had previously recei- 
 ved many kind attentions. After taking farewell 
 of this benevolent circle, the poet proceeded, as 
 the night was setting in, " to convey his chest," as 
 he says, " so far on the road to Greenock, where 
 he was to embark in a few days for America." 
 And it was under these circumstances that he com- 
 posed the song already referred to, which he meant 
 as his farewell dirge to his native land, and which 
 ends thus :- — 
 
 " Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
 . Her heathy moors and winding vales, 
 The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
 Pursuing past unhappy loves. 
 Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
 My peace with these — my love with those— 
 The bursting tears my heart declare, 
 Farewell, the bonny banks of Ayr." 
 
 Dr Laurie had given Bums much good counsel, 
 and what comfort he could, at parting ; but pru- 
 dently said nothing of an effort which he had pre- 
 viously made in his behalf. He had sent a copy of 
 the poems, with a sketch of the author's history, 
 to his friend Dr Thomas Blacklock of Edinburgh, 
 with a, request that he would introduce both to the 
 notice of those persons whose opinions were at the 
 time most listened to in regard to literary produc- 
 tions in Scotland, in the hope that, by their inter- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 99 
 
 vention, Burns might yet be rescued from the ne- 
 cessity of expatriating himself. Dr Blacklock's an- 
 swer reached Dr Laurie a day or two after Burns 
 had made his visit, and composed his dirge ; and it 
 was not yet too late. Laurie forwarded it imme- 
 diately to Mr Gavin Hamilton, who carried it to 
 Burns. It is as follows : — 
 
 " I ought to have acknowledged your favour long 
 ago, not only as a testimony of your kind remem- 
 brance, but as it gave me an opportunity of sharing 
 one of the finest, and perhaps one of the most ge- 
 nuine entertainments of which the human mind is 
 susceptible. A number of avocations retarded my 
 progress in reading the poems ; at last, however, I 
 have finished that pleasing perusal. Many instances 
 have I seen of Nature's force or beneficence exerted 
 under numerous and formidable disadvantages ; but 
 none equal to that with which you have been kind 
 enough to present me. There is a pathos and deli- 
 cacy in his serious poems, a vein of wit and humour 
 in those of a more festive turn, which cannot be too 
 much admired, nor too warmly approved ; and I think 
 I shall never open the book without feeling my as- 
 tonishment renewed and increased. It was my 
 wish to have expressed my approbation in verse ; 
 but whether from declining life, or a temporary 
 depression of spirits, it is at present out of my 
 power to accomplish that agreeable intention. 
 
 " Mr Stewart, Professor of Morals in this Univer- 
 sity, had formerly read me three of the poems, and 
 I had desired him to get my name inserted among 
 the subscribers ; but whether this was done, or 
 not, I never could learn. I have little intercourse 
 with Dr Blair, but will take care to have the poems 
 communicated to him by the intervention of some 
 mutual friend. It has been told me by a gentle- 
 
100 LIFE OF 
 
 man, to whom I showed the performances, and 
 who sought a copy with diligence and ardour, that 
 the whole impression is already exhausted. It were, 
 therefore, much to be wished, for the sake of the 
 young man, that a second edition, more numerous 
 than the former, could immediately be printed : 
 as it appears certain that its intrinsic merit, and 
 the exertion of the author's friends, might give it a 
 more universal circulation than anything of the 
 kind which has been published in my memory." * 
 We have already seen with what surprise and 
 delight Bums read this generous letter. Although 
 he had ere this conversed with more than one per- 
 son of established literary reputation, and received 
 from them attentions, for which he was ever after 
 grateful, — the despondency of his spirit appears 
 to have remained as dark as ever, up to the very 
 hour when his landlord produced Dr Blacklock's 
 letter; and one may be pardoned for fancying, 
 that in his Vision, he has himself furnished no un- 
 faithful representation of the manner in which he 
 was spending what he looked on as one of the last 
 nights, if not the very last, he was to pass at Moss- 
 giel, when the friendly Hamilton unexpectedly en- 
 tered the melancholy dwelling. 
 
 " There, lanely by the ingle-cheek 
 I sat and eyed the spewing reek, 
 That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking reek, 
 
 The auld clay -biggin', 
 And heard the restless rattans squeak 
 
 About the riggin\ 
 
 * Reliques, p. 279. 
 
ROBERT BURNS, 101 
 
 All in this mottie mistie clime, 
 I backward mused on wasted time, 
 How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 
 
 An' done nae thing, 
 But stringin' blethers up in rhyme 
 
 For fools to sing. 
 
 Had I to glide advice but harkit, 
 I might by this hae led a market, 
 Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 
 
 My cash- account, 
 "While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 
 
 Is a' the amount." 
 
 * Doctor Blacklock," says Burns, " belonged 
 to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not 
 dared to hope. His opinion that I would meet 
 with encouragement in Edinburgh, fired me so 
 much, that away I posted for that city, without a 
 single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduc- 
 tion. The baneful star that had so long shed its 
 blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a 
 resolution to the nadir." * 
 
 Two of the biographers of Burns have had the 
 advantage of speaking from personal knowledge of 
 the excellent man whose interposition was thus 
 serviceable. " It was a fortunate circumstance," 
 says Walker, " that the person whom Dr Laurie 
 applied to, merely because he was the only one 
 of his literary acquaintances with whom he chose 
 to use that freedom, happened also to be the per- 
 son best qualified to render the application success- 
 ful. Dr Blacklock was an enthusiast in his ad- 
 miration of an art which he had practised himself 
 with applause. He felt the claims of a poet with 
 a paternal sympathy, and he had in his constitu- 
 
 * Letter to Moore, 
 
102 LIFE OF 
 
 tion a tenderness and sensibility that would have 
 engaged his beneficence for a youth in the circum- 
 stances of Burns, even though he had not been in- 
 debted to him for the delight which he received 
 from his works ; for if the young men were enu- 
 merated whom he drew from obscurity, and ena- 
 bled by education to advance themselves in life, 
 the catalogue would naturally excite surprise. . . . 
 He was not of a disposition to act as Walpole did 
 to Chatterton ; to discourage with feeble praise, 
 and to shift off the trouble of future patronage, 
 by bidding him relinquish poetry, and mind his 
 plough." * 
 
 " There was never, perhaps/' thus speaks the 
 unfortunate Heron, whose own unmerited sorrows 
 and sufferings would not have left so dark a stain on 
 the literary history of Scotland, had the kind spirit 
 of Blacklock been common among his lettered 
 countrymen — " There was never, perhaps, one 
 among all mankind whom you might more truly 
 have called an angel upon earth than Dr Black- 
 lock. He was guileless and innocent as a child, 
 yet endowed with manly sagacity and penetration. 
 His heart was a perpetual spring of benignity. 
 His feelings were all tremblingly alive to the sense 
 of the sublime, the beautiful, the tender, the pious, 
 the virtuous. Poetry was to him the dear solace 
 of perpetual blindness." 
 
 Such was the amiable old man, whose life Mac- 
 kenzie has written, and on whom Johnson " look- 
 ed with reverence."f The writings of Blacklock 
 
 * Morrison, vol. J. p. 9. 
 
 -f- " This morning I saw at breakfast Dr' Blacklock the 
 blind poet, who does not remember to have seen light, and 
 is read to by a poor scholar in Latin, Greek, and French. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 103 
 
 are forgotten, (though some of his songs in the 
 Museum deserve another fate,) but the memory of 
 his virtues will not pass away until mankind shall 
 have ceased to sympathize with the fortunes of 
 Genius^ and to appreciate the poetry of Burns. 
 
 He was originally a poor scholar himself. I looked on 
 him with reverence." Letter to Mrs Thrale. Edinburgh^ 
 August 17, 1773. 
 
104 
 
 C HAPTER V, 
 
 "Baina! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat legislation's sovereign powers ; 
 From marking wildly-scatter'd fiow'rs, 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
 And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
 
 I shelter in thy honour'd shade." 
 
 There is an old Scottish ballad which begins 
 thus : 
 
 " As I came in by Glenap, 
 
 I met an aged woman, 
 And she bade me cheer up my heart, 
 
 For the best of my days was coming.'* 
 
 This stanza was one of Burns's favourite quota- 
 tions ; and he told a friend* many years afterwards, 
 that he remembered humming it to himself, over and 
 over, on his way from Mossgiel to Edinburgh. 
 Perhaps the excellent Blacklock might not have 
 been particularly flattered with the circumstance 
 had it reached his ears. 
 
 Although he repaired to the capital with such 
 alertness, solely in consequence of Blacklock's let- 
 ter to Dr Laurie, it appears that he allowed some 
 weeks to pass ere he presented himself to the doc- 
 tor's personal notice.f He found several of his 
 
 * David Macculloch, Esq., brother to Ardwell. 
 
 *|- Burns reached Edinburgh before the end of Novem- 
 ber, and yet Dr Laurie's letter, (General Correspondence, 
 p. 37,) admonishing him to wait on Blacklock, is dated 
 December 22. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 105 
 
 old Ayrshire acquaintances established in Edin- 
 burgh, and, I suppose, felt himself constrained to 
 give himself up for a brief space to their society. 
 He printed, however, without delay, a prospectus 
 of a second edition of his poems, and being intro- 
 duced by Mr Dalrymple of Orangefield to the Earl 
 of Glencairn, that amiable nobleman easily per- 
 suaded Creech, then the chief bookseller in Edin- 
 burgh, (who had attended his son as travelling- 
 tutor,) to undertake the publication. The Ho- 
 nourable Henry Erskine, Dean of the Faculty of 
 Advocates, the most agreeable of companions, and 
 the most benignant of wits, took him also, as the 
 poet expresses it, " under his wing." The kind 
 Blacklock received him with all the warmth of pa- 
 ternal affection when he did wait on him, and in- 
 troduced him to Dr Blair, and other eminent li- 
 terati ; his subscription lists were soon filled ; Lord 
 Glencairn made interest with the Caledonian Hunt, 
 (an association of the most distinguished members 
 of the northern aristocracy,) to accept the dedica- 
 tion of the forthcoming edition, and to subscribe 
 individually for copies. Several noblemen, especi- 
 ally of the west of Scotland, came forward with 
 subscription-moneys considerably beyond the usual 
 rate. In so small a capital, where everybody knows 
 everybody, that which becomes a favourite topic in 
 one leading circle of society, soon excites an uni- 
 versal interest ; and before Burns had been a fort- 
 night in Edinburgh, we find him writing to bis 
 earliest patron, Gavin Hamilton, in these terms : — 
 ■*' For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of be- 
 coming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John 
 Bunyan ; and you may expect henceforth to see 
 my birthday inscribed among the wonderful events 
 in the Poor Robin and Aberdeen Almanacks, 
 
106 LIFE OF 
 
 along with the Black Monday, and the Battle 
 of Bothwell Bridge." 
 
 It will ever be remembered, to the honour of the 
 man who at that period held the highest place in 
 the imaginative literature of Scotland, that he was 
 the first who came forward to avow in print his 
 admiration of the genius and his warm interest in 
 the fortunes of the poet. Distinguished as his own 
 writings are by the refinements of classical art, 
 Mr Henry Mackenzie was, fortunately for Burns, 
 a man of liberal genius, as well as polished taste ; 
 and he, in whose own pages some of the best 
 models of elaborate elegance will ever be recog- 
 nised, was among the first to feel, and the first 
 to stake his own reputation on the public avowal, 
 that the Ayrshire Ploughman belonged to the 
 order of beings, whose privilege it is to snatch 
 graces i( beyond the reach of art." It is but a me- 
 lancholy business to trace among the records of 
 literary history, the manner in which most great 
 original geniuses have been greeted on their first 
 appeals to the world, by the contemporary ar- 
 biters of taste ; coldly and timidly indeed have 
 the sympathies of professional criticism flowed on 
 most such occasions in past times and in the pre- 
 sent : But the reception of Burns was worthy of 
 the Man of Feeling. After alluding to the pro- 
 vincial circulation and reputation of his poems,* 
 " I hope," said The Lounger, " I shall not be 
 thought to assume too much, if I endeavour to 
 place him in a higher point of view, to call for a 
 verdict of his country on the merits of his works, 
 and to , claim for him those honours which their 
 excellence appears to deserve. In mentioning the 
 
 a The Lounger for Saturday., December 9. 1786* 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 107 
 
 circumstance of his humble station, I mean not to 
 rest his pretensions solely on that title, or to urge 
 the merits of his poetry, when considered in rela- 
 tion to the lowness of his birth, and the little op- 
 portunity of improvement which his education 
 could afford. These particulars, indeed, must ex~ 
 cite our wonder at his productions ; but his poetry, 
 considered abstractedly, and without the apolo- 
 gies arising from his situation, seems to me fully en- 
 titled to command our feelings, and to obtain our 
 applause." After quoting various pass- 
 ages, in some of which his readers " must disco- 
 ver a high tone of feeling, and power, and energy 
 of expression, particularly and strongly character- 
 istic of the mind and the voice of a poet," and others 
 as showing " the power of genius, not less admi- 
 rable in tracing the manners, than in painting the 
 passions, or in drawing the scenery of nature," 
 and " with what uncommon penetration and sagaci- 
 ty this heaven-taught ploughman, from his humble 
 and unlettered condition, had looked on men and 
 manners," the critic concluded with an eloquent 
 appeal in behalf of the poet personally : " To re- 
 pair," said he, " the wrong of suffering or neglect- 
 ed merit ; to call forth genius from the obscurity 
 in which it had pined indignant, and place it 
 where it may profit or delight the world — these 
 are exertions which give to wealth an enviable 
 superiority, to greatness and to patronage a laud- 
 able pride." 
 
 We all know how the serious part of this ap- 
 peal was ultimately attended to ; but, in the mean- 
 time, whatever gratification such a mind as his 
 could derive from the blandishments of the fair, 
 the condescension of the noble, and the flatteries 
 
108 life or 
 
 of the learned, were plentifully administered to 
 " the Lion" of the season. 
 
 " I was, sir," thus wrote Burns to one of his 
 Ayrshire patrons,* a few days after the Lounger 
 appeared, — " I was, when first honoured with 
 your notice, too obscure ; now I tremble lest I 
 should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly 
 into the glare of polite and learned observation ;" 
 and he concludes the same letter with an ominous 
 prayer for (i better health and more spirits." 
 
 Two or three weeks later, we find him writing 
 as follows : — " (January 14, 1787.) I went to a 
 Mason Lodge yesternight, where the M.W. Grand- 
 master Charteris and all the Grand Lodge of Scot- 
 land visited. The meeting was numerous and ele- 
 gant : all the different lodges about town were pre- 
 sent in all their pomp. The Grand Master, who 
 presided with great solemnity, among other gene- 
 ral toasts gave ' Caledonia and Caledonia's bard, 
 Brother B ,' which rung through the whole as- 
 sembly with multiplied honours and repeated ac- 
 clamations. As I had no idea such a thing would 
 happen, I was downright thunderstruck : and trem- 
 bling in every nerve, made the best return in my 
 power. Just as I had finished, one of the Grand 
 Officers said, so loud that I could hear, with a 
 most comforting accent, i very well indeed,' which 
 set me something to rights again." 
 
 And a few weeks later still, he is thus address- 
 ed by one of his old associates who was medita- 
 ting a visit to Edinburgh. " By all accounts, it 
 will be a difficult matter to get a sight of you at 
 all, unless your company is bespoke a week before- 
 
 • -•« Letter to Mr Ballantync of Ayr, December 13, 1T8M3. 
 . Relieves, p. 12. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 109 
 
 baud. There are great rumours here of youi inti- 
 macy with the Duchess of Gordon, and other la- 
 dies of distinction. I am really told that 
 
 ' Cards to invite, fly by thousands each night ;* 
 
 and if you had one, there would also, 1 sup- 
 pose, he ' bribes for your old secretary.' I ob- 
 serve you are resolved to make hay while the sun 
 shines, and avoid, if possible, the fate of poor Fer- 
 guson. Qucerenda pecunia primum est — Virtus 
 post nummos, is a good maxim to thrive by. Yon 
 seemed to despise it while in this country ; but, 
 probably, some philosophers in Edinburgh have 
 taught you better sense." 
 
 In this proud career, however, the popular idol 
 needed no slave to whisper whence he had risen, 
 and whither he was to return in the ebb of the 
 spring-tide of fortune. His " prophetic soul" was 
 probably furnished with a sufficient memento 
 every night — wdien, from the soft homage of glit- 
 tering saloons, or the tumultuous applause of con- 
 vivial assemblies, he made his retreat to the hum- 
 ble garret of a writers apprentice, a native of 
 Mauchline, and as poor as himself, whose only bed 
 " Caledonia's Bard" was fain to partake through- 
 out this triumphant winter.* 
 
 He bore all his honours in a manner worthy of 
 himself ; and of this the testimonies are so nume- 
 
 * " Old Mr Richmond of Mauchline, told me that Burn* 
 spent the first winter of his residence in Edinburgh, in his 
 lodgings. They slept in the same bed, and had only one 
 room. It was in the house of a Mrs Carfrae, Baxter's 
 Close, Lawnmarket, first scale-stair on the left hand in 
 going down, first door in the stair." I quote from a letter 
 of Mr R. Chambers, the diligent local antiquary of Edin- 
 burgh, to whom I owe many obligations. 
 
110 LIFE OF 
 
 rous, that the only difficulty is that of selection. 
 " The attentions he received," says Mr Dugald 
 Stewart-,'" from all ranks and descriptions of per- 
 sons, were such as would have turned any head 
 but his own. I cannot say that I could perceive 
 any unfavourable effect which they left on his 
 mind. He retained the same simplicity of man- 
 ners and appearance which had struck me so for- 
 cibly when I first saw him in the country ; nor did 
 he seem to feel any additional self-importance from 
 the number and rank of his new acquaintance." 
 
 Professor Walker, who met him, for the first 
 time, early in the same season, at breakfast in Dr 
 Blacklock's house, has thus recorded his impres- 
 sions : — " I was not much struck with his first ap- 
 pearance, as I had previously heard it described. 
 His person, though strong and well knit, and much 
 superior to what might be expected in a plough- 
 man, was still rather coarse in its outline. His 
 stature, from want of setting up, appeared to be 
 only of the middle size, but was rather above it. 
 His motions were firm and decided, and though 
 without any pretensions to grace, were at the same 
 time so free from clownish constraint, as to show 
 that he had not always been confined to the society 
 of his profession. His countenance was not of 
 that elegant cast, which is most frequent among 
 the upper ranks, but it was manly and intelligent, 
 and marked by a thoughtful gravity which shaded 
 at times into sternness. In his large dark eye the 
 most striking index of his genius resided. It was 
 full of mind ; and would have been singularly ex- 
 pressive, under the management of one who could 
 employ it with more art, for the purpose of ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " He was plainly, but properly dressed, in a style 
 
ROBERT BURNS. Ill 
 
 mid- way between the holiday costume of a farmer*, 
 and that of the company with which he now as- 
 sociated. His black hair, without powder, at a 
 time when it was very generally worn, was tied 
 behind, and spread upon his forehead. Upon the 
 whole, from his person, physiognomy, and dress, 
 had I met him near a seaport, and been required 
 to guess his condition, I should have probably con- 
 jectured him to be the master of a merchant vessel 
 of the most respectable class. 
 
 " In no part of his manner was there the slight- 
 est degree of affectation, nor could a stranger have 
 suspected, from anything in his behaviour or con- 
 versation, that he bad been for some months the 
 favourite of all the fashionable circles of a metro- 
 polis. 
 
 " In conversation he was powerful. His con- 
 ceptions and expression were of corresponding vi- 
 gour, and on all subjects were as remote as possible 
 from common places. Though somewhat autho- 
 ritative, it was in a way which gave little offence, 
 and was readily imputed to his inexperience in 
 those modes of smoothing dissent and softening 
 assertion, which are important characteristics of 
 polished manners. After breakfast I requested 
 him to communicate some of his unpublished pieces, 
 and he recited his farewell song to the Banks of 
 Ayr, introducing it with a description of the cir- 
 cumstances in which it was composed, more stri- 
 king than the poem itself. 
 
 '[ I paid particular attention to his recitation, 
 which was plain, slow, articulate, and forcible, but 
 without any eloquence or art. He did not always 
 lay the emphasis with propriety, nor did he hu- 
 mour the sentiment by the variations of his voice. 
 He was standing, during the time, with his face 
 
112 LIFE or 
 
 towards the window, to which, and not to his au- 
 ditors, lie directed his eye — thus depriving himself 
 of any additional effect which the language of his 
 composition might have borrowed from the lan- 
 guage of his countenance. In this he resembled 
 the generality of singers in ordinary company, who, 
 to shun any charge of affectation,, withdraw all 
 meaning from their features, and lose the advan- 
 tage by which vocal performers on the stage aug- 
 ment the impression, and give energy to the senti- 
 ment of the song 
 
 " The day after my first introduction to Burns, 
 I supped in company witli him at Dr Blair's. The 
 other guests were very few, and as each had been 
 invited chiefly to have an opportunity of meeting 
 with the poet, the Doctor endeavoured to draw 
 him out, and to make him the central figure of the 
 group. Though he therefore furnished the greatest 
 proportion of the conversation, he did no more 
 than what he saw evidently was expected." * 
 
 To these reminiscences I shall now add those 
 of one who is not likely to be heard unwillingly 
 on any subject ; and — young as he was in 1786 — 
 on few subjects, I think, with greater interest than 
 the personal appearance and conversation of Ro- 
 bert Burns. The following is an extract from a 
 letter of Sir Walter Scott : — 
 
 u As for Burns, I may truly say, Virgilium 
 vidi tantum. I was a lad of fifteen in 1786-7, 
 when he came first to Edinburgh, but had sense 
 and feeling enough to be much interested in 
 his poetry, and would have given the world to 
 know him ; but I had very little acquaintance with 
 any liierary people, and still less with the gentry 
 
 * Morrison's Burns, vol. i. pp. lxxi. Ixxii* 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 113 
 
 of the west country, the two sets that he most 
 frequented. Mr Thomas Grierson was at that 
 time a clerk of my father's. He knew Burns, 
 and promised to ask him to his lodgings to din- 
 ner, but had no opportunity to keep his word ; 
 otherwise I might have seen more of this distin- 
 guished man. As it was, I saw him one day at 
 the late venerable Professor Fergusson's, where 
 there were several gentlemen of literary reputation, 
 among whom I remember the celebrated Mr Du- 
 gald Stewart. Of course we youngsters sate silent, 
 looked, and listened. The only thing I remember 
 which was remarkable in Bums's manner, was the 
 effect produced upon him by a print of Bunbury's, 
 representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his 
 dog sitting in misery on one side, — on the other, 
 his widow, with a child in her arms. These lines 
 were written beneath, — 
 
 1 Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, 
 Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain— 
 Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, 
 The big drops, mingling with the milk he drew, 
 Gave the sad presage of his future years, 
 The child of misery baptized in tears.' 
 
 " Burns seemed much affected by the print, or 
 rather the ideas which it suggested to his mind. 
 He actually shed tears. He asked whose the lines 
 were, and it chanced that nobody but myself re- 
 membered that they occur in a half-forgotten poem 
 of Langhorne's, called by the unpromising title of 
 The Justice of Peace. I whispered my informa- 
 tion to a friend present, who mentioned it to 
 Burns, who rewarded me with a look and a word, 
 which, though of mere civility, I then received, 
 and still recollect, with very great pleasure. 
 
 " His person was strong and robust ; his man- 
 ic 4 
 
114 LIFE OF 
 
 ners rustic, not clownish ; a sort of dignified plain- 
 ness and simplicity, which received part of its ef- 
 fect, perhaps, from one's knowledge of his extraor- 
 dinary talents. His features are represented in 
 Mr Nasmyth's picture, but to me it conveys the 
 idea, that they are diminished as if seen in perspec- 
 tive. I think his countenance was more massive 
 than it looks in any of the portraits. I would have 
 taken the poet, had I not known what he was, for 
 a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch 
 school, i. e. none of your modern agriculturists, 
 who keep labourers for their drudgery, but the 
 douce gudeman who held his own plough. There 
 was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness 
 in all his lineaments ; the eye alone, I think, indi- 
 cated the poetical character and temperament. It 
 was large, and of a dark cast, which glowed (I say 
 literally glowed) when he spoke with feeling or 
 interest. I never saw such another eye in a hu- 
 man head, though I have seen the most distin- 
 guished men of my time. His conversation ex- 
 pressed perfect self-confidence, without the slight- 
 est presumption. Among the men who were the 
 most learned of their time and country, he express- 
 ed himself with perfect firmness, but without the 
 least intrusive forwardness ; and when he differed in 
 opinion, he did not hesitate to express it firmly, 
 yet at the same time with modesty. I do not re- 
 member any part of his conversation distinctly 
 enough to be quoted, nor did I ever see him again, 
 except in the street, where he did not recognise 
 me, as I could not expect he should. He was much 
 caressed in Edinburgh, but (considering what lite- 
 rary emoluments have been since his day) the ef- 
 forts made for his relief were extremely trifling. 
 (( I remember on this occasion I mention, I 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 115 
 
 thought Burns's acquaintance with English Poetry 
 was rather limited, and also, that having twenty 
 times the abilities of Allan Ramsay and of Fergu- 
 son, he talked of them with too much humility as 
 his models ; there was, doubtless, national predi- 
 lection in his estimate. 
 
 " This is all I can tell you about Burns. I have 
 only to add, that his dress corresponded with his 
 manner. He was like a farmer dressed in his best 
 to dine with the Laird. I do not speak in malam 
 2)artem, when I say, I never saw a man in company 
 with his superiors in station and information, more 
 perfectly free from either the reality or the affec- 
 tation of embarrassment. I was told, but did not 
 observe it, that his address to females was ex- 
 tremely deferential, and always with a turn either 
 to the pathetic orliumorous, which engaged their 
 attention particularly. I have heard the late Duchess 
 of Gordon remark this. — I do not know anything 
 I can add to these recollections of forty years 
 since."— 
 
 Darkly as the career of Burns was destined to 
 terminate, there can be no doubt that he made his 
 first appearance at a period highly favourable for 
 his reception as a British, and especially as a Scot- 
 tish poet. Nearly forty years had elapsed since the 
 death of Thomson : — Collins, Gray, Goldsmith, 
 had successively disappeared :* — Dr Johnson had 
 belied the rich promise of his early appearance, and 
 confined himself to prose ; and Cowper had hard- 
 ly begun to be recognised as having any consider- 
 able pretensions to fill the long-vacant throne in 
 England. At home — without derogation from the 
 merits either of Douglas or the 31i?istrel, be it 
 said — men must have gone back at least three 
 centuries to find a Scottish poet at all entitled 
 
116 LIFE OF 
 
 to be considered as of that high order to which 
 the generous criticism of Mackenzie at once ad- 
 mitted " the Ayrshire Ploughman." Of the form 
 and garb of his composition, much, unquestion- 
 ably and avowedly, was derived from his more 
 immediate predecessors, Ramsay and Ferguson : 
 but there was a bold mastery of hand in his pic- 
 turesque descriptions, to produce anything equal 
 to which it was necessary to recall the days of 
 Christ's Kirk on the Green, and Peebles to the 
 Play : and in his more solemn pieces, a depth of 
 inspiration, and a massive energy of language, to 
 which the dialect of his country had been a stran- 
 ger, at least since " Dunbar the Mackar." The 
 Muses of Scotland had never indeed been silent ; 
 and the ancient minstrelsy of the land, of which a 
 slender portion had as yet been committed to the 
 safeguard of the press, was handed from genera- 
 tion to generation, and preserved, in many a frag- 
 ment, faithful images of the peculiar tenderness, 
 and peculiar humour, of the national fancy and 
 character — precious representations, which Burns 
 himself never surpassed in his happiest efforts. But 
 these were fragments ; and with a scanty handful 
 of exceptions, the best of them, at least of the se- 
 rious kind, were very ancient. Among the num- 
 berless effusions of the Jacobite Muse, valuable as 
 we now consider them for the record of manners 
 and events, it would be difficult to point out half-a- 
 dozen strains, worthy, for poetical excellence alone, 
 of a place among the old chivalrous ballads of the 
 Southern, or even of the Highland Border. Gene- 
 rations had passed away since any Scottish poet had 
 appealed to the sympathies of his countrymen in a 
 lofty Scottish strain. 
 
 The dialect itself had been hardly dealt with. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 1 IT 
 
 " It is my opinion," said Dr Geddes, « that those 
 who, for almost a century past, have written in 
 Scotch, Allan Ramsay not excepted, have not duly 
 discriminated the genuine idiom from its vulgarisms. 
 They seem to have acted a similar part to certain 
 pretended imitators of Spenser and Milton, who 
 fondly imagine that they are copying from these 
 great models, when they only mimic their antique 
 mode of spelling, their obsolete terms, and their ir- 
 regular constructions." And although I cannot well 
 guess what the doctor considered as the irregular 
 constructions of Milton, there can be no doubt of 
 the general justice of his observations. Ramsay 
 and Ferguson were both men of humble condition, 
 the latter of the meanest, the former of no very 
 elegant habits ; and the dialect which had once 
 pleased the ears of kings, who themselves did not 
 disdain to display its powers and elegancies in 
 verse, did not come untarnished through their 
 hands. Ferguson, who was entirely town-bred, 
 smells more of the Cowgate than of the country ; 
 and pleasing as Ramsay's rustics are, he appears 
 rather to have observed the surface of rural man- 
 ners, in casual excursions to Penycuik and the 
 Hunter's Tryste, than to have expressed the re- 
 sults of intimate knowledge and sympathy. His 
 dialect was a somewhat incongruous mixture of 
 the Upper Ward of Lanark and the Luckenbooths ; 
 and he could neither write English verses, nor en- 
 graft English phraseology on his Scotch, without 
 betraying a lamentable want of skill in the use of 
 his instruments. It was reserved for Burns to in- 
 terpret the inmost soul of the Scottish peasant in 
 all its moods, and in verse exquisitely and intensely 
 Scottish, without degrading either his sentiments 
 or his language with one touch of vulgarity. Such 
 k2 
 
118 LIFE OF 
 
 is the delicacy of native taste, and the power of a 
 truly masculine genius. 
 
 This is the more remarkable, when we consider 
 that the dialect of Burns's native district is, in all 
 mouths but his own, a peculiarly offensive one : — 
 far removed from that of the favoured districts in 
 which the ancient minstrelsy appears, with rare 
 exceptions, to have been produced. Even in the 
 elder days, it seems to have been proverbial for 
 its coarseness. Dunbar, among other sarcasms on 
 his antagonist Kennedy, says : — 
 
 " I haif on me a pair of Lothiane hipps 
 Sail fairer Inglis mak, and mair perfyte, 
 Than thou can blabber with thy Carrick lipps ;" 
 
 and the Covenanters were not likely to mend it. 
 The few poets* whom the west of Scotland had 
 produced in the old time, were all men of high con- 
 dition ; and who, of course, used the language, 
 not of their own villages, but of Holy rood. Their 
 productions, moreover, in so far as they have been 
 produced, had nothing to do with the peculiar cha- 
 racter and feelings of the men of the west. As 
 Burns himself has said, — " It is somewhat singu- 
 lar, that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, &c. there is 
 scarcely an old song or tune, which, from the title, 
 &c., can be guessed to belong to_, or be the pro- 
 duction of, those counties." 
 
 The history of Scottish literature, from the union 
 of the crowns to that of the kingdoms, has not 
 yet been made the subject of any separate work 
 
 * Sucli as Kennedy, Shaw, Montgomery, and, more lately, 
 Hamilton of Gilbertfield ; 
 
 44 Who bade the brakes of Airdrie long resound 
 
 The plaintive dirge that mourn'd his favourite hound." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 119 
 
 at all worthy of its importance ; nay, however 
 much we are indebted to the learned labours of 
 Pinkerton, Irving, and others, enough of the gene- 
 ral obscurity of which Warton complained still 
 continues, to the no small discredit of so accom- 
 plished a nation. But how miserably the literature 
 of the country was affected by the loss of the 
 court under whose immediate patronage it had, in 
 almost all preceding times, found a measure of 
 protection that will ever do honour to the memory 
 of the unfortunate house of Stuart, appears to be 
 indicated with sufficient plainness in the single 
 fact, that no man can point out any Scottish author 
 of the first rank in all the long period which inter- 
 vened between Buchanan and Hume. The remo- 
 val of the chief nobility and gentry, consequent on 
 the Legislative Union, appeared to destroy our 
 last hopes as a separate nation, possessing a se- 
 parate literature of our own ; nay, for a time, to 
 have all but extinguished the flame of intellectual 
 exertion and ambition. Long torn and harassed 
 by religious and political feuds, this people had at 
 last heard, as many believed, the sentence of irre- 
 mediable degradation pronounced by the lips of 
 their own prince and parliament. The universal 
 spirit of Scotland was humbled ; the unhappy insur- 
 rections of 1715 and 1745 revealed the full extent 
 of her internal disunion; and England took, in 
 some respects, merciless advantage of the fallen. 
 
 Time, however, passed on ; and Scotland re- 
 covering at last from the blow which had stunned 
 her energies, began to vindicate her pretensions, 
 in the only departments which had been left open 
 to her, with a zeal and a success which will ever 
 distinguish one of the brightest pages of her his- 
 tory. Deprived of every national honour and dis- 
 
120 LIFE OF 
 
 tinetion which it was possible to remove — all the 
 high branches of external ambition lopped off,— 
 sunk at last, as men thought, effectually into a 
 province, willing to take law with passive submis- 
 sion, in letters as well as polity, from her power-* 
 fill -sister — the old kingdom revived suddenly from 
 her stupor, and once more asserted her name in 
 reclamations which England was compelled not 
 only to hear, but to applaud, and " wherewith all 
 Europe rung from side to side," at the moment 
 when a national poet came forward to profit by the 
 reflux of a thousand half-forgotten sympathies — 
 amidst the full joy of a national pride revived and 
 re-established beyond the dream of hope. 
 
 It will always reflect honour on the galaxy of 
 eminent men of letters, who, in their various de- 
 partments, shed lustre at that period on the name 
 of Scotland, that they suffered no pedantic preju- 
 dices to interfere with their reception of Bums. 
 Had he not appeared personally among them, it 
 may be reasonably doubted whether this would 
 have been so. They were men, generally speak- 
 ing, of very social habits ; living together in a 
 small capital ; nay, almost all of them, in or about 
 one street, maintaining friendly intercourse conti- 
 nually ; not a few of them considerably addicted to 
 the pleasures which have been called, by way of 
 excellence, I presume, convivial. Bums's poetry 
 might have procured him access to these circles ; 
 but it was the extraordinary resources he display- 
 ed in conversation, the strong vigorous sagacity of 
 his observations on life and manners, the splendour 
 of his wit, and the glowing energy of his elo- 
 quence when his feelings were stirred, that made 
 him the object of serious admiration among these 
 practised masters of the arts of talk. There were 
 
ROBERT BURKS. 121 
 
 several of them who probably adopted in their 
 hearts the opinion of Newton, that " poetry is in- 
 genious nonsense." Adam Smith, for one, could 
 have had no very ready respect at the service of 
 such an unproductive labourer as a maker of Scot- 
 tish ballads ; but the stateliest of these philosophers 
 had enough to do to maintain the attitude of equali- 
 ty, when brought into personal contact with Burns's 
 gigantic understanding; and every one of them 
 whose impressions on the subject have been re- 
 corded, agrees in pronouncing his conversation to 
 have been the most remarkable thing about him. 
 
 And yet it is amusing enough to trace the lin- 
 gering reluctance of some of these polished scho- 
 lars, about admitting, even to themselves, in his 
 absence, what it is certain they all felt sufficiently 
 when they were actually in his presence. It is 
 difficult, for example, to read without a smile that 
 letter of Mr Dugald Stewart, in which he describes 
 himself and Mr Alison as being surprised to dis- 
 cover that Burns, after reading the latter author's 
 elegant Essay on Taste, had really been able to 
 form some shrewd enough notion of the general 
 principles of the association of ideas. 
 
 Burns would probably have been more satisfied 
 with himself in these learned societies, had he 
 been less addicted to giving free utterance in con- 
 versation to the very feelings which formed the 
 noblest inspirations of his poetry. His sensibility 
 was as tremblingly exquisite, as his sense was 
 masculine and solid ; and he seems to have ere 
 long suspected that the professional metaphysicians 
 who applauded his rapturous bursts, surveyed 
 them in reality with something of the same feel- 
 ing which may be supposed to attend a skilful 
 surgeon's inspection of a curious specimen of mor- 
 
122 LIFE OF 
 
 bid anatomy. Why should he lay his inmost | 
 heart thus open to dissectors, who took special - 
 care to keep the knife from their own breasts ? 
 The secret blush that overspread his haughty 
 countenance when such suggestions occurred to 
 him in his solitary hours, may be traced in the 
 opening lines of a diary which he began to keep 
 ere he had been long in Edinburgh. 
 
 " April 9, 1787. — As I have seen a good deal 
 of human life in Edinburgh, a great many charac- 
 ters which are new to one bred up in the shades 
 of life, as I have been, I am determined to take 
 down my remarks on the spot. Gray observes, in 
 a letter to Mr Palgrave, that, 'half a word fixed, 
 upon, or near the spot, is worth a cart-load of re- 
 collection.' I don't know how it is with the world- 
 in general, but with me, making my remarks is 
 by no means a solitary pleasure. I "want some 
 one to laugh with me, some one to be grave with 
 me, some one to please me and help my discrimi- 
 nation, with his or her own remark, and at times, 
 no doubt, to admire my acuteness and penetra- 
 tion. The world are so busied with selfish pur- 
 suits, ambition, vanity, interest, or pleasure; that 
 very few think it worth their while to make any 
 observation on what passes around them, except 
 where that observation is a sucker, or branch, of 
 the darling plant they are rearing in their fancy. 
 Nor am I sure, notwithstanding all the sentimental 
 flights of novel-writers, and the sage philosophy of 
 moralists, whether we are capable of so intimate 
 and cordial a coalition of friendship, as that one 
 man may pour out his bosom, his every thought 
 and floating fancy ', his very inmost soul, with un- 
 reserved confidence, to another, without hazard of 
 losing part of that respect which man deserves 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 123 
 
 from . man ; or, from the unavoidable imperfec- 
 tions attending human nature, of one day repent, 
 ing his confidence. 
 
 " For these reasons I am determined to make 
 these pages my confident. I will sketch every 
 character that any way strikes me, to the best 
 of my power, with unshrinking justice. I will in- 
 sert anecdotes, and take down remarks, in the old 
 law phrase, without feud or favour. — -Where I hit 
 on anything clever, my own applause will, in some 
 measure, feast my vanity ; and, begging Patroclus' 
 and Achates' pardon, I think a lock and key a 
 security, at least equal to the bosom of any friend 
 whatever." 
 
 And the same lurking thorn of suspicion peeps 
 out elsewhere in this complaint : " I know not how 
 it is ; I find I can win liking — but not respect? 
 
 " Burns," says a great living poet, in comment- 
 ing on the free style, in which Dr Currie did not 
 hesitate to expose some of the weaker parts of his 
 behaviour, very soon after the grave had closed on 
 him, — " Burns was a man of extraordinary ge- 
 nius, whose birth, education, and employments 
 had placed and kept him in a situation far below 
 that in which the writers and readers of expensive 
 volumes are usually found. Critics upon works of 
 fiction have laid it down as a rule that remoteness 
 of place, in fixing the choice of a subject, and in 
 prescribing the mode of treating it, is equal in 
 effect to distance of time ; — restraints may be 
 thrown off accordingly. Judge then of the delu- 
 sions which artificial distinctions impose, when to 
 a man like Doctor Cun*ie, writing with views so 
 honourable, the social condition of the individual 
 of whom he was treating, could seem to place him 
 
124 LIFE OF 
 
 at such a distance from the exalted reader, that 
 ceremony might be discarded with him, and his 
 memory sacrificed, as it were, almost without 
 compunction. This is indeed to be crushed be- 
 neath the furrows weight."* 
 
 It would be idle to suppose that the feelings 
 here ascribed, and justly, no question, to the ami- 
 able and benevolent Currie, did not often find their 
 way into the bosoms of those persons of superior 
 condition and attainments, with whom Bums as- 
 sociated at the period when he first emerged into 
 the blaze of reputation ; and what found its way 
 into men's bosoms was not likely to avoid betray- 
 ing itself to the perspicacious glance of the proud 
 peasant. How perpetually he was alive to the 
 dread of being looked down upon as a man, even 
 by those who most zealously applauded the works 
 of his genius, might perhaps be traced through 
 the whole sequence of his letters. When writing 
 to men of high station, at least, he preserves, in 
 every instance, the attitude of self-defence. But 
 it is only in his own secret tables that we have the 
 fibres of his heart laid bare ; and the cancer of this 
 jealousy is seen distinctly at its painful work : 
 habemus reum et confitentem. 
 
 " There are few of the sore evils under the sun 
 give me more uneasiness and chagrin than the com- 
 parison how a man of genius, nay, of avowed worth, 
 is received everywhere, with the reception which 
 a mere ordinary character, decorated with the 
 trappings and futile distinctions of fortune, meets. 
 I imagine a man of abilities, his breast glowing 
 with honest pride, conscious that men are bora 
 equal, still giving honour to whom honour is 
 
 * Mr Wordsworth's letter to a friend of Burns, p. 12. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 125 
 
 due ; he meets, at a great man's table, a Squire 
 something, or a Sir somebody; he knows the 
 noble landlord, at heart, gives the bard, or what- 
 ever he is, a share of his good wishes, beyond, 
 perhaps, any one at table ; yet how will it mortify 
 him to see a fellow, whose abilities would scarce- 
 ly have made an eightpenny tailor, and whose 
 heart is not worth three farthings, meet with at- 
 tention and notice, that are withheld from the son 
 of genius and poverty ? 
 
 " The noble Glencairn has wounded me to the 
 soul here, because I dearly esteem, respect, and 
 love him. He showed so much attention — en- 
 grossing attention, one day, to the only blockhead 
 at table, (the whole company consisted of his lord- 
 ship, dunderpate, and myself,) that I was within 
 half a point of throwing down my gage of con- 
 temptuous defiance ; but he shook my hand, and 
 looked so benevolently good at parting — God 
 bless him ! though I should never see him more, 
 I shall love him until my dying day ! I am plea- 
 sed to think I am so capable of the throes of gra- 
 titude, as I am miserably deficient in some other 
 virtues. 
 
 " With Dr Blair I am more at my ease. I 
 never respect him with humble veneration ; but 
 when he kindly interests himself in my welfare, 
 or still more, when he descends from his pinnacle, 
 and meets me on equal ground in conversation, 
 my heart overflows with what is called liking. 
 When he neglects me for the mere carcass of great- 
 ness, or when his eye measures the difference of 
 our points of elevation, I say to myself, with 
 scarcely any emotion, what do I care for him, or 
 his pomp either ?" 
 
 " It is not easy?" says Bums, attempting to be 
 
126 LIFE OF 
 
 more philosophical — " It is not easy forming an 
 exact judgment of any one ; but, in my opinion, 
 Dr Blair is merely an astonishing proof of what 
 industry and application can do. Natural parts 
 like his are frequently to be met with ; his vanity 
 is proverbially known among his own acquaintan- 
 ces ; but he is justly at the head of what may be 
 called fine writing, and a critic of the first, the 
 very first rank in prose ; even in poetry a bard of 
 natures making can only take the pas of him. He 
 has a heart, not of the very finest water, but far 
 from being an ordinary one. In short, he is a truly 
 worthy and most respectable character." 
 
 " Once," says a nice speculator on the ' follies 
 of the wise,'*—" Once we were nearly receiving 
 from the hand of genius the most curious sketches 
 of the temper, the irascible humours, the delicacy 
 of soul, even to its shadowiness, from the warm 
 sbozzos of Burns, when he began a diary of his 
 heart — a narrative of characters and events, and a 
 chronology of his emotions. It was natural for 
 such a creature of sensation and passion to project 
 such a regular task, but quite impossible to get 
 through it." This most curious document, it is to 
 be observed, has not yet been printed entire. An- 
 other generation will, no doubt, see the whole of 
 the confession ; however, what has already been 
 given, it may be surmised, indicates sufficiently 
 the complexion of Burns's prevailing moods during 
 his moments of retirement at this interesting period 
 of his history. It was in such a mood (they re- 
 curred often enough) that he thus reproached 
 " Nature, partial nature :" 
 
 * D'Israeli on the Literary Character, vol. i. p. 136. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 127 
 
 44 Thou givest the ass his hide, the snail his shell ; 
 
 The invenom'd wasp victorious guards his cell : 
 
 But, oh ! thou bitter stepmother, and hard, 
 
 To thy poor fenceless naked child, the bard. .... 
 
 In naked feeling and in aching pride^ 
 
 He bears the unbroken blast from every side." 
 
 There was probably no blast that pierced this 
 haughty soul so sharply as the contumely of con- 
 descension. 
 
 " One of the poet's remarks," as Cromek tells 
 us, " when he first came to Edinburgh, was that 
 between the men of rustic life and the polite world 
 he observed little difference — that in the former, 
 though unpolished by fashion and unenlightened 
 by science, he had found much observation, and 
 much intelligence — but a refined and accomplish- 
 ed woman was a thing almost new to him, and of 
 which he had formed but a very inadequate idea." " 
 To be pleased, is the old and the best receipt how 
 to please ; and there is abundant evidence that 
 Burns's success, among the high-born ladies of 
 Edinburgh, was much greater than among the 
 " stately patricians," as he calls them, of his own 
 sex. The vivid expression of one of them has al- 
 most become proverbial — that she never met with 
 a man, " whose conversation so completely carried 
 her off her feet," as Burns's ; and Sir Walter Scott, 
 in his reference to the testimony of the late Duchess 
 of Gordon, has no doubt indicated the two-fold 
 source of the fascination. But even here, he was 
 destined to feel ere long something of the fickle- 
 ness of fashion. He confessed to one of his old 
 friends, ere the season was over, that some who 
 had caressed him the most zealously, no longer 
 seemed to know him, when he bowed in passing 
 
128 LIFE OF 
 
 their carriages, and many more acknowledged his 
 salute but coldly. 
 
 It is but too true, that ere this season was over, 
 Burns had formed connexions in Edinburgh which 
 could not have been regarded with much approba- 
 tion by the eminent literati, in whose society his 
 debut had made so powerful an impression. But 
 how much of the blame, if serious blame, indeed, 
 there was in the matter, ought to attach to his 
 own fastidious jealousy — how much to the mere 
 caprice of human favour, we have scanty means 
 of ascertaining : No doubt, both had their share ; 
 and it is also sufficiently apparent that there were 
 many points in Burns's conversational habits which 
 men, accustomed to the delicate observances of re- 
 fined society, might be more willing to tolerate 
 under the first excitement of personal curiosity, 
 than from any very deliberate estimate of the 
 claims of such a genius, under such circumstances 
 developed. He by no means restricted his sar- 
 castic observations on those whom he encountered 
 in the world to the confidence of his note-book ; 
 but startled polite ears with the utterance of au- 
 dacious epigrams, far too witty not to obtain ge- 
 neral circulation in so small a society as that of 
 the northern capital, far too bitter not to pro- 
 duce deep resentment, far too numerous not to 
 spread fear almost as widely as admiration. Even 
 when nothing was farther from his thoughts than 
 to inflict pain, his ardour often carried him head- 
 long into sad scrapes : witness, for example, the 
 anecdote given by Professor Walker, of his enteiv 
 ing into a long discussion of the merits of the po- 
 pular preachers of the day, at the table of Dr Blair, 
 and enthusiastically avowing his low opinion of all 
 the rest in comparison with Dr Blair's own col- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 129 
 
 league and most formidable rival — a man, certainly, 
 endowed with extraordinary graces of voice and 
 manner, a generous and amiable strain of feeling, 
 and a copious flow of language ; but having no 
 pretensions either to the general accomplishments 
 for which Blair was honoured in a most accom- 
 plished society, or to the polished elegance which 
 he first introduced into the eloquence of the Scot- 
 tish pulpit. Mr Walker well describes the un- 
 pleasing effects of such an escapade; the conver- 
 sation during the rest of the evening, " labouring 
 under that compulsory effort which was unavoida- 
 ble, while the thoughts of all were full of the only 
 subject on which it was improper to speak." Burns 
 showed his good sense by making no effort to 
 repair this blunder ; but years afterwards, he con- 
 fessed that he could never recall it without exqui- 
 site pain. Mr Walker properly says, it did ho- 
 nour to Dr Blair that his kindness remained to- 
 tally unaltered by this occurrence ; but the Pro- 
 fessor would have found nothing to admire in that 
 circumstance, had he not been well aware of the 
 rarity of such good-nature among the genus irri- 
 tabile of authors, orators, and wits. 
 
 A specimen (which some will think worse, some 
 better) is thus recorded by Cromek : — " At a pri- 
 vate breakfast, in a literary circle of Edinburgh, 
 the conversation turned on the poetical merit and 
 pathos of Gray's Elegy, a poem of which he was 
 enthusiastically fond. A clergyman present, re- 
 markable for his love of paradox and for his ec- 
 centric notions upon every subject, distinguished 
 himself by an injudicious and ill-timed attack on 
 this exquisite poem, which Burns, with generous 
 warmth for the reputation of Gray, manfully de- 
 fended. As the gentleman's remarks were rather 
 L 2 . 
 
130 LIFE OF 
 
 general than specific, Burns urged him to bring 
 forward the passages which he thought exception- 
 able. He made several attempts to quote the 
 poem, but always in a blundering, inaccurate man- 
 ner. Burns bore all this for a good while with 
 his usual good-natured forbearance, till at length, 
 goaded by the fastidious criticisms and wretched 
 quibblings of his opponent, he roused himself, and 
 with an eye flashing contempt and indignation, 
 and with great vehemence of gesticulation, he thus 
 addressed the cold critic : i Sir, I now perceive a 
 man may be an excellent judge of poetry by square 
 and rule, and after all be a d — d blockhead ;' " — 
 so far, Mr Cromek ; and all this was to a clergy- 
 man, and at breakfast. 
 
 While the second edition of his Poems was pass- 
 ing through the press, Burns was favoured with 
 many critical suggestions and amendments ; to one 
 of which only he attended. Blair, reading over with 
 him, or hearing him recite (which he delighted at 
 all times in doing) his Holy Fair, stopped him at 
 the stanza — 
 
 Now a' the congregation o'er 
 Is silent expectation, 
 
 For Russel speels the holy door 
 WV tidings o' Salvation.— 
 
 Nay, said the Doctor, read damnation. Burns 
 improved the wit of this verse, undoubtedly, by 
 adopting the emendation ; but he gave another 
 strange specimen of want of tact, when he insisted 
 that Dr Blair, one of the most scrupulous obser- 
 vers of clerical propriety, should permit him to ac- 
 knowledge the obligation in a note. 
 
 But to pass from these trifles, it needs no effort 
 of imagination to conceive what the sensations of 
 an isolated set of scholars (almost all either clergy- 
 men or professors) must have been in the pre- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 131 
 
 sence of this big-boned, black-browed, brawny 
 stranger, with his great flashing eyes, who, having 
 forced his way among them from the plough-tail 
 at a single stride, manifested, in the whole strain of 
 his bearing and conversation, a most thorough con- 
 viction, that, in the society of the most eminent 
 men of his nation, he was exactly where he was 
 entitled to be ; hardly deigned to flatter them by 
 exhibiting even an occasional symptom of being 
 flattered by their notice ; by turns calmly measured 
 himself against the most cultivated understandings 
 of his time in discussion ; overpowered the bon 
 mots of the most celebrated convivialists by broad 
 floods of merriment, impregnated with all the 
 burning life of genius; astounded bosoms habi- 
 tually enveloped in the thrice-piled folds of social 
 reserve, by compelling them to tremble — nay to 
 tremble visibly — beneath the fearless touch of na- 
 tural pathos ; and all this without indicating the 
 smallest willingness to be ranked among those pro- 
 fessional ministers of excitement, who are content 
 to be paid in money and smiles for doing what the 
 spectators and auditors would be ashamed of doing 
 in their own persons, even if they had the power 
 of doing it ; and, — last and probably worst of all, 
 —who was known to be in the habit of enlivening 
 societies which they would have scorned to ap- 
 proach, still more frequently than their own, with 
 eloquence no less magnificent ; with wit in all like- 
 lihood still more daring; often enough, as the su- 
 periors whom he fronted without alarm might have 
 guessed from the beginning, and had, ere long, no 
 occasion to guess, with wit pointed at themselves. 
 The lawyers of Edinburgh, in whose wider cir- 
 cles Burns figured at his outset, with at least as 
 much success as among the professional literati, 
 
132 LIFE OF 
 
 were a very different race of men from these ; they 
 would neither, I take it, have pardoned rudeness, 
 nor been alarmed by wit. But being, in those days, 
 with scarcely an exception, members of the landed 
 aristocracy of the country, and forming by far the 
 most influential body (as indeed they still do) in 
 the society of Scotland, they were, perhaps, as 
 proud a set of men as ever enjoyed the tranquil 
 pleasures of unquestioned superiority. What their 
 haughtiness, as a body, was, may be guessed, when 
 we know that inferior birth was reckoned a fair 
 and legitimate ground for excluding any man from 
 the bar. In one remarkable instance, about this 
 very time, a man of very extraordinary talents and 
 accomplishments was chiefly opposed in a long and 
 painful struggle for admission, and, in reality, for 
 no reasons but those I have been alluding to, by 
 gentlemen who in the sequel stood at the very 
 head of the whig party in Edinburgh ; and the same 
 aristocratical prejudice has, within the memory of 
 the present generation, kept more persons of emi- 
 nent qualifications in the background, for a season, 
 than any English reader would easily believe. 
 To this body belonged nineteen out of twenty of 
 those " patricians," whose stateliness Burns so long 
 remembered and so bitterly resented. It might, 
 perhaps, have been well for him had stateliness 
 been the worst fault of their manners. Wine-bib- 
 bing appears to be in most regions a favourite in- 
 dulgence with those whose brains and lungs are 
 subjected to the severe exercises of legal study and 
 forensic practice. To this day, more traces of these 
 old habits linger about the inns of court than in 
 any other section of London. In Dublin and Edin- 
 burgh, the barristers are even now eminently con- 
 vivial bodies of men ; but among the Scotch law- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 133 
 
 yers of the time of Burns, the principle of jollity 
 was indeed in its " high and palmy state." He par- 
 took largely in those tavern scenes of audacious 
 hilarity, which then soothed, as a matter of course, 
 the arid labours of the northern noblesse de la robe, 
 (so they are well called in Bedgauntlet,) and of 
 which we are favoured with a specimen in the 
 *' High Jinks" chapter of Guy Mannering. 
 
 The tavern-life is now-a-days nearly extinct 
 everywhere ; but it was then in full vigour in 
 Edinburgh, and there can be no doubt that Burns 
 rapidly familiarized himself with it during his re- 
 sidence. He had, after all, tasted but rarely of 
 such excesses while in Ayrshire. So little are we to 
 consider his Scotch Drink, and other jovial strains 
 of the early period, as conveying anything like a 
 fair notion of his actual course of life, that " Auld 
 Nanse Tinnock," or " Poosie Nancie," the Mauch- 
 line landlady, is known to have expressed, amu- 
 singly enough, her surprise at the style in which 
 she found her name celebrated in the Kilmarnock 
 edition, saying, " that Robert Burns might be a 
 very clever lad, but he certainly was regardless, 
 as, to the best of her belief, he had never taken 
 three half-mutchkins in her house in all his life."* 
 And in addition to Gilbert's testimony to the same 
 purpose, we have on record that of Mr Archibald 
 Bruce, (qualified by Heron, " a gentleman of great 
 worth and discernment,") that he had observed 
 Burns closely during that period of his life, and 
 seen him " steadily resist such solicitations and al- 
 lurements to excessive convivial enjoyment, as hard- 
 ly any other person could have withstood." 
 
 * Mr R. Chambers's MS. notes, taken during a tour in 
 Ayrshire. 
 
134 LIFE OF 
 
 The unfortunate Heron knew Burns well ; and 
 himself mingled largely* in some of the scenes to 
 which he adverts in the following strong language : 
 — " The enticements of pleasure too often unman 
 our virtuous resolution, even while we wear the air 
 of rejecting them with a stern brow. We resist, and 
 resist, and resist ; but, at last, suddenly turn, and 
 passionately embrace the enchantress. The bucks 
 of Edinburgh accomplished, in regard to Burns, 
 that in which the boors of Ayrshire had failed. 
 After residing some months in Edinburgh, he be- 
 gan to estrange himself, not altogether, but in 
 some measure, from graver friends. Too many of 
 his hours were now spent at the tables of persons 
 who delighted to urge conviviality to drunken- 
 ness — in the tavern — and in the brothel." \ 
 
 It would be idle now to attempt passing over 
 these things in silence ; but it could serve no good 
 purpose to dwell on them. 
 
 During this winter, Burns continued, as has 
 been mentioned, to lodge with John Richmond ; 
 and we have the authority of this early friend of 
 the poet for the statement, that while he did so, 
 " he kept good hours." J He removed afterwards to 
 the house of Mr William Nicoll, (one of the teach- 
 ers of the High School of Edinburgh,) on the Buc- 
 cleuch road: and this change is, I suppose, to be con- 
 sidered as a symptom that the keeping of good hours 
 was beginning to be irksome. Nicoll was a man of 
 quick parts and considerable learning — who had 
 risen from a rank as humble as Burns's : from the 
 beginning an enthusiastic admirer, and, ere long, 
 
 * See Burns's allusions to Heron's own habits, in a Po- 
 etical Epistle to Blacklock. 
 
 f Heron, p. 2?. % Notes by Mr R. Chambers. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 135 
 
 a constant associate of the poet, and a most dan- 
 gerous associate ; for, with a warm heart, the man 
 united a fierce irascible temper, a scorn of many of 
 the decencies of life, a noisy contempt of religion, 
 at least of the religious institutions of his country, 
 and a violent propensity for the bottle. He was 
 one of those who would fain believe themselves to 
 be men of genius ; and that genius is a sufficient 
 apology for trampling under foot all the old vulgar 
 rules of prudence and sobriety, — being on both 
 points equally mistaken. Of Nicoll's letters to 
 Burns, and about him, I have seen many that have 
 never been, and probably that never will be, print- 
 ed — cumbrous and pedantic effusions, exhibiting 
 nothing that one can imagine to have been plea- 
 sing to the poet, except what was probably enough 
 to redeem all imperfections — namely, a rapturous 
 admiration of his genius. This man, nevertheless, 
 was, I suspect, very far from being an unfavour- 
 able specimen of the society to which Heron thus 
 alludes : — u He (the poet) suffered himself to be 
 surrounded by a race of miserable beings, who 
 were proud to tell that they had been in company 
 with Burns, and had seen Burns as loose and as 
 foolish as themselves. He was not yet irrecover- 
 ably lost to temperance and moderation ; but he was 
 already almost too much captivated with their wan- 
 ton revels, to be ever more won back to a faithful 
 attachment to their more sober charms." Heron 
 adds — " He now also began to contract something 
 of new arrogance in conversation. Accustomed to 
 be, among his favourite associates, what is vulgar- 
 ly, but expressively called, the cock of the company, 
 he could scarcely refrain from indulging in similar 
 freedom and dictatorial decision of talk, even in 
 the presence of persons who could less patiently 
 
136 LIFE OF 
 
 endure his presumption ;" * an account ex facie 
 probable, and which sufficiently tallies with some 
 hints in Mr Dugald Stewart's description of the 
 poet's manners, as he first observed him at Catrine, 
 and with one or two anecdotes already cited from 
 Walker and Cromek. 
 
 Of these failings, and indeed of all Burns's 
 failings, it may be safely asserted, that there was 
 more in his history to account and apologize for 
 them, than can be alleged in regard to almost any 
 other great man's imperfections. We have seen, 
 how, even in his earliest days, the strong thirst of 
 distinction glowed within him — how in his first 
 and rudest rhymes he sung, 
 
 " to be great is charming ;" 
 
 and we have also seen, that the display of talent 
 in conversation was the first means of distinction 
 that occurred to him. It was by that talent that he 
 first attracted notice among his fellow peasants, and 
 after he mingled with the first Scotsmen of his 
 time, this talent was still that which appeared the 
 most astonishing of all he possessed. What won- 
 der that he should delight in exerting it where he 
 could exert it the most freely — where there was 
 no check upon a tongue that had been accustom- 
 ed to revel in the license of village-mastery ? 
 where every sally, however bold, was sure to be 
 received with triumphant applause — where there 
 were no claims to rival his — no proud brows to 
 convey rebuke, above all, perhaps, no grave eyes 
 to convey regret ? " Nonsense," says Cumberland, 
 " talked by men of wit and understanding in the 
 hours of relaxation, is of the very finest essence of 
 
 * Heron, p. 28. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 137 
 
 conviviality; but it implies a trust in the company 
 not always to be risked." It was little in Burns's 
 character to submit to nice and scrupulous rules, 
 when he knew that, by crossing the street, he could 
 find society who would applaud him the more, the 
 more heroically all such rules were disregarded ; 
 and he who had passed from the company of the 
 jolly bachelors of Tarbolton and Mauchline, to 
 that of the eminent Scotsmen whose names were 
 honoured all over the civilized world, without dis- 
 covering any difference that appeared worthy of 
 much consideration, was well prepared to say, with 
 the prince of all free-speakers and free-livers, " I 
 will take mine ease in mine inn !" 
 
 But these, assuredly, were not the only feelings 
 that influenced Burns ; In his own letters, written 
 during his stay in Edinburgh, we have the best 
 evidence to the contrary. He shrewdly suspect- 
 ed, from the very beginning, that the personal no- 
 tice of the great and the illustrious was not to be 
 as lasting as it was eager : he foresaw, that sooner 
 or later he was destined to revert to societies less 
 elevated above the pretensions of his birth ; and, 
 though his jealous pride might induce him to re- 
 cord his suspicions in language rather too strong 
 than too weak, it is quite impossible to read what 
 he wrote without believing that a sincere distrust 
 lay rankling at the roots of his heart, all the while 
 that he appeared to be surrounded with an atmo- 
 sphere of joy and hope. 
 
 On the 15th of January 1787, we find him thus 
 addressing his kind patroness, Mrs Dunlop :— 
 
 " You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with 
 my prosperity as a poet. Alas I madam, I know 
 myself and the world too well. I do not mean any 
 airs of affected modesty ; I am willing to believe 
 
 M 
 
138 LIFE OF 
 
 that my abilities deserved some notice ; but in a 
 most enlightened, informed age and nation, when 
 poetry is and has been the study of men of the 
 first natural genius, aided with all the powers of 
 polite learning, polite books, and polite company 
 • — to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned 
 and polite observation, with all my imperfections 
 of awkward rusticity, and crude unpolished ideas, 
 on my head, — I assure you, madam, I do not dis- 
 semble, when I tell you I tremble for the conse- 
 quences. The novelty of a poet in my obscure 
 situation, without any of those advantages which 
 are reckoned necessary for that character, at least 
 at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of 
 public notice, which has borne me to a height 
 where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my abi- 
 lities are inadequate to support me ; and too sure- 
 ly do I see that time, when the same tide will 
 leave me, and recede perhaps as far below the 
 
 mark of truth I mention this once for all, 
 
 to disburden my mind, and I do not wish to hear 
 or say any more about it. But — * When proud for- 
 tune's ebbing tide recedes/ you will bear me wit- 
 ness, that when my bubble of fame was at the 
 highest, I stood unintoxicated with the inebriating 
 cup in my hand, looking forward with rueful re- 
 solve." 
 
 And about the same time, to Dr Moore : — 
 " The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far 
 the greater part of those even who are authors of 
 repute, an unsubstantial dream. For my part, my 
 first ambition was, and still my strongest wish is, 
 to please my compeers, the rustic inmates of the 
 hamlet, while ever-changing language and man- 
 ners shall allow me to be relished and understood. 
 I am very willing to admit that I have some poe- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 139 
 
 tical abilities ; and as few, if any writers, either 
 moral or poetical, are intimately acquainted with 
 the classes of mankind among whom I have chiefly 
 mingled, I may have seen men and manners in a 
 different phasis from what is common, which may 
 
 assist originality of thought I scorn the 
 
 affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. 
 That I have some merit, I do not deny ; but I see, 
 with frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of 
 my character, and the honest national prejudice of 
 my countrymen, have borne me to a height altoge- 
 ther untenable to my abilities." — And lastly, April 
 the 23d, 1787, we have the following passage in a 
 letter also to Dr Moore : — " I leave Edinburgh in 
 the course of ten days or a fortnight. I shall return 
 to my rural shades, in all likelihood never more to 
 quit them. I have formed many intimacies and 
 friendships here, but I am afraid they are all of too 
 tender a construction to bear carriage a hundred 
 and fifty ?niles." 
 
 One word more on the subject which intro- 
 duced these quotations : — Mr Dugald Stewart, no 
 doubt, hints at what was a common enough com- 
 plaint among the elegant literati of Edinburgh, 
 when he alludes, in his letter to Currie, to the 
 " not very select society" in which Burns indulged 
 himself. But two points still remain somewhat 
 doubtful ; namely, whether, show and marvel of 
 the season as he was, the " Ayrshire ploughman" 
 really had it in his power to live always in so- 
 ciety which Mr Stewart would have considered as 
 " very select ;" and secondly, whether, in so doing, 
 he could have failed to chill the affection of those 
 humble Ayrshire friends, who, having shared with 
 him all that they possessed on his first arrival in 
 the metropolis, faithfully and fondly adhered to 
 
14-0 LIFE OF 
 
 him, after the springtide of fashionable favour did, 
 as he foresaw it would do, " recede ;" and, more- 
 over, perhaps to provoke, among the higher circles 
 themselves, criticisms more distasteful to his proud 
 stomach, than any probable consequences of the 
 course of conduct which he actually pursued. 
 
 The second edition of Burns's poems was pub- 
 lished early in March, by Creech ; there were no 
 less than 1500 subscribers, many of whom paid 
 more than the shop-price of the volume. Although, 
 therefore, the final settlement with the bookseller 
 did not take place till nearly a year after, Burns 
 now found himself in possession of a considerable 
 sum of ready money ; and the first impulse of his 
 mind was to visit some of the classic scenes of 
 Scottish history and romance.* He had as yet 
 seen but a small part of his own country, and this 
 by no means among the most interesting of her 
 districts, until, indeed, his own poetry made it 
 equal, on that score, to any other. 
 
 The magnificent scenery of the capital itself had 
 filled him with extraordinary delight. In the spring 
 mornings, he walked very often to the top of Ar- 
 thur's Seat, and, lying prostrate on the turf, sur- 
 veyed the rising of the sun out of the sea, in si- 
 lent admiration ; his chosen companion on such 
 
 * " The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my high- 
 est pride ; to continue to deserve it, is my most exalted am- 
 bition. Scottish scenes, and Scottish story, are the themes 
 I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it 
 in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for 
 which, Heaven knows, I am unfit enough, to make leisurely 
 pilgrimages through Caledonia ; to sit on the fields of her 
 battles, to 'wander on the romantic banks of her rivers, and 
 to mus2 by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the 
 honoured ubodft of her heroes. But these are Utopian views.'* 
 —Letter to Mrs Dunlop, Edinburgh, 22d March, 17«7« 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 141 
 
 occasions being that ardent lover of nature, and 
 learned artist, Mr Alexander Nasmyth.* The 
 Braid hills, to the south of Edinburgh, were also 
 among his favourite morning walks ; and it was in 
 some of these that Mr Dugald Stewart tells us " he 
 charmed him still more by his private conversation 
 than he had ever done in company." " He was," 
 adds the professor, " passionately fond of the beau- 
 ties of nature, and I recollect once he told me, 
 when I was admiring a distant prospect in one of 
 our morning walks, that the sight of so many smo- 
 king cottages gave apleasureto his mind which none 
 could understand who had not witnessed, like him- 
 self, the happiness and the worth which they con- 
 tained." 
 
 Burns was far too busy with society and obser- 
 vation to find time for poetical composition, du- 
 ring this first residence in Edinburgh. Creech's 
 edition included some pieces of great merit, which 
 had not been previously printed ; but, v, ith the ex- 
 ception of the Address to Edinburgh, which is 
 chiefly remarkable for the grand stanzas on the 
 
 * It was to this venerable artist that Burns sat for the 
 portrait engraved in Creech's edition, and since repeated so 
 often, that it must be familiar to all readers. Mr Nasmyth 
 has kindly prepared for the present Memoirs a sketch of 
 the Poet at full-length, as he appeared in Edinburgh in the 
 first hey-day of his reputation ; dressed in tight jockey 
 boots, and very tight buckskin breeches, according to the 
 fashion of the day, and (Jacobite as he was) in what was 
 considered as the Fox-livery, viz. a blue coat and buff* 
 waistcoat, with broad blue stripes. The surviving friends 
 of Burns who have seen this vignette, are unanimous in 
 pronouncing it to furnish a very lively representation of the 
 bard as he first attracted public notice on the streets of 
 Edinburgh. The scenery of the back-ground is very near- 
 ly that of Burns's native spot — the kirk of Alloway and the 
 bridge of Boon. 
 
 M 2 
 
142 LIFE OF 
 
 Castle and Holyrood, with which it concludes, 
 all of these appear to have been written before he 
 left Ayrshire. Several of them, indeed, were very 
 early productions : The most important additions 
 were, Death and Doctor Hornbook, The Brigs of 
 Ayr, The Ordination, and the Address to the unco 
 Guid. In this edition also, When Guildford guid 
 our pilot stood, made its first appearance, on read- 
 ing which, Dr Blair uttered his pithy criticism, 
 " Burns's politics always smell of the smithy." 
 
 It ought not to be omitted, that our poet be- 
 stowed some of the first fruits of this edition in the 
 erection of a decent tombstone over the hitherto 
 neglected remains of his unfortunate predecessor, 
 Robert Ferguson, in the Canongate churchyard. 
 
 The evening before he quitted Edinburgh, the 
 poet addressed a letter to Dr Blair, in which, ta- 
 king a most respectful farewell of him, and ex- 
 pressing, in lively terms, his sense of gratitude for 
 the kindness he had shown him, he thus recurs to 
 his own views of his own past and future condi- 
 tion : " I have often felt the embarrassment of my 
 singular situation. However the meteor-like no- 
 velty of my appearance in the world might attract 
 notice, I knew very well, that my utmost merit 
 was far unequal to the task of preserving that cha- 
 racter when once the novelty was over. I have 
 made up my mind, that abuse, or almost even ne- 
 glect, will not surprise me in my quarters." — To 
 this touching letter the amiable Blah* replied in a 
 truly paternal strain of consolation and advice. — 
 44 Your situation," says he, " was indeed very sin- 
 gular : you have had to stand a severe trial. I am 
 
 happy that you have stood it so well 
 
 You are now, I presume, to retire to a more pri- 
 vate walk of life , You have laid the foun- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 143 
 
 dation for just public esteem. In the midst of 
 those employments, which your situation will ren- 
 der proper, you will not, I hope, neglect to pro- 
 mote that esteem, by cultivating- your genius, and 
 attending to such productions of it as may raise 
 your character still higher. At the same time, be 
 not in too great a haste to come forward. Take 
 time and leisure to improve and mature your ta- 
 lents ; for, on any second production you give the 
 world, your fate, as a poet, will very much depend. 
 There is, no doubt, a gloss of novelty which time 
 wears off. As you very properly hint yourself, you 
 are not to be surprised if, in your rural retreat, you 
 do not find yourself surrounded with that glare of 
 notice and applause which here shone upon you. 
 No man can be a good poet without being some- 
 what of a philosopher. He must lay his account, 
 that any one who exposes himself to public obser- 
 vation, will occasionally meet with the attacks of 
 illiberal censure, which it is always best to over- 
 look and despise. He will be inclined sometimes 
 to court retreat, and to disappear from public view. 
 He will not affect to shine always, that he may at 
 proper seasons come forth with more advantage 
 and energy. He will not think himself neglected 
 if he be not always praised." Such were Blair's 
 admonitions. 
 
 " And part was heard, and part was lost in air." 
 Burns had one object of worldly business in his 
 journey ; namely, to examine the estate of Dal- 
 swinton, near Dumfries , the proprietor of which 
 had, on learning that the poet designed to return 
 to his original calling, expressed a strong wish to 
 have him for his tenant. 
 
1 14 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ' «' Ramsay and famous Ferguson, 
 Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon ; 
 Yarrow and Tweed to monie a tune 
 
 Thro' Scotland rings, 
 While Irvine, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, 
 
 Naebody sings." 
 
 On the 6th of May, Burns left Edinburgh, in 
 company with Mr Robert Ainslie,* son to Mr 
 Ainslie of Berrywell in Berwickshire, with the de- 
 sign of perambulating the picturesque scenery of 
 the southern border, and in particular of visiting the 
 localities celebrated by the old minstrels, of whose 
 works he was a passionate admirer ; and of whom, 
 by the way, one of the last appears to have been 
 all but a namesake of his own.-f 
 
 * Now Clerk to the Signet. Among other changes " which 
 fleeting time procureth," this amiable gentleman, whose 
 youthful gaiety made him a chosen associate of Burns, is 
 now chiefly known as the author of some Manuals of Devo- 
 tion. 
 
 *f- Nicoll Burn, supposed to have lived towards the close 
 of the IGth century, and to have been among the last of 
 the itinerant minstrels. He is the author of Leader Haughs 
 and Yarrow, a pathetic ballad, in the last verse of which 
 his own name and designation are introduced. 
 
 "Sing Erlington and Cowden knowes, where Homes had ance com- 
 manding ; 
 
 And Drygrange, wi' the milk white ewes, 'twixt Tweed and Leader 
 standing. 
 
 The bird that flees thro' Reedpath trees, and Gledswood banks, ilk 
 morrow, 
 
 Tday chant and sing sweet Leader Haughs, and bonny howms of 
 Ya.ii oW. 
 
 But minstrel Burn cannot assuage his grief while life endure Ih, 
 
 To see the changes of this age, that fleeting time procureth. 
 
 For mony a place stands in hard case, where blythe folk kcnd lue 
 sorrow; 
 
 With Homes that dwelt on Leader side, and Scotts that dwelt on Yar- 
 row." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. H5 
 
 This was long before the time when those fields 
 of Scottish romance were to be made accessible to 
 the curiosity of citizens by stage-coaches ; and 
 Burns and his friend performed their tour on 
 horseback ; the former being mounted on a favour- 
 ite mare, whom he had named Jenny Geddes, in 
 honour of the zealous virago who threw her stool 
 at the Dean of Edinburgh's head on the 23d of 
 July 1637, when the attempt was made to intro- 
 duce a Scottish Liturgy into the service of St 
 Giles's; — the same trusty animal, whose merits 
 have been recorded by Burns, in a letter, which 
 must have been puzzling to most modern Scots- 
 men, before the days of Dr Jamieson.* 
 
 Burns passed from Edinburgh to Berrywell, the 
 residence of Mr Ainslie's family, and visited suc- 
 cessively Dunse, Coldstream, Kelso, Fleurs, and the 
 ruins of Roxburgh Castle, near which a holly bush 
 still marks the spot on which James II. of Scotland 
 was killed by the bursting of a cannon. Jedburgh 
 — where he admired the " charming romantic si- 
 tuation of the town, with gardens and orchards in- 
 termingled among the houses of a once magnifi- 
 cent cathedral (abbey) ;" and was struck, (as in 
 the other towns of the same district,) with the ap- 
 pearance of " old rude grandeur," and the idleness 
 of decay ; Melrose, " that far-famed glorious ruin," 
 
 * " My auld ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchyalled up 
 hill and down brae, as teuch and birnie as a vera devil, wi* 
 me. It's true she's as puir's a sangmaker, and as hard's a 
 kirk, and lipper-laipers when she takes the gate, like a la- 
 dy's gentlewoman in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle ; 
 but she's a yauld poutherin girran for a' that. When ance 
 her ringbanes and pavies, her cruiks and cramps, are 
 fairly soupled, she beets to, beets to, and aye the hindmost 
 hour the lightest," &c. &c. — Letter to Mr Nicoll, Relig;ues f 
 p. 28. 
 
146 Li FE OF 
 
 Selkirk, Ettrick, and the braes of Yarrow. Ha- 
 ving spent three weeks in this district, of which 
 it has been justly said, " that every field has its 
 battle, and every rivulet its song," Burns passed 
 the Border, and visited Alnwick, Warkworth, 
 Morpeth, Newcastle, Hexham, Wardrue, and Car- 
 lisle. He then turned northwards, and rode by 
 Annan and Dumfries to Dalswinton, where he ex- 
 amined Mr Miller's property, and was so much 
 pleased with the soil, and the terms on which the 
 landlord was willing to grant him a lease, that he 
 resolved to return again in the course of the sum- 
 mer. 
 
 Dr Currie has published some extracts from the 
 journal which Burns kept during this excursion ; 
 but they are mostly very trivial. He was struck 
 with the superiority of soil, climate, and cultiva- 
 tion, in Berwick and Roxburghshires, as compared 
 with his native county ; and not a little surprised, 
 when he dined at a Farmers' Club at Kelso, with the 
 apparent wealth of that order of men. — " All gen- 
 tlemen, talking of high matters — each of them 
 keeps a hunter from L.30 to L.50 value, and at- 
 tends the Fox-hunting Club in the county." The 
 farms in the west of Scotland are, to this day, 
 very small for the most part, and the farmers little 
 distinguished from their labourers in their modes 
 of life : the contrast was doubtless stronger, forty 
 years ago, between them and their brethren of the 
 Lothians and the Merse. 
 
 The Magistrates of Jedburgh presented Burns 
 with t]ie freedom of their town : he was unprepared 
 for the compliment, and, jealous of obligations, stept 
 out of the room, and made an effort (of course an in- 
 effectual one) to pay beforehand out of his own purse 
 the landlord's bill for the " riddle of claret," which 
 3 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 14/7 
 
 is usually presented on such occasions in a Scotch 
 burgh. * 
 
 The poet visited, in the course of his tour., Sir 
 James Hall of Dunglas, author of the well-known 
 Essay on Gothic Architecture, &c. ; Sir Alexander 
 and Lady Harriet Don, (sister to his patron, Lord 
 Glencairn,) at Newton-Don ; Mr Brydone, the 
 author of Travels in Sicily; the amiable and learn- 
 ed Dr Somerville of Jedburgh, the historian of 
 Queen Anne, &c. : and, as usual, recorded in his 
 journal his impressions as to their manners and cha- 
 racters. His reception was everywhere most flat- 
 tering. 
 
 He wrote no verses, as far as is known, during 
 this tour, except a humorous Epistle to his book- 
 seller Creech, dated Selkirk, 13th May. In this 
 he makes complimentary allusions to some of the 
 men of letters who were used to meet at breakfast 
 in Creech's apartments in those days — whence the 
 name of Creech's levee ; and touches, too briefly, 
 on some of the scenery he had visited. 
 
 " Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
 And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
 And Ettrick banks now roaring red, 
 
 While tempests blaw" 
 
 Burns returned to Mauchline on the 8th of July. 
 It is pleasing to imagine the delight with which 
 he must have been received by his family after 
 the absence of six months, in which his fortunes and 
 prospects had undergone so wonderful a change. 
 He left them comparatively unknown, his tender- 
 est feelings torn and wounded by the behaviour of 
 the Armours, and so miserably poor, that he had 
 
 * Mr R. Chambers's notes. 
 
148 LIFE OF 
 
 been for some weeks obliged to skulk from the 
 Sheriff's officers, to avoid the payment of a paltry 
 debt. He returned, his poetical fame established, 
 the whole country ringing with his praises, from a 
 capital in which he was known to have formed the 
 wonder and delight of the polite and the learned ; 
 if not rich, yet with more money already than any of 
 his kindred had ever hoped to see him possess, and 
 with prospects of future patronage and permanent 
 elevation in the scale of society which might have 
 dazzled steadier eyes than those of maternal and 
 fraternal affection. The prophet had at last honour 
 in his own country : but the haughty spirit that 
 had preserved its balance in Edinburgh, was not 
 likely to lose it at Mauchline; and we have him 
 writing from the auld clay biggin on the 18th of 
 June, in terms as strongly expressive as any that 
 ever came from his pen, of that jealous pride which 
 formed the groundwork of his character ; that dark 
 suspiciousness of fortune, which the subsequent 
 course of his history too well justified ; that nervous 
 intolerance of condescension, and consummate scorn 
 of meanness, which attended him through life, and 
 made the study of his species, for which nature had 
 given him such extraordinary qualifications, the 
 source of more pain than was ever counterbalanced 
 by the exquisite capacity for enjoyment with which 
 he was also endowed. There are few of his letters 
 in which more of the dark places of his spirit come 
 to light : — " I never, my friend, thought mankind 
 capable of anything very generous ; but the state- 
 liness of the patricians of Edinburgh, and the ser- 
 vility • of my plebeian brethren, (who, perhaps, 
 formerly eyed me askance,) since I returned home, 
 have nearly put me out of conceit altogether with 
 my species. I have bought a pocket-Milton, which 
 2 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 149 
 
 I carry perpetually about me, in order to study the 
 sentiments, the dauntless magnanimity, the intre- 
 pid unyielding independence, the desperate daring, 
 and noble defiance of hardship, in that great per- 
 sonage — Satan. . . . The many ties of acquaint- 
 ance and friendship I have, or think I have, in life 
 ■ — I have felt along the lines, and, d — n them, they 
 are almost all of them of such frail texture, that I 
 am sure they would not stand the breath of the 
 least adverse breeze of fortune." 
 . Among those who, having formerly " eyed him 
 askance," now appeared sufficiently ready to court 
 his society, were the family of Jean Armour. 
 Burns's affection for this beautiful young woman 
 had outlived his resentment of her compliance with 
 her fathers commands in the preceding summer ; 
 and from the time of this reconciliation, it is pro- 
 bable he always looked forward to a permanent 
 union with the mother of his children. 
 
 Burns at least fancied himself to be busy with 
 serious plans for his future establishment ; and was 
 very naturally disposed to avail himself, as far as 
 he could, of the opportunities of travel and obser- 
 vation, which an interval of leisure, destined pro- 
 bably to be a short one, might present. Moreover, 
 in spite of his gloomy language, a specimen of 
 which has just been quoted, we are not to doubt 
 that he derived much pleasure from witnessing the 
 extensive popularity of his writings, and from the 
 flattering homage he was sure to receive in his own 
 person in the various districts of his native coun- 
 try ; nor can any one wonder, that after the state 
 of high excitement in which he had spent the win- 
 ter and spring, he, fond as he was of his family, 
 and eager to make them partakers in all his good 
 fortune, should have, just at this time, found him- 
 
 N " 5 
 
150 LIFE OP 
 
 self incapable of sitting down contentedly for any 
 considerable period together, in so humble and 
 quiet a circle as that of Mossgiel. 
 
 His appetite for wandering appears to have been 
 only sharpened by his Border excursion. After re- 
 maining a few days at home, he returned to Edin- 
 burgh, and thence proceeded on another short tour, 
 by way of Stirling, to Inverary, and so back again, 
 by Dumbarton and Glasgow, to Mauchline. Of 
 this second excursion, no journal has been disco- 
 vered; nor do the extracts from his correspond- 
 ence, printed by Dr Currie, appear to be worthy 
 of much notice. In one, he briefly describes the 
 West Highlands as a country " where savage 
 streams tumble over savage mountains, thinly over- 
 spread with savage flocks, which starvingly sup- 
 port as savage inhabitants :" and in another, he 
 gives an account of Jenny Geddes running a race 
 after dinner with a Highlander's pony — of his 
 dancing and drinking till sunrise at a gentleman's 
 house on Loch Lomond ; and of other similar mat- 
 ters.—" I have as yet," says he, " fixed on nothing 
 with respect to the serious business of life. I am, 
 just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking y 
 aimless, idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere 
 have a farm soon." 
 
 In the course of this tour, Burns visited the 
 mother and sisters of his Mend, Gavin Hamilton, 
 then residing at Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, 
 in the immediate neighbourhood of the magnificent 
 scenery of Castle Campbell,* and the vale of Devon. 
 
 * Castle Campbell, called otherwise the Castle of Gloom, 
 is situated very grandly in a gorge of the Ochills, command, 
 ing an extensive view of the plain of Stirling. This ancient 
 possession of the Argyll family was, in some sort, a town- 
 residence for those chieftains in the days when the court was 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 151 
 
 He was especially delighted with one of the young 
 ladies ; and, according to his usual custom, cele- 
 brated her in a song, in which, in opposition to his 
 usual custom, there is nothing but the respectful- 
 ness of admiration. 
 
 tf How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon," &c. 
 
 At Harviestonbank, also, the poet first became 
 acquainted with Miss Chalmers, afterwards Mrs 
 Hay, to whom one of the most interesting series 
 of his letters is addressed. Indeed, with the ex- 
 ception of his letters to Mrs Dunlop, there is, per- 
 haps, no part of his correspondence which may be 
 quoted so uniformly to his honour. 
 
 It was on this expedition, that having been vi- 
 sited with a high flow of Jacobite indignation while 
 viewing the neglected palace at Stirling, he was 
 imprudent enough to write some verses bitterly vi- 
 tuperative of the reigning family on the window 
 of his inn. These verses were copied and talked of ; 
 and although the next time Burns passed through 
 Stirling, he himself broke the pane of glass con- 
 taining them, they were remembered years after- 
 wards to his disadvantage, and even danger. The 
 last couplet, alluding, in the coarsest style, to the 
 melancholy state of the good king's health at the 
 time, was indeed an outrage of which no political 
 prejudice could have made a gentleman approve : 
 but he, in all probability, composed his verses af- 
 ter dinner ; and surely what Burns would fain have 
 undone, others should have been not unwilling to 
 
 usually held at Stirling, Linlithgow, or Falkland. The 
 castle was burnt by Montrose, and has never been repaired. 
 The cauldron linn and rumbling brigg of the Devon lie near 
 Castle Campbell, on the verge of the plain. 
 
152 LIFE OF 
 
 forget. In tins case, too, the poetry " smells of 
 the smith's-shop," as well as the sentiment. 
 
 Mr Dugald Stewart has pronounced Burns's 
 epigrams to be, of all his writings, the least wor- 
 thy of his talents. Those which he composed in 
 the course of this tour, on being refused admit- 
 tance to see the iron works at Carron, and on find- 
 ing himself ill served at the inn at Inverary, in 
 consequence of his Grace the Duke of Argyll ha- 
 ving a large party at the Castle, form no excep- 
 tions to the rule. He had never, we may sup- 
 pose, met with the famous recipe of the Jelly-bag 
 •Club ; and was addicted to beginning with the point. 
 i The young ladies of Harvieston were, accord- 
 ing to Dr Currie, surprised with the calm manner 
 in which Burns contemplated their fine scenery 
 on Devon water ; and the Doctor enters into a 
 little dissertation on the subject, showing that a 
 man of Burns's lively imagination might probably 
 have formed anticipations which the realities of 
 the prospect might rather disappoint. This is 
 possible enough ; but I suppose few will take it 
 for granted that Burns surveyed any scenes either 
 of beauty or of grandeur without emotion, merely 
 because he did not choose to be ecstatic for the 
 benefit of a company of young ladies. He was 
 indeed very impatient of interruption on such oc- 
 casions ; I have heard that riding one dark night 
 near Carron, his companion teased him with noisy 
 exclamations of delight and wonder, whenever an 
 opening in the wood permitted them to see the 
 magnificent glare of the furnaces ; " Look, Burns I 
 Good Heaven! look ! look ! what a glorious sight!" 
 — " Sir,'* said Burns, clapping spurs to Jenny 
 Geddes, " I would not look ! look ! at your bid- 
 cling, if it were the mouth of hell !" 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 153 
 
 Burns spent the month of July at Mossgiel ; and 
 Mr Dugald Stewart, in a letter to Currie, gives 
 some recollections of him as he then appeared. 
 
 " Notwithstanding the various reports I heard 
 during the preceding winter, of Burns's predilec- 
 tion for convivial, and not very select society, I 
 should have concluded in favour of his habits of 
 sobriety, from all of him that ever fell under my 
 own observation. He told me indeed himself, 
 that the weakness of his stomach was such as to 
 deprive him entirely of any merit in his temper- 
 ance. I was, however, somewhat alarmed about 
 the effect of his now comparatively sedentary and 
 luxurious life, when he confessed to me, the first 
 night he spent in my house after his winter's cam- 
 paign in town, that he had been much disturbed 
 when in bed, by a palpitation at his heart, which, 
 he said, was a complaint to which he had of late 
 become subject. 
 
 " In the course of the same season I was led 
 by curiosity to attend for an hour or two a Ma- 
 sonic Lodge in Mauchline, where Burns presided. 
 He had occasion to make some short unpremedi- 
 tated compliments to different individuals from 
 whom he had no reason to expect a visit, and 
 everything he said was happily conceived, and 
 forcibly as well as fluently expressed. His man- 
 ner of speaking in public had evidently the marks 
 of some practice in extempore elocution." 
 
 In August, Burns revisited Stirlingshire, in com- 
 pany with Dr Adair, of Harrowgate, and remained 
 ten days at Harvieston. He was received with 
 particular kindness at Ochtertyre, on the Teith, 
 by Mr Ramsay (a friend of Blacklock) whose 
 beautiful retreat he enthusiastically admired. His 
 host was among the last of that old Scottish line 
 n 2 
 
154 LIFE OF 
 
 of Latinists, which began with Buchanan, and, I 
 fear, may be said to have ended with Gregory. Mr 
 Ramsay, among other eccentricities, had sprinkled 
 the walls of his house with Latin inscriptions, some 
 of them highly elegant ; and these particularly in- 
 terested Burns, who asked and obtained copies 
 and translations of them. This amiable man (whose 
 manners and residence were not, I take it, out of 
 the novelist's recollection, when he painted Monk- 
 barns,) was deeply read in Scottish antiquities, and 
 the author of some learned essays on the elder 
 poetry of his country. His conversation must have 
 delighted any man of talents ; and Burns and he 
 were mutually charmed with each other. Ramsay 
 advised him strongly to turn his attention to the 
 romantic drama, and proposed the Gentle Shepherd 
 as a model : he also urged him to write Scottish 
 Georgics, observing that Thomson had by no means 
 exhausted that field. He appears to have relished 
 both hints. " But," says Mr It. " to have exe- 
 cuted either plan, steadiness and abstraction from 
 company were wanting." 
 
 " I have been in the company of many men of 
 genius, (writes Mr Ramsay,) some of them poets ; 
 but I never witnessed such flashes of intellectual 
 brightness as from him, the impulse of the moment, 
 sparks of celestial fire. I never was more delight- 
 ed, therefore, than with his company two days 
 tete-a-tete. In a mixed company I should have 
 made little of him ; for, to use a gamester's phrase, 
 he did not always know when to play off and 
 when to play on. 
 
 " When I asked him whether the Edinburgh 
 literati had mended his poems by their criticisms — 
 4 Sir,' said he, ' those gentlemen remind me of 
 some spinsters in my country, who spin their 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 155 
 
 thread so fine that it is neither fit for weft nor 
 woof.' " 
 
 At Clackmannan Tower, the Poet's jacohitism 
 procured him a hearty welcome from the ancient 
 lady of the place, who gloried in considering her- 
 self as a lineal descendant of Robert Bruce. She 
 bestowed on Burns what knighthood the touch of 
 the hero's sword could confer ; and delighted him 
 by giving as her toast after dinner, Hooki imcos* — 
 away strangers ! At Dunfermline the poet be- 
 trayed deep emotion, Dr Adair tells us, on seeing 
 the grave of the Bruce ; but, passing to another 
 mood on entering the adjoining church, he mount- 
 ed the pulpit, and addressed his companions, who 
 had, at his desire, ascended the cuttystool, in a 
 parody of the rebuke which he had himself under- 
 gone some time before at Mauchline. 
 
 From Dunfermline the poet crossed the Frith 
 of Forth to Edinburgh ; and forthwith set out with 
 his friend Nicoll on a more extensive tour than he 
 had as yet undertaken, or was ever again to under- 
 take. Some fragments of his journal have re- 
 cently been discovered, and are now in my hands ; 
 so that I may hope to add some interesting parti- 
 culars to the account of Dr Currie. The travel- 
 lers hired a post-chaise for their expedition — the 
 High-schoolmaster being, probably, no very skilful 
 equestrian. 
 
 " August 25th, 1787. — This day," says Burns, 
 " I leave Edinburgh for a tour, in company with 
 my good friend, Mr Nicoll, whose originality of 
 humour promises me much entertainment. Lin- 
 lithgow. — A fertile improved country is West Lo- 
 
 * A shepherd's cry when strange sheep mingle in the 
 flock. 
 
156 LIFE OF 
 
 thian. The more elegance and luxury among the 
 farmers, I always observe, in equal proportion, the 
 rudeness and stupidity of the peasantry. This re- 
 mark I have made all over the Lothians, Merse, 
 Roxburgh, &c. ; and for this, among other reasons, 
 I think that a man of romantic taste, ' a man of 
 feeling,' will be better pleased with the poverty, 
 but intelligent minds, of the peasantry of Ayrshire, 
 (peasantry they are all, below the Justice of Peace,) 
 than the opulence of a club of Merse farmers, 
 when he, at the same time, considers the Vandal- 
 ism of their plough-folks, &c. I carry this idea so 
 far, that an uninclosed, unimproved country is to 
 me actually more agreeable as a prospect, than a 
 country cultivated like a garden." 
 
 It was hardly to be expected that Robert Burns 
 should have estimated the wealth of nations en- 
 tirely on the principles of a political economist. 
 
 Of Linlithgow be says, " the town carries the 
 appearance of rude, decayed, idle grandeur — charm- 
 ingly rural retired situation — the old Royal Pa- 
 lace a tolerably fine but melancholy ruin — sweet- 
 ly situated by the brink of a loch. Shown the room 
 where the beautiful injured Mary Queen of Scots 
 was born. A pretty good old Gothic church — the 
 infamous stool of repentance, in the old Romish 
 way, on a lofty situation. What a poor pimping 
 business is a Presbyterian place of worship ; dirty, 
 narrow, and squalid, stuck in a corner of old Popish 
 grandeur, such as Linlithgow, and much more Mel- 
 rose ! Ceremony and show, if judiciously thrown 
 in, are absolutely necessary for the bulk of man- 
 kind, both in religious and civil matters " 
 
 At Bartnockburn he writes as follows : " Here 
 no Scot can pass uninterested. I fancy to myself 
 that I see my gallant countrymen coming over the 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 157 
 
 hill, and down upon the plunderers of their coun- 
 try, the murderers of their fathers, noble revenge 
 and just hate glowing in every vein, striding more 
 and more eagerly as they approach the oppressive, 
 insulting, blood-thirsty foe. I see them meet in 
 glorious triumphant congratulation on the victori- 
 ous field, exulting in their heroic royal leader, and 
 rescued liberty and independence." * 
 
 Here we have the germ of Burns's famous ode 
 on the battle of Bannockburn. 
 
 At Taymouth, the Journal merely has — " de- 
 scribed in rhyme." This alludes to the " verses 
 written with a pencil over the mantel-piece of the 
 parlour in the inn at Kenmore ;" some of which are 
 among his best purely English heroics — 
 
 l( Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 
 
 Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell ; 
 
 The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 
 
 The incessant roar of headlong-tumbling floods .... 
 
 Here Foesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre, 
 
 And look through nature with creative fire .... 
 
 Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconciled, 
 
 Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
 
 And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
 
 Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds ; 
 
 Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch her scan, 
 
 And injured Worth forget and pardon man." 
 
 Of Glenlyon we have this memorandum : — 
 
 * In the last words of Burns's note above quoted, he 
 perhaps glances at a beautiful trait of old Barbour, where 
 he describes Bruce's soldiers as crowding round him at the 
 conclusion of one of his hard -fought days, with as much 
 curiosity as if they had never seen his person before. 
 
 u Sic wordis spak they of their king ; 
 And for his hie undertaking 
 Ferleyit and yernit him for to see, 
 That, with him av was wont to be— — " 
 
158 LIFE OF 
 
 " Druid's temple, three circles of stones, the out- 
 ermost sunk, the second has thirteen stones re- 
 maining, the innermost eight ; two large detached 
 ones like a gate to the south-east — say prayers 
 in it" 
 
 His notes on Dunkeld and Blair of Athole are 
 as follows : — " Dunkeld, — Breakfast with Dr 
 Stuart — Neil Gow plays ; a short, stout-built, 
 Highland figure, with his greyish hair shed on his 
 honest social brow — an interesting face, marking 
 strong sense, kind openheartedness, mixed with 
 unmistrusting simplicity — visit his house — Mar- 
 garet Gow. — Friday — ride up Tummel river to 
 Blair. Fascally, a beautiful romantic nest — wild 
 grandeur of the pass of Gillikrankie — visit the gal- 
 lant Lord Dundee's stone. Blair — sup with the 
 Duchess — easy and happy from the manners of 
 that family — confirmed in my good opinion of my 
 friend Walker. — Saturday — Visit the scenes round 
 Blair — fine, but spoilt with bad taste." 
 
 Mr Walker, who, as we have seen, formed 
 Burns's acquaintance in Edinburgh through Black- 
 lock, was at this period tutor in the family of 
 Athole, and from him the following particulars 
 of Burns's reception at the seat of his noble patron 
 are derived. " I had often, like others, experienced 
 the pleasures which arise from the sublime or ele- 
 gant landscape, but I never saw those feelings so 
 intense as in Burns. When we reached a rustic 
 hut on the river Tilt, where it is overhung by a 
 woody precipice, from which there is a noble water- 
 fall, he threw himself on the heathy seat, and gave 
 himself up to a tender, abstracted, and voluptuous 
 enthusiasm of imagination. It was with much dif- 
 ficulty I prevailed on him to quit this spot, and to 
 be introduced in proper time to supper. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 159 
 
 "He seemed at once to perceive and to appreciate 
 what was due to the company and to himself, and 
 never to forget a proper respect for the separate 
 species of dignity belonging to each. He did not ar- 
 rogate conversation, but, when led into it, he spoke 
 with ease, propriety, and manliness. He tried to 
 exert his abilities, because he knew it was ability 
 alone gave him a title to be there. The duke's fine 
 young family attracted much of his admiration ; 
 he drank their healths as honest men and bonny 
 lasses, an idea which was much applauded by the 
 company, and with which he has very felicitously 
 closed his poem. 
 
 " Next day I took a ride with him through 
 some of the most remarkable parts of that neigh- 
 bourhood, and was highly gratified by his conver- 
 sation. As a specimen of his happiness of con- 
 ception, and strength of expression, I will men- 
 tion a remark which he made on his fellow-tra- 
 veller, who was walking at the time a few paces 
 before us. He was a man of a robust but clumsy 
 person ; and, while Burns was expressing to me 
 the value he entertained for him, on account of 
 his vigorous talents, although they were clouded 
 at times by coarseness of manners — ' in short,' he 
 added, * his mind is like his body, he has a con- 
 founded strong in-knee'd sort of a soul.' 
 
 " Much attention was paid to Bunas both be- 
 fore and after the Duke's return, of which he was 
 perfectly sensible, without being vain ; and at his 
 departure I recommended to him, as the most ap- 
 propriate return he could make, to write some de- 
 scriptive verses on any of the scenes with which 
 he had been so much delighted. After leaving 
 Blair, he, by the Duke's advice, visited the Falls 
 
160 LIFE OF 
 
 of Bruar, and in a few days I received a letter 
 from Inverness, with the verses inclosed."* 
 
 At Blair, Burns first met with Mr Graham of 
 Fintray, a gentleman to whose kindness he was af- 
 terwards indebted on more than one important oc- 
 casion ; and Mr Walker expresses great regret that 
 he did not remain a day or two more, in which case 
 he must have been introduced to Mr Dundas, after- 
 wards Viscount Melville, who was then Treasurer 
 of the Navy, and had the chief management of the 
 affairs of Scotland. This eminent statesman was, 
 though little addicted to literature, a warm lover of 
 his own country, and, in general, of whatever re- 
 dounded to her honour ; he was, moreover, very es- 
 pecially qualified to appreciate Bums as a compa- 
 nion ; and, had such an introduction taken place, he 
 might not improbably have been induced to bestow 
 that consideration on the claims of the poet, which, 
 in the absence of any personal acquaintance, Burns's 
 works ought to have received at his hands. 
 
 From Blair, Burns passed iC many miles through 
 a wild country, among cliffs grey with eternal 
 snows, and gloomy savage glens, till he crossed 
 Spey ; and went down the stream through Strath- 
 spey, (so famous in Scottish music,) Badenoch, 
 &c. to Grant Castle, where he spent half a day 
 with Sir James Grant ; crossed the country to 
 Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, 
 
 * The banks of the Bruar, whose naked condition called 
 forth " the humble petition," to which Mr Walker thus 
 refers, have sdnce those days been well cared for, and the 
 river in its present state, could have no pretext for the 
 prayer — l 
 
 '•' Let lofty firs, and ashes cord, my lowly banks o'erspread, 
 
 And view, deep bending in the pool, their shadows' watery bed ; 
 Letfragrant birks, in woodbines drest, my craggy cliffs adorn, 
 And for the little songster's nest, the close embowering thorn." 
 G 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 1(31 
 
 the ancient seat of Macbeth, where he saw the iden- 
 tical bed in which, tradition says, King- Duncan 
 was murdered ; lastly, from Fort George to Inver- 
 ness." * From Inverness, he went along the Mur- 
 ray Frith to Fochabers, taking Culloden-Muir and 
 Brodie-house in his way.-j- — " Cross Spey to Foch- 
 abers — fine palace, worthy of the noble, the po- 
 lite, the generous proprietor — the Duke makes me 
 happier than ever great man did ; noble, princely, 
 yet mild, condescending, and affable — gay and 
 kind. — The Duchess charming, witty, kind, and 
 
 sensible — God bless them." 
 
 Burns, who had been much noticed by this no- 
 ble family when in Edinburgh, happened to present 
 himself at Gordon Castle, just at the dinner hour, 
 and being invited to take a place at the table, did so, 
 without for the moment adverting to the circum- 
 
 * Letter to Gilbert Burns, Edinburgh, 17th Dec. 1787- 
 + (Extract from Journal.) — Thursday, Came over Cullo- 
 den-Muir — reflections on the field of battle — breakfast at 
 Kilraick* — old Mrs Rose — sterling sense, warm heart, 
 strong passion, honest pride — all to an uncommon degree 
 —a true chieftain's wife, daughter of Clephane — Mrs Rose, 
 jun., a little milder than the mother, perhaps owing to her 
 being younger — two young ladies — Miss Rose sung two 
 Gaelic songs — beautiful and lovely — Miss Sophy Brodie, 
 not very beautiful, but most agreeable and amiable — both 
 of them the gentlest, mildest, sweetest creatures on earth, 
 and happiness be with them ! Brodie-house to lie — Mr B. 
 truly polite, but not quite the Highland cordiality. — Friday , 
 Gross the Findhorn to Forres — famous stone at Forres — Mr 
 Brodie tells me the muir where Shakspeare lays Macbeth's 
 witch- meeting, is still haunted — that the country folks 
 won't pass by night — Elgin — venerable ruins of the abbey, 
 a grander effect at first glance than Melrose, but nothing 
 near so beautiful. 
 
 * Commonly spelt Kilravock, the seat of a very ancient family. 
 
162 LIFB OF 
 
 stance tbat his travelling companion had been left 
 alone at the inn, in the adjacent village. On re- 
 membering this soon after dinner, he begged to be 
 allowed to rejoin his friend ; and the Duke of Gor- 
 don, who now for the first time learned that he was 
 not journeying alone, immediately proposed to send 
 an invitation to Mr Nicoll, to come to the castle. 
 His Grace's messenger found the haughty school- 
 master striding up and down before the inn door, 
 in a state of high wrath and indignation, at what 
 he considered Burns's neglect, and no apologies 
 could soften his mood. He had already ordered 
 horses, and the poet finding that he must choose 
 between the ducal circle and his irritable associate, 
 at once left Gordon Castle, and repaired to the 
 inn ; whence Nicoll and he, in silence and mutual 
 displeasure, pursued their journey along the coast 
 of the Murray Frith. This incident may serve 
 to suggest some of the annoyances to which per- 
 sons moving, like our poet, on the debateable 
 land between two different ranks of society, must 
 ever be subjected. To play the lion under such 
 circumstances, must be difficult at the best ; but a 
 delicate business, indeed, when the jackalls are pre- 
 sumptuous. This pedant could not stomach the 
 superior success of his friend — and yet, alas for 
 poor human nature ! he certainly was one of the 
 most enthusiastic of his admirers, and one of the 
 most affectionate of all his intimates. The abridge- 
 ment of Burns's visit at Gordon Castle, " was not 
 only," says Mr Walker, " a mortifying disap- 
 pointment, but in all probability a serious misfor- 
 tune, as a' longer stay among persons of such in- 
 fluence, might have begot a permanent intimacy, 
 and on their parts, an active concern for his future 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 163 
 
 advancement. 1 * * But this touches on a subject 
 which we cannot at present pause to consider. 
 
 A few days after leaving Fochabers, Burns 
 transmitted to Gordon Castle his acknowledg- 
 ment of the hospitality he had received from the 
 noble family, in the stanzas — 
 
 " Streams that glide on orient plains, 
 Never bound by winter's chains," &c. 
 
 The Duchess, on hearing them read, said she sup- 
 posed they were Dr Beattie's, and on learning 
 whose they really were, expressed her wish that 
 Burns had celebrated Gordon Castle in his own 
 dialect. The verses are among the poorest of his 
 productions. 
 
 Pursuing his journey along the coast, the poet 
 visited successively Nairn, Forres, Aberdeen, and 
 Stonehive ; where one of his relations, James 
 Burness, writer in Montrose, met him by appoint- 
 ment, and conducted him into the circle of his 
 paternal kindred, among whom he spent two or 
 three days. When William Burness, his father, 
 abandoned his native district, never to revisit it, 
 he, as he used to tell his children, took a sorrow- 
 ful farewell of his brother on the summit of the 
 last hill from which the roof of their lowly home 
 could be descried ; and the old man appears to 
 have ever after kept up an affectionate correspond- 
 ence with his family. It fell to the poet's lot 
 to communicate his father's death to the Kin- 
 cardineshire kindred, and after that he seems to 
 have maintained the same sort of correspond- 
 ence. He now formed a personal acquaintance 
 with these good people, and in a letter to his bro- 
 ther Gilbert, we find him describing them in 
 
 * Morrison, vol. i. p. 80. 
 
]64 LIFE OF 
 
 terms which show the lively interest he took in 
 all their concerns.* 
 
 " The rest of my stages," says he, " are not 
 worth rehearsing : warm as I was from Ossian's 
 country, where I had seen his very grave, what 
 cared I for fishing towns and fertile carses ?" He 
 arrived once more in Edinburgh, on the 16th of 
 September, having travelled about six hundred 
 miles in two-and-twenty days — greatly extended 
 his acquaintance with his own country, and visit- 
 ed some of its most classical scenery — observed 
 something of Highland manners, which must have 
 been as interesting as they were novel to him — 
 and strengthened considerably among the sturdy 
 Jacobites of the North those political opinions 
 which he at this period avowed. 
 
 Of the few poems composed during this High- 
 land tour, we have already mentioned two or 
 three. While standing by the Fall of Fyers, near 
 Loch Ness, he wrote with his pencil the vigorous 
 couplets — 
 
 " Among the heathy hills and rugged woods, 
 The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods," &c. 
 
 When at Sir William Murray's of Ochtertyre, 
 he celebrated Miss Murray of Lintrose, common- 
 ly called < f The Flower of Sutherland," in the 
 Song — 
 
 " Blythe, blythe, and merry was she, 
 Blythe was she but and ben," &c. 
 
 And the verses On Scaring some Wildfowl on 
 Loch Turit, — 
 
 i " Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
 For me your wat'ry haunts forsake," &c 
 
 were composed while under the same roof. These 
 
 * General Correspondence, No. 32. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 165 
 
 last, except perhaps Bruar Water, are the best 
 that he added to his collection during the wander- 
 ings of the summer. But in Burns's subsequent 
 productions, we find many traces of the delight 
 with which he had contemplated nature in these 
 alpine regions. 
 
 The poet once more visited his family at Moss- 
 giel, and Mr Miller at Dalswinton, ere the winter 
 set in ; and on more leisurely examination of that 
 gentleman's estate, we find him writing as if he 
 had all but decided to become his tenant on the 
 farm of Elliesland. It was not, however, until he 
 had for the third time visited Dumfries-shire, in 
 March 1788, that a bargain was actually con- 
 cluded. 
 
 More than half of the intervening months were 
 spent in Edinburgh, where Burns found or fancied 
 that his presence was necessary for the satisfactory 
 completion of his affairs with the booksellers. It 
 seems to be clear enough that one great object was 
 the society of his jovial intimates in the capital. 
 Nor was he without the amusement of a little ro- 
 mance to fill up what vacant hours they left him. 
 He lodged that winter in Bristo Street, on purpose 
 to be near a beautiful widow — the same to whom 
 he addressed the song, 
 
 *' Clarinda, mistress of my soul," &c. 
 and a series of prose epistles, which have been se- 
 parately published, and which present more in- 
 stances of bad taste, bombastic language, and ful- 
 some sentiment, than could be produced from all 
 his writings besides. 
 
 At this time the publication called Johnsons 
 Museum of Scottish Song was going on in Edin- 
 burgh ; and the editor appears to have early pre- 
 vailed on Burns to give him his assistance in the 
 o2 
 
166 LIFE OF 
 
 arrangement of his materials. Though Green 
 grow tlie rashes is the only song, entirely his, which 
 appears in the first volume, published in 1787, 
 many of the old ballads included in that volume 
 bear traces of his hand ; but in the second volume, 
 which appeared in March, 1788, we find no fewer 
 than five songs by Burns ; two that have been al- 
 ready mentioned,* and three far better than them, 
 viz. Theniel Menzies bonny Mary ; that grand 
 lyric, 
 
 " Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destiny, 
 Macpherson's time will not be long 
 
 On yonder gallows tree ;" 
 
 both of which performances bespeak the recent im- 
 pressions of his Highland visit ; and, lastly, Whis- 
 tle and Til come to you, my lad. Burns had been 
 from his youth upwards an enthusiastic lover of the 
 old minstrelsy and music of his country ; but he 
 now studied both subjects with far better oppor- 
 tunities and appliances than he could have com- 
 manded previously ; and it is from this time that 
 we must date his ambition to transmit his own 
 poetry to posterity, in eternal association with 
 those exquisite airs which had hitherto, in far too 
 many instances, been married to verses that did 
 not deserve to be immortal. It is well known 
 that from this time Burns composed very few 
 pieces but songs ; and whether we ought or not to 
 regret that such was the case, must depend on the 
 estimate we make of his songs as compared with 
 his other poems ; a point on which critics are to 
 this hour 1 divided, and on which their descendants 
 
 * " Clarinda,'" and ' ; How pleasant the banks of the 
 clear winding Devon." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 167 
 
 are not very likely to agree. Mr Walker, who is 
 one of those that lament Bums's comparative de- 
 reliction of the species of composition which he 
 most cultivated in the early days of his inspiration, 
 suggests very sensibly, that if Burns had not taken 
 to song-writing, he would probably have written 
 little or nothing amidst the various temptations to 
 company and dissipation which now and hence- 
 forth surrounded him — to say nothing of the active 
 duties of life in which he was at length about to 
 be engaged. 
 
 Burns was present, on the 31st of December, at a 
 dinner to celebrate the birth-day" of the unfortunate 
 Prince Charles Edward Stuart, and produced on 
 the occasion an ode, part of which Dr Currie has 
 preserved. The specimen will not induce any re- 
 gret that the remainder of the piece has been sup^ 
 pressed. It appears to be a mouthing rhapsody — 
 far, far different indeed from the Chevaliers La- 
 ment, which the poet composed some months af- 
 terwards, with probably the tithe of the effort, 
 while riding alone " through a track of melancho- 
 ly muirs between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being 
 Sunday."* ^ 
 
 For six weeks of the time that Burns spent this 
 year in Edinburgh, he was confined to his room, in 
 consequence of an overturn in a hackney coach. 
 " Here I am," he writes, " under the care of a 
 surgeon, with a bruised limb extended on a cu- 
 shion, and the tints of my mind vying with the li- 
 vid horrors preceding a midnight thunder-storm. 
 A drunken coachman was the cause of the first, 
 and incomparably the lightest evil ; misfortune, 
 bodily constitution, hell, and myself, have formed 
 
 * General Correspondence, No. AG. 
 
108 LIFE OF 
 
 a quadruple alliance to guarantee the other. I 
 have taken tooth and nail to the Bible, and am got 
 half way through the five books of Moses, and 
 half way in Joshua. It is really a glorious book. 
 I sent for my bookbinder to-day, and ordered him 
 to get an Svo Bible in sheets, the best paper and 
 print in town, and bind it with all the elegance of 
 his craft."* 
 
 In another letter, which opens gaily enough, we 
 find him reverting to the same prevailing darkness 
 of mood. " I can't say I am altogether at my ease 
 when I see anywhere in my path that meagre, 
 squalid, famine-faced spectre, Poverty, attended as 
 he always is by iron-fisted Oppression, and leer- 
 ing Contempt. But I have sturdily withstood his 
 buffetings many a hard-laboured day, and still my 
 motto is / dare. My worst enemy is moi-meme. 
 There are just two creatures that I would envy — 
 a horse in his wild state traversing the forests of 
 Asia, or an oyster on some of the desert shores of 
 Europe. The one has not a wish without enjoy- 
 ment ; the other has neither wish nor fear."-j- 
 
 One more specimen of this magnificent hypo- 
 chondriacism may be sufficient.:); " These have 
 been six horrible weeks. Anguish and low spirits 
 have made me unfit to read, write, or think. I have 
 a hundred times wished that one could resign life as 
 an officer does a commission ; for I would not take 
 in any poor ignorant wretch by selling out. Late- 
 ly, I was a sixpenny private, and God knows a mi- 
 serable soldier enough : now I march to the cam- 
 paign a starving cadet, a little more conspicuous^ 
 wretched. I am ashamed of all this ; for though 
 I do not 'want bravery for the warfare of life, I 
 
 * Reliques, p. 43. f Ibid. p. 44. 
 
 X General Correspondence, No. 43. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 169 
 
 could wish, like some other soldiers, to have as 
 much fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or con- 
 ceal my cowardice." 
 
 It seems impossible to doubt that Burns had 
 in fact lingered in Edinburgh, in the hope that, 
 to use a vague but sufficiently expressive phrase, 
 something would be done for him. He visited and 
 revisited a farm, — talked and wrote scholarly and 
 wisely about " having a fortune at the plough-tail," 
 and so forth ; but all the while nourished, and as* 
 suredly it would have been most strange if he had 
 not, the fond dream that the admiration of his 
 country would ere long present itself in some solid 
 and tangible shape. His illness and confinement 
 gave him leisure to concentrate his imagination 
 on the darker side of his prospects ; and the letters 
 which we have quoted may teach those who envy the 
 powers and the fame of genius, to pause for a mo- 
 ment over the annals of literature, and think what 
 superior capabilities of misery have been, in the 
 great majority of cases, interwoven with the pos- 
 session of those very talents, from which all but 
 their possessors derive unmingled gratification. 
 
 Burns's distresses, however, were to be still far- 
 ther aggravated. While still under the hands of 
 his surgeon, he received intelligence from Mauch- 
 line that his intimacy with Jean Armour had once 
 more exposed her to the reproaches of her family. 
 The father sternly and at once turned her out of 
 doors ; and Burns, unable to walk across his room, 
 had to write to his friends in Mauchline, to pro- 
 cure shelter for his children, and for her whom he 
 considered as — all but his wife. In a letter to Mrs 
 Dunlop, written on hearing of this new misfortune, 
 he says, '« « / ivish I were dead, but I'm no like to 
 die' I fear I am something like — undone ; but I 
 
170 LIFE OF 
 
 hope for the best. You must not desert me. Your 
 friendship I think I can count on, though I should 
 date my letters from a marching regiment. Early 
 in life, and all my life, I reckoned on a recruiting 
 drum as my forlorn hope. Seriously, though, life 
 at present presents me with but a melancholy 
 
 path But my limb will soon be sound, and I 
 
 shall struggle on."* 
 
 It seems to have been now that Burns at last 
 screwed up his courage to solicit the active inter- 
 ference in his behalf of the Earl of Glencairn. The 
 letter is a brief one. Burns could ill endure this 
 novel attitude, and he rushed at once to his re- 
 quest. " I wish," says he, " to get into the ex- 
 cise. I am told your lordship will easily procure 
 me the grant from the commissioners ; and your 
 lordship's patronage and kindness, which have aU 
 ready rescued me from obscurity, wretchedness, 
 and exile, embolden me to ask that interest. You 
 have likewise put it in my power to save the little 
 tie of home, that sheltered an aged mother, two 
 brothers, and three sisters from destruction. There, 
 my lord, you have bound me over to the highest 
 
 gratitude. My heart sinks within me at the 
 
 idea of applying to any other of The Great who 
 have honoured me with their countenance. I am 
 ill qualified to dog the heels of greatness with the 
 impertinence of solicitation ; and tremble nearly as 
 much at the thought of the cold promise as of the 
 cold denial." -j- 
 
 It would be hard to think that this letter was 
 coldly or negligently received ; on the contrary, 
 we know that Burns's gratitude to Lord Glen- 
 cairn lasted as long as his life. But the excise ap- 
 
 • Reliques, p. 48. 
 -J* General Correspondence, No. 40. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 171 
 
 pointment which he coveted was not procured by 
 any exertion of his noble patron's influence. Mr 
 Alexander Wood, surgeon, (still affectionately re- 
 membered in Scotland as "kind old Sandy Wood/') 
 happening to hear Burns, while his patient, men- 
 tion the object of his wishes, went immediately, 
 without dropping any hint of his intention, and 
 communicated the state of the poet's case to Mr 
 Graham of Fintray, one of the commissioners of 
 excise, who had met Burns at the Duke of Athole's 
 in the autumn, and who immediately had the poet's 
 name put on the roll. 
 
 " I have chosen this, my dear friend, (thus wrote 
 Burns to Mrs Dunlop,) after mature deliberation. 
 The question is not at what door of Fortune's pa- 
 lace shall we enter in ; but what doors does she 
 open to us ? I was not likely to get anything to 
 do. I wanted un but, which is a dangerous, an un- 
 happy situation. I got this without any hanging on 
 or mortifying solicitation. It is immediate bread, 
 and, though poor in comparison of the last eighteen 
 months of my existence, 'tis luxury in comparison 
 of all my preceding life. Besides, the commission- 
 ers are some of them my acquaintances, and all 
 of them my firm friends '."* 
 
 Our poet seems to have kept up an angry cor- 
 respondence during his confinement with his book- 
 seller, Mr Creech, whom he also abuses very 
 heartily in his letters to his Mends in Ayrshire. 
 The publisher's accounts, however, when they were 
 at last made up, must have given the impatient 
 author a very agreeable surprise ; for, in his letter 
 above quoted, to Lord Glencairn, we find him ex- 
 pressing his hopes that the gross profits of his book 
 might amount to u better than L.20Q," whereas, 
 
 * Reliques, p. 50. 
 
172 LIFE OF 
 
 on the day of settling with Mr Creech, he found 
 himself in possession of L 500, if not of L.600.* 
 This supply came truly in the hour of need ; and 
 it seems to have elevated his spirits greatly, and 
 given him for the time a new stock of confidence ; 
 for he now resumed immediately his purpose of 
 taking Mr Miller's farm, retaining his excise com- 
 mission in his pocket as a dernier resort, to be 
 made use of only should some reverse of fortune 
 come upon him. His first act, however, was to re- 
 lieve his brother from his difficulties, by advancing 
 L.180, or L.200, to assist him in the management 
 of Mossgiel. " I give myself no airs on this," he 
 generously says, in a letter to Dr Moore, " for it 
 was mere selfishness on my part. I was conscious 
 that the wrong scale of the balance was pretty 
 heavily charged, and I thought that the throwing 
 a little filial piety and fraternal affection into the 
 scale in my favour, might help to smooth matters 
 at the grand reckoning '.' 'f 
 
 * Mr Nicoll, the most intimate friend Burns had at this 
 time, writes to Mr John Lewars, excise officer, at. Dum- 
 fries, immediately on hearing of the poet's death, — ' He 
 certainly told me that he received L.600, for the first Edin- 
 burgh edition, and L.100 afterwards for the copyright," 
 (MS. in my possession). Dr Currie states the gross product 
 of Creech's edition at L.500, and Burns himself, in one of 
 his printed letters, at L.400 only. Nicoll hints, in the 
 letter already referred to, that Burns had contracted debts 
 while in Edinburgh, which he might not wish to avow on 
 all occasions ; and if we are to believe this, and, as is pro- 
 bable, the expense of printing the subscription edition, 
 should, moreover, be deducted from the L-700 stated by 
 Mr Nicoll — the apparent contradictions in these stories 
 may be 'pretty nearly reconciled — There appears to be rea- 
 son for thinking that Creech subsequently paid more than 
 L.100 for the copyright. If he did not, how came Burns 
 to realize, as Currie states it at the end of his Memoir, 
 " nearly nine hundred pounds in all by his poems ?" 
 
 -J- General Correspondence, No. 66. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 173 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " To make a happy fireside clime 
 For weans and wife — 
 That's the true pathos and sublime 
 Of human life." 
 
 Burns, as soon as his bruised limb was able 
 for a journey, went to Mossgiel, and went through 
 the ceremony of a Justice-of- Peace marriage with 
 Jean Armour, in the writing-chambers of his friend 
 Gavin Hamilton. He then crossed the country to 
 Dalswinton, and concluded his bargain with Mr 
 Miller as to the farm of Elliesland, on terms which 
 must undoubtedly have been considered by both 
 parties, as highly favourable to the poet ; they were 
 indeed fixed by two of Burns's own friends, who 
 accompanied him for that purpose from Ayrshire. 
 The lease was for four successive terms, of nineteen 
 years each, — in all seventy-six years ; the rent for 
 the first three years and crops fifty pounds ; during 
 the remainder of the period L.70. Mr Miller 
 bound himself to defray the expense of any plan- 
 tations which Burns might please to make on the 
 banks of the river ; and, the farm-house and offices 
 being in a dilapidated condition, the new tenant 
 was to receive L.300, from the proprietor, for the 
 erection of suitable buildings. " The land," says 
 Allan Cunningham, " was good, the rent mode- 
 rate, and the markets were rising." 
 
 Burns entered on possession of his farm at Whit- 
 suntide, 1788, but the necessary rebuilding of the 
 house prevented his removing Mrs Burns thither 
 
174 LIFE OF 
 
 until the season was far advanced. He had, more- 
 over, to qualify himself for holding his excise com- 
 mission by six weeks' attendance on the business 
 of that profession at Ayr. From these circum- 
 stances, he led all the summer a wandering and un- 
 settled life, and Dr Currie mentions this as one of 
 his chief misfortunes. The poet, as he says, was 
 continually riding between Ayrshire and Dum- 
 fries-shire, and often spending a night on the road, 
 " sometimes fell into company, and forgot the re- 
 solutions he had formed." 
 
 What these resolutions were, the poet himself 
 shall tell us. On the 3d day of his residence at 
 Elliesland, he thus writes to Mr Ainslie : " I have 
 all along hitherto, in the warfare of life, been bred 
 to arms, among the light-horse, the piquet guards 
 of fancy, a kind of hussars and Highlanders of the 
 brain ; but I am firmly resolved to sell out of these 
 giddy battalions. Cost what it will, I am deter- 
 mined to buy in among tbe grave squadrons of 
 heavy-armed thought, or tbe artillery corps of plod- 
 ding contrivance . . . Were it not for the terrors of 
 my ticklish situation respecting a family of chil- 
 dren, I am decidedly of opinion that the step I 
 have taken is vastly for my happiness."* 
 
 To all his friends, he expresses himself in terms 
 of similar satisfaction in regard to his marriage. 
 " Your surmise, madam," he writes to Mrs Dun- 
 lop, " is just. I am indeed a husband. I found 
 a once much-loved, and still much-loved female, 
 literally and truly cast out to the mercy of the 
 naked elements, but as I enabled her to purchase 
 a shelter ; and there is no sporting with a fellow- 
 creature's happiness or misery. The most placid 
 
 * Reliques, p. G3. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. H5 
 
 goodnature and sweetness of disposition ; a warm 
 heart, gratefully devoted with all its powers to 
 love me ; vigorous health and sprightly cheerful- 
 ness, set off to the best advantage by a more than 
 commonly handsome figure ; these, I think, in a 
 woman, may make a good wife, though she should 
 never have read a page but the Scriptures of the 
 Old and New Testament, nor danced in a brighter 
 
 assembly than a penny-pay wedding To 
 
 jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stranger ; my 
 preservative from the first, is the most thorough 
 consciousness of her sentiments of honour, and her 
 attachment to me ; my antidote against the last, 
 is my long and deep-rooted affection for her. In 
 housewife matters, of aptness to learn, and activi- 
 ty to execute, she is eminently mistress, and du- 
 ring my absence in Nithsdale, she is regularly and 
 constantly an apprentice to my mother and sisters 
 
 in their dairy, and other rural business 
 
 You are right, that a bachelor state would have 
 ensured me more friends ; but from a cause you 
 will easily guess, conscious peace in the enjoy- 
 ment of my own mind, and unmistrusting confi- 
 dence in approaching my God, would seldom have 
 been of the number." * 
 
 Some months later he tells Miss Chalmers that 
 his marriage " was not, perhaps, in consequence 
 of the attachment of romance," — (he is addressing 
 a young lady,) — " but," he continues, " I have 
 no cause to repent it. If I have not got polite 
 tattle, modish manners, and fashionable dress, I 
 am not sickened and disgusted with the multi- 
 form curse of boarding-school affectation ; and I 
 
 • See General Correspondence, No. 53 ; and Reliques, 
 p. CO. 
 
 OB 
 
176 LIFE OF 
 
 have got the handsomest figure, the sweetest tem- 
 per, the soundest constitution, and the kindest 
 heart in the country. Mrs Burns believes as firm- 
 ly as her creed, that I am leplus bel esprit et leplus 
 honnete homme in the universe ; although she 
 scarcely ever, in her life, except the Scriptures and 
 the Psalms of David in Metre, spent five minutes 
 together on either prose or verse — I must except 
 also a certain late publication of Scots poems, 
 which she has perused very devoutly, and all the 
 ballads of the country, as she has (O the partial 
 lover, you will say) the finest woodnote-wild I 
 ever heard."* 
 
 It was during this honeymoon, as he calls it, 
 while chiefly resident in a miserable hovel at Ellies- 
 land,-j- and only occasionally spending a day or 
 two in Ayrshire, that he wrote the beautiful song : \ 
 
 " Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives, the lassie I lo'e best ; 
 There wildwoods grow, and rivers row, and many a hill be- 
 tween ; 
 But day and night my fancy's flight is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft amang the leafy trees, 
 Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale, bring hame the laden 
 
 bees, 
 And bring thelassie back to me,that's aye sae neat and clean ; 
 Ae blink o' her wad banish care, sae lovely is my Jean." 
 
 " A discerning reader," says Mr Walker, " will 
 
 * One of Burns's letters, written not long after this, con- 
 tains a passage strongly marked with his haughtiness of cha- 
 racter. w I have escaped," says he, " the fantastic caprice, 
 the apish affectation, with all the other blessed boarding- 
 school acquirements which are sometimes to be found among 
 females of the upper ranks, but almost universally pervade 
 the misses of the would-be gentry." — General Correspon- 
 dence, No. 55. 
 
 •J- Reliques, p. Jo. $ Ibid. p. 273. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 177 
 
 perceive that the letters in which he announces 
 his marriage to some of his most respected corre- 
 spondents, are written in that state when the mind 
 is pained by reflecting on an unwelcome step, 
 and finds relief to itself in seeking arguments to 
 justify the deed, and lessen its disadvantages in 
 the opinion of others."* I confess I am not able 
 to discern any traces of this kind of feeling in any 
 of Burns's letters on this interesting and important 
 occasion. Mr Walker seems to take it for granted, 
 that because Burns admired the superior manners 
 and accomplishments of women of the higher ranks 
 of society, he must necessarily, whenever he dis- 
 covered " the interest which he had the power of 
 creating" in such persons, have aspired to find a 
 wife among them. But it is, to say the least of 
 the matter, extremely doubtful, that Burns, if he 
 had had a mind, could have found any high-born 
 maiden willing to partake such fortunes as his 
 were likely to be, and yet possessed of such qua- 
 lifications for making him a happy man, as he had 
 ready for his acceptance in his " Bonny Jean." 
 The proud heart of the poet could never have 
 stooped itself to woo for gold ; and birth and high- 
 breeding could only have been introduced into a 
 farm-house to embitter, in the upshot, the whole 
 existence of its inmates. It is very easy to say, 
 that had Burns married an accomplished woman, 
 he might have found domestic evenings sufficient 
 to satisfy all the cravings of his mind — abandoned 
 tavern haunts and jollities for ever — and settled 
 down into a regular pattern-character. But it is 
 at least as possible, that consequences of an exact- 
 ly opposite nature might have ensued. Any mar- 
 
 * Morrison, vol. i. p. lxxxvii. 
 p2 
 
178 LIFE OF 
 
 riage, such as Professor Walker alludes to, would, 
 in his case,, have been more unequal, than either 
 of those that made Dryden and Addison miserable 
 for life. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, in his Life of the former of 
 these great men, has well described the diffi- 
 cult situation of her, who has " to endure the ap- 
 parently causeless fluctuation of spirits incident 
 to one doomed to labour incessantly in the fever- 
 ish exercise of the imagination." — " Uninten- 
 tional neglect," says he, " and the inevitable re- 
 laxation, or rather sinking of spirit, which fol- 
 lows violent mental exertion, are easily miscon- 
 strued into capricious rudeness, or intentional of- 
 fence ; and life is embittered by mutual accusation, 
 not the less intolerable because reciprocally un- 
 just."* — Such were the difficulties under which 
 the domestic peace both of Addison and Dryden 
 went to wreck ; and yet, to say nothing of man- 
 ners and habits of the highest elegance and polish 
 in either case, they were both of them men of strict- 
 ly pure and correct conduct in their conjugal ca- 
 pacities ; and who can doubt that all these diffi- 
 culties must have been enhanced tenfold, had any 
 woman of superior condition linked her fortunes 
 with Robert Burns, a man at once of the very 
 warmest animal temperament, and the most way- 
 ward and moody of all his melancholy and irritable 
 tribe, who had little vanity that could have been 
 gratified by a species of connexion, which, unless 
 he had found a human angel, must have been con- 
 tinually wounding his pride ? But, in truth, these 
 speculations are all worse than worthless. Burns, 
 with all his faults, was an honest and a high-spi- 
 rited man, and he loved the mother of his chil- 
 . * Life of Drvden, p. !>0. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 179 
 
 dren ; and had he hesitated to make her his wife, 
 he must have sunk into the callousness of a ruf- 
 fian, or that misery of miseries, the remorse of a 
 poet. 
 
 The Reverend Hamilton Paul takes an origi- 
 nal view of this business : " Much praise," savs 
 he, " has been lavished on Burns for renewing his 
 engagement with Jean when in the blaze of his 
 fame. . . . The praise is misplaced. We do not 
 think a man entitled to credit or commendation 
 for doing what the law could compel him to per- 
 form. Burns was in reality a married man, and it 
 is truly ludicrous to hear him, aware as he must 
 have been, of the indissoluble power of the obli- 
 gation, though every document was destroyed, 
 talking of himself as a bachelor."* There is no. 
 justice in these remarks. It is very true, that, by 
 a merciful fiction of the law of Scotland, the fe- 
 male, in Miss Armour's condition, who produces a 
 written promise of marriage, is considered as ha- 
 ving furnished evidence of an irregular marriage 
 having taken place between her and her lover ; but 
 in this case the female herself had destroyed the 
 document, and lived for many months not only 
 not assuming, but rejecting, the character of Bums's 
 wife ; and had she, under such circumstances, at- 
 tempted to establish a marriage, with no docu- 
 ment in her hand, and with no parole evidence 
 to show that any such document had ever existed, 
 to say nothing of proving its exact tenor, but that 
 of her own father, it is clear that no ecclesiastical 
 court in the world could have failed to decide 
 against her. So far from Bums's having all along 
 regarded her as his wife, it is extremely doubt- 
 
 * Paul's Life of Burns, p 4j. 
 
180 LIFE OF 
 
 fill whether she had ever for one moment consi- 
 dered him as actually her husband, until he de- 
 clared the marriage of 1788. Bums did no more 
 than justice as well as honour demanded : but the 
 act was one which no human tribunal could have 
 compelled him to perform. 
 
 To return to our story. Burns complains sadly 
 of his solitary condition, when living in the only 
 hovel that he found extant on his farm. " I am," 
 says he (September 9th) " busy with my harvest, 
 but for all that most pleasurable part of life called 
 social intercourse, I am here at the very elbow of ex- 
 istence. The only things that are to be found in this 
 country in any degree of perfection, are stupidity, 
 and canting. Prose they only know in graces, 
 &c, and the value of these they estimate as they 
 do their plaiding webs, by the ell. As for the 
 muses, they have as much idea of a rhinoceros as 
 of a poet."* And in another letter (September 16) 
 he says, " This hovel that I shelter in while occa- 
 sionally here, is pervious to every blast that blows, 
 and every shower that falls, and I am only pre- 
 served from being chilled to death by being suffo- 
 cated by smoke. You will be pleased to hear that 
 I have laid aside idle eclat, and bind every day 
 after my reapers. "-(- 
 
 His house, however, did not take much time in 
 building ; nor bad he reason to complain of want 
 of society long ; nor, it must be added, did Burns 
 bind every day after his reapers. 
 
 He brought his wife home to Elliesland about 
 the end of November ; and few housekeepers start 
 with a larger provision of young mouths to feed 
 than this couple. Mrs Burns had lain in this au- 
 tumn, for the second time, of twins, and I suppose 
 
 * Reliques, p. 75. -f lb. p. 79. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 181 
 
 " sonsy, smirking, dear-bought Bess,"* accompanied 
 her younger brothers and sisters from Mossgiel. 
 From that quarter also Burns brought a whole esta- 
 blishment of servants, male and female, who, of 
 course, as was then the universal custom amongst 
 the small farmers, both of the west and of the south 
 of Scotland, partook, at the same table, of the same 
 fare with their master and mistress, 
 
 Elliesland is beautifully situated on the banks of 
 the Nith, about six miles above Dumfries, exact- 
 ly opposite to the house of Dalswinton, of those 
 noble woods and gardens amidst which Burns's 
 landlord, the ingenious Mr Patrick Miller, found 
 relaxation from the scientific studies and research- 
 es in which he so greatly excelled. On the Dal- 
 swinton side, the river washes lawns and groves ; 
 but over against these the bank rises into a long 
 red scaur, of considerable height, along the verge 
 of which, where the bare shingle of the precipice 
 all but overhangs the stream, Burns had his fa- 
 vourite walk, and might now be seen striding 
 alone, early and late, especially when the winds 
 were loud, and the waters below him swollen and 
 turbulent. For he was one of those that enjoy na- 
 ture most in the more serious and severe of her 
 aspects ; and throughout his poetry, for one allu- 
 sion to the liveliness of spring, or the splendour 
 of summer, it would be easy to point out twenty 
 in which he records the solemn delight with which 
 he contemplated the melancholy grandeur of au- 
 tumn, or the savage gloom of winter. Indeed, I can- 
 not but think that the result of an exact inquiry into 
 the composition of Burns's poems, would be, that 
 " his vein," like that of Milton, " flowed most hap- 
 pily, from the autumnal equinox to the vernal." 
 
 * Poetical Inventory to Mr Aiken, February, 1786. 
 
182 LIFE OF 
 
 Of Lord Byron, we know that his vein flowed best 
 at midnight ; and Burns has himself told us that it 
 was his custom " to take a gloamin' shot at the 
 muses." 
 
 The poet was accustomed to say, that the most 
 happy period of his life was the first winter he 
 spent at Elliesland, — for the first time under a roof 
 of his own — with his wife and children about him 
 — and in spite of occasional lapses into the melan- 
 choly which had haunted his youth, looking for- 
 ward to a life of well-regulated, and not ill-re- 
 warded, industry. It is known that he welcomed 
 his wife to her rooftree at Elliesland in the song, 
 
 " I hae a wife o' mine ain, I'll partake wi' naebody ; 
 I'll tak cuckold frae nane, I'll gie cuckold to naebody ; 
 I hae a penny to spend — there — thanks to naebody ; 
 I hae naething to lend — I'll borrow frae naebody.'* 
 
 In commenting on this " little lively lucky song," 
 as he well calls it, Mr Allan Cunningham says, 
 " Burns had built his house, he had committed 
 his seed-corn to the ground, he was in the prime, 
 nay the morning of life — health, and strength, 
 and agricultural skill (?) were on his side — his 
 genius had been acknowledged by his country, 
 and rewarded by a subscription, more exten- 
 sive than any Scottish poet ever received before ; 
 no wonder, therefore, that he broke out into vo- 
 luntary song, expressive of his sense of impor- 
 tance and independence."* — Another song was 
 composed in honour of Mrs Burns, during the hap- 
 py weeks that followed her arrival at Elliesland :— 
 
 '* O, were I on Parnassus hill, 
 Or had of Helicon my fill, 
 That I might catch poetic skill, 
 To sing how dear I love thee 
 
 * Cunningham's Scottish Songs, vol. iv, p. 86. 
 
ROBERT BURNS- 183 
 
 But Nith maun be my muse's well, 
 My muse maun be thy bonny sell, 
 On Corsincon I'll glower and spell, 
 And write how dear I love thee." 
 
 In the second stanza, the poet rather transgresses 
 the limits of connubial decorum ; but, on the whole, 
 these tributes to domestic affection are among the 
 last of his performances that one would wish to 
 lose. 
 
 Burns, in his letters of the year 1789, makes 
 many apologies for doing but little in his poetical 
 vocation • his farm, without doubt, occupied much 
 of his attention, but the want of social intercourse, 
 of which he complained on his first arrival in 
 Nithsdale, had by this time totally disappeared. 
 On the contrary, his company was courted eagerly, 
 not only by his brother-farmers, but by the neigh- 
 bouring gentry of all classes ; and now, too, for the 
 first time, he began to be visited continually in his 
 own house by curious travellers of all sorts, who 
 did not consider, any more than the generous poet 
 himself, that an extensive practice of hospitality 
 must cost more time than he ought to have had, 
 and far more money than he ever had, at his dis- 
 posal. Meantime, he was not wholly regardless 
 of the muses ; for in addition to some pieces which 
 we have already had occasion to notice, he con- 
 tributed to this year's Museum, The Thames flows 
 proudly to the Sea ; The lazy mist hangs, fyc. ; 
 The day returns, my bosom burns ; Tarn Glen, 
 (one of the best of his humorous songs ;) the 
 splendid lyric, Go fetch to me a pint of wine, and 
 My heart's in the Hielands, (in both of which, 
 however, he adopted some lines of ancient songs 
 to the same tunes ;) John Anderson, in part also 
 a rifacciamento ; the best of all his Bacchanalian 
 
184 LIFE OF 
 
 pieces, Willie brewed a 'peck o maut, written ia 
 celebration of a festive meeting at the country re- 
 sidence, in Dumfries-shire, of his friend Mr Nicoll 
 of the High-school ; and lastly, that noblest of all 
 his ballads, To Mary in Heaven. 
 
 This celebrated poem was, it is on all hands ad- 
 mitted, composed by Burns in September, 1789, 
 on the anniversary of the day on which he heard 
 of the death of his early love, Mary Campbell ; 
 but Mr Cromek has thought fit to dress up the 
 story with circumstances which did not occur. 
 Mrs Burns, the only person who could appeal to 
 personal recollection on this occasion, and whose 
 recollections of all circumstances connected with 
 the history of her husband's poems, are represented 
 as being remarkably distinct and vivid, gives what 
 may at first appear a more prosaic edition of the 
 history.* According to her, Burns spent that day, 
 though labouring under cold, in the usual work of 
 his harvest, and apparently in excellent spirits. But 
 as the twilight deepened, he appeared to grow <( very 
 sad about something," and at length wandered out 
 into the barn-yard, to which his wife, in her anxie- 
 ty for his health, followed him, entreating him in 
 vain to observe that frost had set in, and to return 
 to the fireside. On being again and again request- 
 ed to do so, he always promised compliance — but 
 still remained where he was, striding up and down 
 slowly, and contemplating the sky, which was 
 singularly clear and starry. At last Mrs Burns 
 found him stretched on a mass of straw, with his 
 eyes fixed on a beautiful planet " that shone like 
 
 * I owe these particulars to Mr M'Diarmid, the able 
 editor of the Dumfries Courier, and brother of the lament- 
 ed author of " Lives of British Statesmen." 
 
 j 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 185 
 
 another moon ;" and prevailed on him to come in. 
 He immediately on entering the house, called for 
 his desk, and wrote exactly as they now stand, 
 with all the ease of one copying from memory, 
 the sublime and pathetic verses— 
 
 " Thou lingering star with lessening ray, 
 
 That lovest to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary, dear departed shade, 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ; 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid, 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?" &c. 
 
 The Mothers Lament for her Son, and Inscrip- 
 tion in an Hermitage in JYithsdale, were also 
 written this year. 
 
 From the time when Burns settled himself in 
 Dumfries-shire, he appears to have conducted with 
 much care the extensive correspondence in which 
 his celebrity had engaged him ; it is, however, 
 very necessary in judging of these letters, and 
 drawing inferences from their language as to the 
 real sentiments and opinions of the writer, to take 
 into consideration the rank and character of the 
 persons to whom they are severally addressed, and 
 the measure of intimacy which really subsisted 
 between them and the poet. In his letters, as in 
 his conversation, Burns, in spite of all his pride, 
 did something to accommodate himself to his 
 company ; and he who did write the series of 
 letters addressed to Mrs Dunlop, Dr Moore, Mr 
 Dugald Stewart, Miss Chalmers, and others, emi- 
 nently distinguished as these are by purity and 
 nobleness of feeling and perfect propriety of lan- 
 guage, presents himself, in other effusions of the 
 a 6 
 
186 LIFE OF 
 
 same class, in colours which it would be rash to 
 call his own. In a word, whatever of grossness of 
 thought, or rant, extravagance, and fustian in ex- 
 pression, may be found in his correspondence, 
 ought, I cannot doubt, to be mainly ascribed to 
 his desire of accommodating himself for the mo- 
 ment to the habits and taste of certain buckish 
 tradesmen of Edinburgh, and other suchlike per- 
 sons, whom, from circumstances already sufficient 
 ly noticed, he numbered among his associates and 
 friends. That he should have condescended to any 
 such compliances must be regretted ; but in most 
 cases, it would probably be quite unjust to push 
 our censure further than this. 
 
 The letters that passed between him and his 
 brother Gilbert, are among the most precious of 
 the collection ; for there there could be no disguise. 
 That the brothers had entire knowledge of and 
 confidence in each other, no one can doubt ; and 
 the plain manly affectionate language in which 
 they both write, is truly honourable to them, and 
 to the parents that reared them. 
 
 " Dear Brother," writes Gilbert, January 1, 
 1789, " I have just finished my new-year's day 
 breakfast in the usual form, which naturally makes 
 me call to mind the days of former years, and the 
 society in which we used to begin them; and 
 when I look at our family vicissitudes, < through 
 the dark postern of time long elapsed,' I cannot 
 help remarking to you, my dear brother, how 
 good the God of seasons is to us ; and that, how-? 
 ever some clouds may seem to lour over the por- 
 tion of time before us, we have great reason to 
 hope that all will turn out well." 
 
 It was on the same new-year's-day, that Burns 
 himself addressed to Mrs Dunlop a letter, part of 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 187 
 
 which Is here transcribed — it certainly cannot be 
 read too often. 
 
 Elliesland, New-Year-Day Morning, 1789. 
 
 " This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, 
 and would to God that I came under the apostle 
 James's description! — the prayer of a righteous 
 man availeth much. In that case, madam, you 
 should welcome in a year full of blessings ; every- 
 thing that obstructs or disturbs tranquillity and 
 self-enjoyment, should be removed, and every 
 pleasure that frail humanity can taste, should be 
 yours. I own myself so little a Presbyterian, that 
 I approve of set times and seasons of more than 
 ordinary acts of devotion, for breaking in on that 
 habituated routine of life and thought, which is so 
 apt to reduce our existence to a kind of instinct, or 
 evren sometimes, and with some minds, to a state 
 very little superior to mere machinery. 
 
 " This day, — the first Sunday of May, — a breezy, 
 blue-skyed noon sometime about the beginning, 
 and a hoary morning and calm sunny day about 
 the end of autumn ; these, time out of mind, have 
 been with me a kind of holiday. 
 
 " I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in 
 the Spectator, ' The Vision of Mirza ;' a piece 
 that struck my young fancy before I was capable 
 of fixing an idea to a word of three syllables : < On 
 the 5th day of the moon, which, according to the 
 custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, 
 after having washed myself, and offered up my 
 morning devotions, I ascended the high hill of 
 Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in 
 meditation and prayer.' 
 
 " We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the 
 substance or structure of our souls, so cannot ac- 
 count for those seeming caprices in them, that one 
 
188 LIFE OF 
 
 should be particularly pleased with this thing, or 
 struck with that, which, on minds of a different 
 cast, makes no extraordinary impression. I have 
 some favourite flowers in spring, among which are 
 the mountain- daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, 
 the wild brier-rose, the budding-birch, and the 
 hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with 
 particular delight. I never hear the loud, solitary 
 whistle of the curlew, in a summer noon, or the 
 wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey plover, in 
 an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation 
 of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. 
 Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be ow- 
 ing? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like 
 the iEolian harp, passive, takes the impression of 
 the passing accident ? Or do these workings argue 
 something within us above the trodden clod ? I 
 own myself partial to such proofs of those awful 
 and important realities— a God that made all 
 things — man's immaterial and immortal nature— 
 and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the 
 grave." 
 
 Few, it is to be hoped, can read such things as 
 these without delight ; none, surely, that taste the 
 elevated pleasure they are calculated to inspire, 
 can turn from them to the well-known issue of 
 Burns's history, without being afflicted. It is dif- 
 ficult to imagine anything more beautiful, more 
 noble, than what such a person as Mrs Dunlop 
 might at this period be supposed to contemplate 
 as the probable tenor of his future life. What 
 fame can bring of happiness he had already tasted : 
 he had, overleaped, by the force of his genius, all 
 the painful barriers of society ; and there was pro- 
 bably not a man in Scotland who would not have 
 thought himself honoured by seeing Burns under 
 his roof. He had it in his own power to place 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 189 
 
 Ms poetical reputation on a level with the very- 
 highest names, by proceeding in the same course 
 of study and exertion which had originally raised 
 him into public notice and admiration. Surround- 
 ed by an affectionate family, occupied but not en- 
 grossed by the agricultural labours in which his 
 youth and early manhood had delighted, com- 
 muning with nature in one of the loveliest districts 
 of his native land, and, from time to time, pro- 
 ducing to the world some immortal addition to 
 his verse, — thus advancing in years and in fame, 
 with what respect would not Burns have been 
 thought of ; how venerable in the eyes of his con- 
 temporaries — how hallowed in those of after ge- 
 nerations, would have been the roof of Elliesland, 
 the field on which he " bound every day after his 
 reapers," the solemn river by which he delighted 
 to wander ! The plain of Bannockburn would 
 hardly have been holier ground. 
 
 The " golden days" of Elliesland, as Dr Currie 
 justly calls them, were not destined to be many. 
 Burns's farming speculations once more failed ; 
 and he himself seems to have been aware that 
 such was likely to be the case ere he had given 
 the business many months' trial ; for, ere the au- 
 tumn of 1788 was over, he applied to his patron, 
 JVIr Graham of Fintray, for actual employment 
 as an exciseman, and was accordingly appointed 
 to do duty, in that capacity, in the district where 
 his lands were situated. His income, as a revenue 
 officer, was at first only L.35 ; it by and by rose 
 to L.50 ; and sometimes was L.70. 
 
 These pounds w T ere hardly earned, since the 
 duties of his new calling necessarily withdrew him 
 yery often from the farm, which needed his ut- 
 most attention, and exposed him, which was still 
 Q2 
 
190 LIFE OF 
 
 worse, to innumerable temptations of the kind he 
 was least likely to resist, 
 
 I have now the satisfaction of presenting the 
 reader with some particulars of this part of Burns's 
 history, derived from a source which every lover 
 of Scotland and Scottish poetry must be prepared 
 to hear mentioned with respect. It happened that 
 at the time when our poet went to Nithsdale, the 
 father of Mr Allan Cunningham was steward on the 
 estate of Dalswinton: he was, as all who have 
 read the writings of his sons will readily believe, 
 a man of remarkable talents and attainments : he 
 was a wise and good man ; a devout admirer of 
 Burns ? s genius ; and one of those sober neighbours 
 who in vain strove, by advice and warning, to ar- 
 rest the poet in the downhill path, towards which 
 a thousand seductions were perpetually drawing 
 him. Mr Allan Cunningham was, of course, aU 
 most a child when he first saw Burns ; but he 
 was no common child ; and, besides, in what he 
 has to say on this subject, we may be sure we are 
 hearing the substance of his benevolent and saga- 
 cious father's observations and reflections. His 
 own boyish recollections of the poet's personal 
 appearance and demeanour will, however, be read 
 with interest. 
 
 " I was very young," says Allan Cunningham, 
 v when I first saw Burns. He came to see my 
 father; and their conversation turned partly on 
 farming, partly on poetry, in both of which my 
 father had taste and skill. Burns had just come 
 to Nithsdale ; and I think he appeared a shade 
 more swarthy than he does in Nasmyth's picture, 
 and at least ten years older than he really was at 
 the time. His face was deeply marked by thought, 
 and the habitual expression intensely melancholy. 
 His frame was very muscular and well propor- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 191 
 
 tioned, though he had a short neck, and something 
 of a ploughman's stoop : he was strong, and proud 
 of his strength. I saw him one evening match 
 himself with a number of masons ; and out of five- 
 and-twenty practised hands, the most vigorous 
 young men in the parish, there was only one that 
 could lift the same weight as Burns. 
 
 " He had a very manly face, and a very melan- 
 choly look ; but on the coming of those he esteem- 
 ed, his looks brightened up, and his whole face 
 beamed with affection and genius. His voice was 
 very musical. I once heard him read Tarn 6 
 Shanter. I think I hear him now. His fine man- 
 ly voice followed all the undulations of the sense, 
 and expressed as well as his genius had done, the 
 pathos and humour, the horrible and the awful, of 
 that wonderful performance. As a man feels, so 
 will he write ; and in proportion as he sympathizes 
 with his author, so will he read him with grace and 
 effect. 
 
 " I said that Burns and my father conversed 
 about poetry and farming. The poet had newly 
 taken possession of his farm of Elliesland, — the ma- 
 sons were busy building his house, — the applause 
 of the world was with him, and a little of its mo- 
 ney in his pocket, — in short, he had found a rest- 
 ing-place at last. He spoke with great delight 
 about the excellence of his farm, and particularly 
 about the beauty of the situation. « Yes,' my fa- 
 ther said, ' the walks on the river bank are fine, 
 and you will see from your windows some miles of 
 the Nith ; but you will also see several farms of fine 
 rich holm* any one of which you might have had. 
 You have made a poet's choice, rather than a farm- 
 er's.' 
 
 * Holm is flat, rich meadow land, intervening between a 
 stream and the general elevation of the adjoining country. 
 
192 LIFE OF 
 
 " If Burns had much of a farmer's skill, he had 
 little of a farmer's prudence and economy. I once 
 inquired of James Corrie, a sagacious old farmer, 
 whose ground marched with Elliesland, the cause of 
 the poet's failure. e Faith,' said he, i how could 
 he miss but fail, when his servants ate the bread 
 as fast as it was baked ? I don't mean figuratively, 
 I mean literally. Consider a little. At that time 
 close economy was necessary to have enabled a 
 man to clear twenty pounds a-year by Elliesland. 
 Now, Bums's own handy work was out of the 
 question : he neither ploughed, nor sowed, nor 
 reaped, at least like a hard-working farmer ; and 
 then he had a bevy of servants from Ayrshire. 
 The lasses did nothing but bake bread, and the lads 
 sat by the fireside, and ate it warm with ale. 
 Waste of time and consumption of food would 
 soon reach to twenty pounds a-year.' " 
 
 6( The truth of the case," says Mr Cunning- 
 ham, in another letter with which he has favoured 
 me, " the truth is, that if Robert Burns liked his 
 farm, it was more for the beauty of the situation 
 than for the labours which it demanded. He was 
 too wayward to attend to the stated duties of a 
 husbandman, and too impatient to wait till the 
 ground returned in gain the cultivation he bestow- 
 ed upon it. 
 
 " The condition of a farmer, a Nithsdale one, I 
 mean, was then very humble. His one-story 
 house had a covering of straw, and a clay floor ; 
 the furniture was from the hands of a country car- 
 penter,; and, between the roof and floor, there 
 seldom intervened a smoother ceiling than of 
 rough rods and grassy turf — while a huge lang- 
 settle of black oak for himself, and a carved arm- 
 chair for his wife, were the only matters out of 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 193 
 
 keeping with the homely looks of his residence. 
 He took all his meals in his own kitchen, and pre- 
 sided regularly among his children and domestics. 
 He performed family worship every evening— 
 except during the hurry of harvest, when that duty 
 was perhaps limited to Saturday night. A few re- 
 ligious books, two or three favourite poets, the 
 history of his country, and his Bible, aided him in 
 forming the minds and manners of the family. 
 To domestic education, Scotland owes as much 
 as to the care of her clergy, and the excellence of 
 her parish schools. 
 
 " The picture out of doors was less interesting. 
 The ground from which the farmer sought support, 
 was generally in a very moderate state of cultiva- 
 tion. The implements with which he tilled his 
 land were primitive and clumsy, and his own 
 knowledge of the management of crops exceed- 
 ingly limited. He plodded on in the regular sloth- 
 ful routine of bis ancestors ; he rooted out no 
 bushes, he dug up no stones ; he drained not, nei- 
 ther did he enclose ; and weeds obtained their 
 full share of the dung and the lime, which he be- 
 stowed more like a medicine than a meal on his 
 soil. His plough was the rude old Scotch one ; 
 his harrows had as often teeth of wood as of iron ; 
 his carts were heavy and low-wheeled, or were, 
 more properly speaking, tumbler- cars, so called to 
 distinguish them from trail-cars, both of which 
 were in common use. On these rude carriages 
 his manure was taken to the field, and his crop 
 brought home. The farmer himself corresponded 
 in all respects with his imperfect instruments. 
 His poverty secured him from risking costly ex- 
 periments ; and his hatred of innovation made him 
 entrench himself behind a breast-work of old 
 maxims and rustic saws, which he interpreted as 
 
194 LIFE OF 
 
 oracles delivered against improvement. With 
 ground in such condition, with tools so unfit, and 
 with knowledge so imperfect, he sometimes suc- 
 ceeded in wringing a few hundred pounds Scots 
 from the farm he occupied. Such was generally 
 the state of agriculture when Burns came to Niths- 
 dale. I know not how far his own skill was 
 equal to the task of improvement — his trial was 
 short and unfortunate. An important change soon 
 took place, by which he was not fated to profit ; 
 he had not the foresight to see its approach, nor, 
 probably, the fortitude to await its coming. 
 
 " In the year 1790, much of the ground in Niths- 
 dale was leased at seven and ten and fifteen shil- 
 lings per acre ; and the farmer, in his person and 
 his house, differed little from the peasants and 
 mechanics around him. He would have thought 
 his daughter wedded in her degree, had she mar- 
 ried a joiner or a mason ; and at kirk or market, 
 all men beneath the rank of a " portioner" of the 
 soil mingled together, equals in appearance and 
 importance. But the war which soon commenced, 
 gave a decided impulse to agriculture ; the army 
 and navy consumed largely ; corn rose in demand ; 
 the price augmented ; more land was called into 
 cultivation ; and, as leases expired, the proprietors 
 improved the grounds, built better houses, en- 
 larged the rents ; and the farmer was soon borne on 
 the wings of sudden wealth above his original con- 
 dition. His house obtained a slated roof, sash- 
 windows, carpeted floors, plastered walls, and even 
 began to exchange the hanks of yarn with which it 
 was formerly hung, for paintings and pianofortes. 
 Me laid aside his coat of home-made cloth ; he 
 retired from his seat among his servants ; he — I 
 am grieved to mention it — gave up family worship 
 as a thing unfashionable, and became a kind of 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 195 
 
 rustic gentleman, who rode a blood horse, and 
 galloped home on market nights at the peril of 
 his own neck, and to the terror of every modest 
 pedestrian.* His daughters, too, no longer prided 
 themselves in well-bleached linen and home-made 
 webs; they changed their linsey-wolsey gowns 
 for silk ; and so ungracefully did their new state 
 sit upon them, that I have seen their lovers co- 
 ming in iron-shod clogs to their carpeted floors, 
 and two of the proudest young women in the 
 parish skating dung to their father's potatoe-field 
 in silk stockings. 
 
 " When a change like this took place, and a 
 farmer could, with a dozen years' industry, be 
 able to purchase the land he rented — which many 
 were, and many did — the same, or a still more 
 profitable change might have happened with re* 
 spect to Elliesland ; and Burns, had he stuck by 
 his lease and his plough, would, in all human pos- 
 sibility, have found the independence which he 
 sought, and sought in vain, from the coldness and 
 parsimony of mankind." 
 
 Mr Cunningham sums up his reminiscences of 
 Burns at Elliesland in these terms : — 
 
 " During the prosperity of his farm, my father 
 often said that Burns conducted himself wisely, 
 and like one anxious for his name as a man, and 
 his fame as a poet. He went to Dunscore Kirk 
 on Sunday, though he expressed oftener than once 
 his dislike to the stem Calvinism of that strict 
 old divine, Mr Kirkpatrick ; — he assisted in form- 
 ing a reading club ; and at weddings and house- 
 
 * Mr Cunningham's description accords with the lines of 
 Crabbe : 
 
 " Who rides his hunter, who his horse adorns, 
 Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns, 
 Who freely lives, and loves to show he can— 
 This is the farmer made the gentleman." 
 
196 U£E OF 
 
 heatings, and kirns, and other scenes of festivity, 
 he was a welcome guest, universally liked by the 
 young and the old. But the failure of his farming 
 projects, and the limited income with which he 
 was compelled to support an increasing family and 
 an expensive station in life, preyed on his spirits ; 
 and, during these fits of despair, he was willing too 
 often to become the companion of the thoughtless 
 and the gross. I am grieved to say, that besides 
 leaving the book too much for the bowl, and grave 
 and wise friends for lewd and reckless companions, 
 he was also in the occasional practice of composing 
 songs, in which lie surpassed the licentiousness, as 
 well as the wit and humour, of the old Scottish 
 muse. These have unfortunately found their way 
 to the press, and I am afraid they cannot be re- 
 called. 
 
 " In conclusion, I may say, that few men have 
 had so much of the poet about them, and few poets 
 so much of the man ; — the man was probably less 
 pure than he ought to have been, but the poet was 
 pure and bright to the last." 
 
 The reader must be sufficiently prepared to 
 hear, that from the time when he entered on his 
 excise duties, the poet more and more neglected 
 the concerns of his farm. Occasionally, he might 
 be seen holding the plough, an exercise in which 
 he excelled, and was proud of excelling, or stalk* 
 ing down his furrows, with the white sheet of grain 
 wrapt about him, a " tenty seedsman ;" but he was 
 more commonly occupied in far different pursuits. 
 " I am now," says he, in one of his letters, ie a 
 poor rascally gauger, condemned to gallop two 
 hundred miles every week, to inspect dirty ponds 
 and yeasty barrels." 
 
 Both in verse and in prose he has recorded 
 the feelings with whieh he first followed his new 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 197 
 
 vocation. His jests on the subject are uniformly 
 bitter. " I have the same consolation," he tells Mr 
 Ainslie, " which I once heard a recruiting sergeant 
 give to his audience in the streets of Kilmarnock : 
 < Gentlemen, for your further encouragement, I 
 can assure you that ours is the most blackguard 
 corps under the crown, and, consequently, with 
 us an honest fellow has the surest chance of pre- 
 ferment.' " He winds up almost all his statements 
 of his feelings on this matter, in the same strain. 
 
 " I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
 
 They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies. 
 
 Ye ken yoursell, my heart right proud is, 
 1 needna vaunt ; 
 
 But I'll sned besoms — thraw saugh-woodies, 
 Before they want." 
 
 On one occasion, however, he takes a higher 
 tone. " There is a certain stigma," says he to 
 Bishop Geddes, " in the name of Exciseman ; but 
 I do not intend to borrow honour from any pro- 
 fession :" — which may perhaps remind the reader 
 of Gibbon's lofty language, on finally quitting the 
 learned and polished circles of London and Paris, 
 for his Swiss retirement : "I am too modest, or 
 too proud, to rate my value by that of my asso- 
 ciates." 
 
 Burns, in his perpetual perambulations over the 
 moors of Dumfries- shire, had every temptation to 
 encounter, which bodily fatigue, the blandishments 
 of hosts and hostesses, and the habitual manners 
 of those who acted along with him in the duties 
 of the excise, could present. He was, moreover, 
 wherever he went, exposed to perils of his own, 
 by the reputation which he had earned as a poet, 
 and by his extraordinary powers of entertainment 
 in conversation. From the castle to the cottage, 
 every door flew open at his approach ; and the old 
 
 R 
 
198 LIFE OF 
 
 system of hospitality, then flourishing, rendered it 
 difficult for the most soberly inclined guest to rise 
 from any man's board in the same trim that he sat 
 down to it. The farmer, if Burns was seen pass- 
 ing, left his reapers, and trotted by the side of 
 Jenny Geddes, until he could persuade the bard 
 that the day was hot enough to demand an extra- 
 libation. If he entered an inn at midnight, after 
 all the inmates were in bed, the news of his arri- 
 val circulated from the cellar to the garret ; and 
 ere ten minutes had elapsed, the landlord and all 
 his guests were assembled round the ingle ; the 
 largest punchbowl was produced ; and 
 " Be ours this night — who knows what comes to-morrow ?" 
 was the language of every eye in the circle that 
 welcomed him.* The stateliest gentry of the 
 county, whenever they had especial merriment in 
 view, called in the wit and eloquence of Burns to 
 enliven their carousals. The famous song of The 
 Whistle of worth commemorates a scene of this 
 kind, more picturesque in some of its circumstan- 
 ces than every day occurred, yet strictly in cha- 
 racter with the usual tenor of life among this jo- 
 vial squirearchy. Three gentlemen of ancient de- 
 scent, had met to determine, by a solemn drinking 
 match, who should possess the Whistle, which a 
 common ancestor of them all had earned ages be- 
 fore, in a Bacchanalian contest of the same sort 
 with a noble toper from Denmark ; and the poet 
 was summoned to watch over and celebrate the 
 issue of the debate. 
 
 * These particulars are from a letter of David Maccul- 
 loch, Esq., who, being at this period a very young gentle- 
 man, a passionate admirer of Burns, and a capital singer of 
 many of his serious songs, used often, in his enthusiasm, to 
 accompany the poet on his professional excursions. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 199 
 
 " Then up rose the bard like a prophet in drink, 
 Craigdarroch shall soar when creation shall sink ; 
 But if thou would'st flourish immortal in rhime, 
 Come, one bottle more, and have at the sublime." 
 
 Nor, as has already been hinted, was he safe 
 from temptations of this kind, even when he was 
 at home, and most disposed to enjoy in quiet the 
 society of his wife and children. Lion-gazers from 
 all quarters beset him ; they eat and drank at his 
 cost, and often went away to criticise him and his 
 fare, as if they had done Burns and his black 
 bowl* great honour in condescending to be enter- 
 tained for a single evening, with such company 
 and such liquor. 
 
 , We have on record various glimpses of him, as 
 he appeared while he was half-farmer, half-excise- 
 man ; and some of these present him in attitudes 
 and aspects, on which it would be pleasing to 
 dwell. For example, the circumstances under 
 which the verses on The Wounded Hare were 
 written, are mentioned generally by the poet him- 
 self. James Thomson, son of the occupier of a 
 farm adjoining Elliesland, told Allan Cunningham, 
 that it was he who wounded the animal. " Burns," 
 said this person, " was in the custom, when at 
 home, of strolling by himself in the twilight every 
 evening, along the Nitb, and by the march be- 
 tween his land and ours. The hares often came 
 and nibbled our wheat- braird ; and once, in the 
 gloaming,— it was in April, — I got a shot at one, 
 and wounded her : she ran bleeding by Burns, who 
 
 * Burns's famous black punchbowl, of Inverary marble, 
 was the nuptial gift of his father-in-law, Mr Armour, who 
 himself fashioned it. After passing through many hands, 
 it is now in excellent keeping, that of Alexander Hastie, 
 Esq., of London. 
 
200 LIFE OF 
 
 was pacing up and down by himself, not far from 
 me. He started, and with a bitter curse, ordered 
 me out of his sight, or he would throw me in- 
 stantly into the Nith. And had I stayed, I'll war- 
 rant he would have been as good as his word- 
 though I was both young and strong." 
 
 Among other curious travellers who found their 
 way about this time to Elliesland, was Captain 
 Grose, the celebrated antiquarian, whom Burns 
 briefly describes as 
 
 " A fine fat fodgel wight— 
 
 Of stature short, but genius bright ;" 
 
 and who has painted his own portrait, both with 
 pen and pencil, at full length, in his Olio. This 
 gentleman's taste and pursuits are ludicrously set 
 forth in the copy of verses— 
 
 " Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, 
 Frae Maidenkirk to John O'Groats, 
 A chield's amang ye takin' notes ;" &c. 
 
 and, inter alia, his love of port is not forgotten. 
 Grose and Burns had too much in common, not to 
 become great friends. The poet's accurate know- 
 ledge of Scottish phraseology and customs, was of 
 great use to the researches of the humorous antiqua- 
 rian ; and, above all, it is to their acquaintance that 
 we owe Tarn 6 Shanter. Bums told the story as 
 he had heard it in Ayrshire, in a letter to the Cap- 
 tain, and was easily persuaded to versify it. The 
 poem was the work of one day ; and Mrs Burns 
 well remembers the circumstances. He spent 
 most of the day on his favourite walk by the river, 
 where, in the afternoon, she joined him with some 
 of her children. " He was busily engaged croon- 
 ing to himsell, and Mrs Burns perceiving that her 
 presence was an interruption, loitered behind with 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 201 
 
 her little ones among the broom. Her attention 
 was presently attracted by the strange and wild 
 gesticulations of the bard, who, now at some dis- 
 tance, was agonized with an ungovernable access 
 of joy. He was reciting very loud, and with the 
 tears rolling down his cheeks, those animated verses 
 which he had just conceived : — 
 
 1 Now Tarn ! O Tam ! had thae been queans 
 A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; 
 Their sarks, instead of creeshie flannen, 
 Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder * linen,— 
 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
 That ance were plush o' good blue hair, 
 I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, 
 For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !' " -J- 
 
 To the last Burns was of opinion that Tam o' 
 Shanter was the best of all his productions ; and 
 although it does not always happen that poet and 
 public come to the same conclusion on such points, 
 I believe the decision in question has been all but 
 unanimously approved of. 
 
 The admirable execution of the piece, so far as 
 it goes, leaves nothing to wish for ; the only criti- 
 cism has been, that the catastrophe appears un- 
 worthy of the preparation. Burns might have 
 avoided this error, — if error it be, — had he fol- 
 lowed not the Ayrshire, but the Galloway, edition 
 of the legend. According to that tradition, the 
 Cutty- Sark who attracted the special notice of the 
 bold intruder on the Satanic ceremonial, was no 
 
 * " The manufacturer's term for a fine linen, woven on 
 a reed of 1700 divisions." — Cromek. 
 
 T The above is quoted from a MS. journal of Cromek. 
 Mr M'Diarmid confirms the statement, and adds, that the 
 poet, having committed the verses to writing on the top of 
 his sod-dyke over the water, came into the house, and read 
 them immediately in high triumph at the fireside. 
 R 2 
 
202 LIFE OF 
 
 other than the pretty wife of a farmer residing in 
 the same village with himself, and of whose unholy- 
 propensities no suspicion had ever been whisper- 
 ed. The Galloway Tarn being thoroughly sober- 
 ed by terror, crept to his bed the moment he reach- 
 ed home after his escape, and said nothing of what 
 had happened to any of his family. He was awaken- 
 ed in the morning with the astounding intelligence 
 that his horse had been found dead in the stable, 
 and a woman's hand, clotted with blood, adhering 
 to the tail. Presently it was reported, that Cutty- 
 Sark had burnt her hand grievously overnight, 
 and was ill in bed, but obstinately refused to let 
 her wound be examined by the village leech. 
 Hereupon Tam, disentangling the bloody hand 
 from the hair of his defunct favourite's tail, pro- 
 ceeded to the residence of the fair witch, and for- 
 cibly pulling her stump to view, showed his trophy, 
 and narrated the whole circumstances of the ad- 
 venture. The poor victim of the black-art was 
 constrained to confess her guilty practices in pre- 
 sence of the priest and the laird, and was forth- 
 with burnt alive, under their joint auspices, within 
 watermark on the Solway Frith. 
 
 Such, Mr Cunningham informs me, is the ver- 
 sion of this story current in Galloway and Dum- 
 fries-shire : but it may be doubted whether, even 
 if Burns was acquainted with it, he did not choose 
 wisely in adhering to the Ayrshire legend, as he 
 had heard it in his youth. It is seldom that tales 
 of popular superstition are effective in proportion 
 to their completeness of solution and catastrophe. 
 On the contrary, they, like the creed to which they 
 belong, suffer little in a picturesque point of 
 view, by exhibiting a maimed and fragmentary 
 character, that in nowise satisfies strict taste, either 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 203 
 
 critical or moral. Dreams based in darkness, may 
 fitly terminate in a blank : the cloud opens, and 
 the cloud closes. The absence of definite scope 
 and purpose, appears to be of the essence of the 
 mythological grotesque. 
 
 Burns lays the scene of this remarkable perform- 
 ance almost on the spot where he was born ; and 
 all the terrific circumstances by which he has mark- 
 ed the progress of Tarn's midnight journey, are 
 drawn from local tradition. 
 
 " By this time he was cross the ford 
 Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd, 
 And past the birks and meikle stane, 
 Whare drucken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
 And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
 Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
 And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
 Whare Mungo's mither hang'd herselk" 
 
 None of these tragic memoranda were derived 
 from imagination. Nor was Tam o' Shanter him- 
 self an imaginary character. Shanter is a farm 
 close to Kirkoswald's, that smuggling village, in 
 which Burns, when nineteen years old, studied 
 mensuration, and " first became acquainted with 
 scenes of swaggering riot." The then occupier of 
 Shanter, by name Douglas Grahame, was, by all 
 accounts, equally what the Tam of the poet ap- 
 pears, — a jolly, careless, rustic, who took much 
 more interest in the contraband traffic of the coast, 
 than the rotation of crops. Burns knew the man 
 well ; and to his dying day, he, nothing loath, pass- 
 ed among his rural compeers by the name of Tam o' 
 Shanter.* 
 
 A few words will bring us to the close of 
 
 * The above information is derived from Mr R. Cham- 
 bers. 
 
204 LIFE OF X 
 
 Bums's career at Elliesland. Mr Ramsay of Och- 
 tertyre, happening to pass through Nithsdale in 
 1790, met Burns riding rapidly near Closeburn. 
 The poet was obliged to pursue his professional 
 journey, but sent on Mr Ramsay and his fellow- tra- 
 veller to Elliesland, where he joined them as soon 
 as his duty permitted him, saying, as he entered, 
 " I come, to use the words of Shakspeare, stew- 
 ed in haste? Mr Ramsay was " much pleased 
 with his uxor Sabina qualis, and his modest man- 
 sion, so unlike the habitation of ordinary rustics." 
 He told his guests he was preparing to write a 
 drama, which he was to call " Rob M'Quechans 
 Elshin, from a popular story of King Robert the 
 Bruce being defeated on the Carron, when the heel 
 of his boot having loosened in the flight, he ap- 
 plied to one Robert M'Quechan to fix it ; who, to 
 make sure, ran his awl nine inches up the King's 
 heel." The evening was spent delightfully. A 
 gentleman of dry temperament, who looked in ac- 
 cidentally, soon partook the contagion, and sat 
 listening to Burns with the tears running over his 
 cheeks. " Poor Burns I" says Mr Ramsay, " from 
 that time I met him no more." 
 
 The summer after, some English travellers, 
 calling at Elliesland, were told that the poet was 
 walking by the river. They proceeded in search 
 of him, and presently, " on a rock that projected 
 into the stream, they saw a man employed in ang- 
 ling, of a singular appearance. He had a cap made 
 of a fox's skin on his head ; a loose great-coat, 
 fastened round him by a belt, from which depend- 
 ed an' enormous Highland broadsword. (Was 
 he still dreaming of the Bruce ?) It was Burns. 
 He received them with great cordiality, and asked 
 them to share his humble dinner." These travel- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 205 
 
 lers also classed the evening they spent at Ellies- 
 land with the brightest of their lives. 
 
 Towards the close of 1791, the poet, finally- 
 despairing of his farm, determined to give rip his 
 lease, which the kindness of his landlord rendered 
 easy of arrangement ; and procuring an appoint- 
 ment to the Dumfries division, which raised his 
 salary from the revenue to L.70 per annum, re- 
 moved his family to the county town, in which he 
 terminated his days. His conduct as an excise 
 officer had hitherto met with uniform approbation ; 
 and he nourished warm hopes of being promoted, 
 when he had thus avowedly devoted himself al- 
 together to the service. 
 
 He left Elliesland, however, with a heavy heart. 
 The affection of his neighbours was rekindled in 
 all its early fervour by the thoughts of parting 
 with him ; and the roup of his farming-stock and 
 other effects, was, in spite of whisky, a very me- 
 lancholy scene. The competition for his chattels 
 (says Allan Cunningham) was eager, each being 
 anxious to secure a memorandum of Burns's resi- 
 dence among them. 
 
 It is pleasing to know, that among other " titles 
 manifold" to their respect and gratitude, Burns, 
 at the suggestion of Mr Riddel of Friars'- carse, 
 had superintended the formation of a subscription 
 library in the parish. His letters to the booksel- 
 lers on this subject do him much honour : his 
 choice of authors (which business was naturally 
 left to his discretion) being in the highest degree 
 judicious. Such institutions are now common, 
 almost universal, indeed, in the rural districts of 
 southern Scotland ; but it should never be forgot- 
 ten that Burns was among the first, if not the very 
 first, to set the example. " He was so good," says 
 
206 LIFE OF 
 
 Mr Riddel, " as to take the whole management 
 of this concern ; he was treasurer, librarian, and 
 censor, to our little society, who will long have a 
 grateful sense of his public spirit, and exertions for 
 their improvement and information." * 
 
 Once, and only once, did Burns quit his resi- 
 dence at Elliesland to revisit Edinburgh. His ob- 
 ject was to close accounts with Creech ; that bu- 
 siness accomplished, he returned immediately, and 
 he never again saw the capital. He thus writes 
 to Mrs Dunlop :?■*-" To a man who has a home, 
 however humble and remote, if that home is, like 
 mine, the scene of domestic comfort, the bustle of 
 Edinburgh will soon be a business of sickening 
 disgust— 
 
 ' Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate you !* 
 
 li When I must skulk into a comer, lest the ratt- 
 ling equipage of some gaping blockhead should 
 mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim, 
 what merits had he had, or what demerits have I 
 had, in some state of pre- existence, that he is ush- 
 ered into this state of being with the sceptre of 
 rule, and the key of riches in his puny fist, and I 
 kicked into the world, the sport of folly or the 
 
 victim of pride often as I have glided with 
 
 humble stealth through the pomp of Prince's 
 Street, it has suggested itself to me as an improve- 
 ment on the present human figure, that a man, in 
 proportion to his own conceit of his consequence 
 in the world, could have pushed out the longitude 
 of his common size, as a snail pnshes out his 
 horns, or as we draw out a perspective." There 
 is bitterness in this badinage. 
 
 * Letter to Sir John Sinclair, Bart, in the Statistical 
 Account of Scotland, parish of Dunscore. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 207 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " The King's most humble servant, I 
 Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
 
 But I am yours at dinner-time, 
 Or else the devil's in it."* 
 
 The four principal biographers of our poet? 
 Heron, Currie, Walker, and Irving, concur in the 
 general statement, that his moral course from the 
 time when he settled in Dumfries, was down- 
 wards. Heron knew more of the matter personally 
 than any of the others, and his words are these :■ — 
 " In Dumfries his dissipation became still more 
 deeply habitual. He was here exposed more than 
 in the country, to be solicited to share the riot of 
 the dissolute and the idle. Foolish young men, 
 such as writers' apprentices, young surgeons, mer- 
 chants' clerks, and his brother excisemen, flocked 
 eagerly about him, and from time to time pressed 
 him to drink with them, that they might enjoy his 
 wicked wit. The Caledonian Club, too, and the 
 Dumfries and Galloway Hunt, had occasional 
 meetings in Dumfries after Burns came to reside 
 there, and the poet was of course invited to share 
 their hospitality, and hesitated not to accept the 
 invitation. The morals of the town were, in con- 
 sequence of its becoming so much the scene of 
 
 * " The above answer to an invitation was written ex- 
 tempore on a leaf torn from his Excise- book."— .CromeWs 
 MSS. 
 
208 LIFE OF 
 
 public amusement, not a little corrupted, and 
 though a husband and a father, Burns did not 
 escape suffering by the general contamination, in 
 a manner which I forbear to describe. In the in- 
 tervals between his different fits of intemperance, 
 he suffered the keenest anguish of remorse and 
 horribly afflictive foresight. His Jean behaved 
 with a degree of maternal and conjugal tenderness 
 and prudence, which made him feel more bitterly 
 the evils of his misconduct, though they could not 
 reclaim him." 
 
 This picture, dark as it is, wants some distress- 
 ing shades that mingle in the parallel one by Dr 
 Currie ; it wants nothing, however, of which truth 
 demands the insertion. That Burns, dissipated 
 enough long ere he went to Dumfries, became still 
 more dissipated in a town, than he had been in 
 the country, is certain. It may also be true, that 
 his wife had her own particular causes, sometimes, 
 for dissatisfaction. But that Burns ever sunk into 
 a toper — that he ever was addicted to solitary 
 drinking — that his bottle ever interfered with hi3 
 discharge of his duties as an exciseman — or that, 
 in spite of some transitory follies, he ever ceased to 
 be a most affectionate husband — all these charges 
 have been insinuated — and they are all false. 
 His intemperance was, as Heron says, in fits ; 
 his aberrations of all kinds were occasional not 
 systematic; they were all to himself the sources 
 of exquisite misery in the retrospect ; they were 
 the aberrations of a man whose moral sense was 
 never deadened, of one who encountered more 
 temptations from without and from within, than 
 the immense majority of mankind, far from having 
 to contend against, are even able to imagine ; — of one, 
 finally, who prayed for pardon, where alone effec- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 209 
 
 tual pardon could be found ; — and who died ere he 
 had reached that term of life up to which the pas- 
 sions of many, who, their mortal career being re- 
 garded as a whole, are honoured as among the 
 most virtuous of mankind, have proved too strong 
 for the control of reason. We have already seen 
 that the poet was careful of decorum in all things 
 during the brief space of his prosperity at Ellies- 
 land, and that he became less so on many points, 
 as the prospects of his farming speculation darken- 
 ed around him. It seems to be equally certain, that 
 he entertained high hopes of promotion in the ex- 
 cise at the period of his removal to Dumfries ; and 
 that the comparative recklessness of his later con- 
 duct there, was consequent on a certain overcloud- 
 ing of these professional expectations. The case 
 is broadly stated so by Walker and Paul ; and 
 there are hints to the same effect in the narrative 
 of Currie. 
 
 The statement has no doubt been exaggerated, 
 but it has its foundation in truth ; and by the 
 kindness of Mr Train, supervisor at Castle Dou- 
 glas in Galloway, I shall presently be enabled to 
 give some details which may throw light on this 
 business. 
 
 Burns was much patronised when in Edinburgh 
 by the Honourable Henry Erskine, Dean of the 
 Faculty of Advocates, and other leading Whigs of 
 the place— much more so, to their honour be it 
 said, than by any of the influential adherents of the 
 then administration. His landlord at Elliesland, 
 Mr Miller of Dalswinton, his neighbour, Mr 
 Riddel of Friars-Carse, and most of the other 
 gentlemen who showed him special attention, be- 
 longed to the same political party ; and, on his re- 
 moval to Dumfries, it so happened, that some of 
 
210 LIFE OF 
 
 his immediate superiors in the revenue service of 
 the district, and other persons of standing and au- 
 thority, into whose society he was thrown, enter- 
 tained sentiments of the same description. 
 
 Burns, whenever in his letters he talks seriously 
 of political matters, uniformly describes his early 
 jacobitism as mere " matter of fancy." It may, how- 
 ever, be easily believed, that a fancy like his, long 
 indulged in dreams of that sort, was well prepared 
 to pass into certain other dreams which had, as calm 
 men now view the matter, but little in common 
 with them, except that both alike involved some 
 feeling of dissatisfaction with " the existing order 
 of things." Many of the old elements of political 
 disaffection in Scotland, put on a new shape at 
 the outbreaking of the French revolution ; and Ja- 
 cobites became half-jacobins, ere they were at all 
 aware in what the doctrines of jacobinism were to 
 end. The Whigs naturally regarded the first dawn 
 of freedom in France with feelings of sympathy, 
 delight, exultation ; in truth, few good men of any 
 party regarded it with more of fear than of hope. 
 The general, the all but universal tone of feeling 
 was favourable to the first assailants of the Bour- 
 bon despotism ; and there were few who more ar- 
 dently participated in the general sentiment of the 
 day than Burns. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling that took place in this 
 country at large, when wanton atrocities began to 
 stain the course of the French Revolution, and 
 Burke lifted up his powerful voice to denounce its 
 leaders, as, under pretence of love for freedom, the 
 enemies of all social order, morality, and religion, 
 was viblent in proportion to the strength and ardour 
 of the hopes in which good men had been eager to 
 indulge, and cruelly disappointed. The great body 
 
ROBERT BURNS. §11 
 
 of the Whigs, however, were slow to abandon the 
 cause which they had espoused ; and although their 
 chiefs were wise enough to draw back when they 
 at length perceived that serious plans for overturn- 
 ing the political institutions of our own country 
 had been hatched and fostered, under the pretext 
 of admiring and comforting the destroyers of a 
 foreign tyranny — many of their provincial retainers, 
 having uttered their sentiments all along with pro- 
 vincial vehemence and openness, found it no easy 
 matter to retreat gracefully along with them. Scenes 
 more painful at the time, and more so even now 
 in the retrospect, than had for generations afflicted 
 Scotland, were the consequences of the rancour 
 into which party feelings on both sides now rose 
 and fermented. Old and dear ties of friendship 
 were torn in sunder ; society was for a time sha- 
 ken to its centre. In the most extravagant dreams 
 of the Jacobites there had always been much to 
 command respect, high chivalrous devotion, reve- 
 rence for old affections, ancestral loyalty, and the 
 generosity of romance. In the new species of hos- 
 tility, everything seemed mean as well as perilous ; 
 it was scorned even more than hated. The very 
 name stained whatever it came near ; and men 
 that had known and loved each other from boy- 
 hood, stood aloof, if this influence interfered, as if 
 it had been some loathsome pestilence. 
 
 There was a great deal of stately Toryism at 
 this time in the town of Dumfries, which was the 
 favourite winter retreat of many of the best gen- 
 tlemen's families of the south of Scotland. Feel- 
 ings that worked more violently in Edinburgh than 
 in London, acquired additional energy still, in 
 this provincial capital. All men's eyes were upon 
 Burns. He was the standing marvel of the place ; 
 
212 LIFE OF 
 
 his toasts, his jokes, his epigrams, his song9, were 
 the daily food of conversation and scandal ; and 
 he, open and careless, and thinking he did no great 
 harm in saying and singing what many of his su- 
 periors had not the least objection to hear and ap- 
 plaud, soon began to be considered among the lo- 
 cal admirers and disciples of the good old King 
 and his minister, as the most dangerous of all the 
 apostles of sedition, — and to be shunned accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 A gentleman of that county, whose name I have 
 already more than once had occasion to refer to, 
 has often told me, that he was seldom more grie- 
 ved, than when riding into Dumfries one fine sum- 
 mer's evening, about this time, to attend a county- 
 ball, he saw Burns walking alone, on the shady 
 side of the principal street of the town, while the 
 opposite side was gay with successive groups of 
 gentlemen and ladies, all drawn together for the 
 festivities of the night, not one of whom appeared 
 willing to recognise him. The horseman dis- 
 mounted and joined Bums, who, on his proposing 
 to him to cross the street, said, " Nay, nay, my 
 young friend, — that's all over now ;" and quoted, 
 after a pause, some verses of Lady Grizzel Bail- 
 lie's pathetic ballad,— 
 
 " His bonnet stood ance fu' fair on his brow, 
 His auld ane look'd better than mony ane's new ; 
 But now he lets't wear ony way it will hing, 
 And casts himsell dowie upon the corn-bing. 
 
 " O were we young, as we ance hae been, 
 We sud hae been galloping doun on yon green, 
 And linking it ower the lilywhite lea, — 
 And werena my heart light I toad die. 1 * 
 
 It was little in Burns's character to let his feelings 
 on certain subjects, escape in this fashion. He, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 213 
 
 immediately after citing these verses, assumed the 
 sprightliness of his most pleasing manner; and 
 taking his young friend home with him, entertained 
 him very agreeably until the hour of the hall ar- 
 rived, with a bowl of his usual potation, and Bon- 
 nie Jean's singing of some verses which he had re- 
 cently composed. But this incident belongs, pro- 
 bably, to a somewhat later period of our poet's re- 
 sidence in Dumfries. 
 
 The records of the Excise-Office are silent con- 
 cerning the suspicions which the Commissioners 
 of the time certainly took up 'in regard to Burns 
 as a political offender— according to the phraseo- 
 logy of the tempestuous period, a democrat. In 
 that department, as then conducted, I am assured 
 that nothing could have been more unlike the 
 usual course of things, than that one syllable should 
 have been set down in writing on such a subject, 
 unless the case had been one of extremities. That 
 an inquiry was instituted, we know from Burns's 
 own letters — and what the exact termination of 
 the inquiry was, can no longer, it is probable, be 
 ascertained. 
 
 According to the tradition of the neighbourhood, 
 Burns, inter alia, gave great offence by demurring 
 in a large mixed company to the proposed toast, 
 " the health of William Pitt ;" and left the room 
 in indignation, because the society rejected what 
 he wished to substitute^ namely, " the health of a 
 greater and a better man, George Washington." 
 I suppose the warmest admirer of Mr Pitt's talents 
 and politics would hardly venture now-a-days to 
 dissent substantially from Burns's estimate of the 
 comparative merits of these two great men. The 
 name of Washington, at all events, when contem- 
 porary passions shall have finally sunk into the 
 s2 
 
214 LIFE OF 
 
 peace of the grave, will unquestionably have its 
 place in the first rank of heroic virtue, — a station 
 which demands the exhibition of victory pure and 
 unstained over temptations and trials extraordi- 
 nary, in kind as well as strength. But at the time 
 when Burns, being a servant of Mr Pitt's govern- 
 ment, was guilty of this indiscretion, it is obvious 
 that a great deal " more was meant than reached 
 the ear." 
 
 In the poet's own correspondence, we have 
 traces of another occurrence of the same sort. 
 Burns thus writes to a gentleman at whose table 
 he had dined the day before : — " I was, I know, 
 drunk last night, but I am sober this morning. 
 
 From the expressions Captain — made use 
 
 of to me, had I had nobody's welfare to care for 
 but my own, we should certainly have come, ac- 
 cording to the manner of the world, to the neces- 
 sity of murdering one another about the business. 
 The words were such as generally, I believe, end 
 in a brace of pistols : but I am still pleased to think 
 that I did not ruin the peace and welfare of a wife 
 and children in a drunken squabble. Farther, you 
 know that the report of certain political opinions 
 being mine, has already once before brought me to 
 the brink of destruction, I dread lest last night's 
 business may be interpreted in the same way. 
 You, I beg, will take care to prevent it. I tax 
 your wish for Mrs Burns's welfare with the task 
 of waiting on every gentleman who was present 
 to state this to him ; and, as you please, show this 
 letter. What, after all, was the obnoxious toast ? 
 May our success in the present war be equal to the 
 justice" of our cause — a toast that the most outra- 
 geous frenzy of loyalty cannot object to." 
 
 Burns has been commended, sincerely by some, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 215 
 
 and ironically by others, for putting up with the 
 treatment which he received on this occasion, 
 
 without calling Captain to account the next 
 
 morning ; and one critic, the last I am sure that 
 would have wished to say anything unkindly about 
 the poet, has excited indignation in the breast of 
 Mr Peterkin, by suggesting that Burns really had 
 not, at any period of his life, those delicate feel- 
 ings on certain matters, which, it must be admitted, 
 no person in Burns's original rank and station is 
 ever expected to act upon. The question may be 
 safely intrusted to the good sense of all who can 
 look to the case without passion or personal irri- 
 tation. No human being will ever dream that 
 Robert Burns was a coward: as for the poet's 
 toast about the success of the war, there can be 
 no doubt that only one meaning was given to it 
 by all who heard it uttered ; and as little that a 
 gentleman bearing the King's commission in the 
 army, if he was entitled to resent the sentiment 
 at all, lost no part of his right to do so, because it 
 was announced in a quibble. 
 
 Burns, no question, was guilty of unpoliteness 
 as well as indiscretion, in offering any such toasts 
 as these in mixed company; but that such toasts 
 should have been considered as attaching any grave 
 suspicion to his character as a loyal subject, is a 
 circumstance which can only be accounted for by 
 reference to the exaggerated state of political feel- 
 ings on all matters, and among all descriptions of 
 men, at that melancholy period of disaffection, dis- 
 trust, and disunion. Who, at any other than that 
 lamentable time, would ever have dreamed of erect- 
 ing the drinking, or declining to drink, the health 
 of a particular minister, or the approving, or dis- 
 approving, of a particular measure of government, 
 
216 LIFE t)F 
 
 into the test of a man's loyalty to his King ? The 
 poet Crabbe has, in one of his masterly sketches, 
 given us, perhaps, a more vivid delineation of the 
 jarrings and collisions which were at this period 
 the perpetual curse of society than the reader may 
 be able to find elsewhere. He has painted the 
 sturdy Tory mingling accidentally in a company 
 of those who would not, like Burns, drink " the 
 health of William Pitt ;" and suffering sternly and 
 sulkily under the infliction of their, to him, hor- 
 rible doctrines 
 
 - " Now, dinner past, no longer he supprest 
 
 - His strong dislike to be a silent guest ; 
 Subjects and words were now at his command — 
 When disappointment frown'd on all he plann'd. 
 For, hark ! he heard, amazed, on every side, 
 His church insulted, and her priests belied, 
 The laws reviled, the ruling powers abused. 
 The land derided, and her foes excused— 
 
 He heard and ponder'd. What to men so vile 
 Should be his language ? For his threatening style 
 They were too many. If his speech were meek, 
 They would despise such poor attempts to speak — 
 
 - —-There were 'reformers of each different sort, 
 
 , Foes to the laws, the priesthood, and the court ; 
 Some on their favourite plans alone intent, 
 Some purely angry and malevolent ; 
 The rash were proud to blame their country's laws, 
 The vain to seem supporters of a cause ; 
 One cali'd for change that he would dread to see, 
 Another sigh'd for Gallic liberty ; 
 And numbers joining with the forward crew, 
 For no one reason — but that many do — 
 — How, said the Justice, can this trouble rise — 
 This shame and pain, from creatures I despise ?" — 
 
 And he has also presented the champion of 
 loyalty as surrounded with kindred spirits, and 
 amazed with the audacity of an intrusive democrat, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 217 
 
 with whom he has now no more cau3e to keep 
 
 terms than such gentlemen as " Captain ■ " 
 
 were wont to do with Robert Burns. 
 
 " Is it not known, agreed, confirm'd, confest, 
 
 That of all peoples we are govern'd best ? 
 
 — And live there those in such all-glorious state, 
 
 Traitors protected in the land they hate, 
 
 Rebels still warring with the laws that give 
 
 To them subsistence ? — Yes, such wretches live ! 
 
 The laws that nursed them they blaspheme ; the laws— 
 
 Their Sovereign's glory — and their country's cause ;— 
 
 And who their mouth, their master fiend ; and who 
 
 Rebellion's oracle ? — You, caitiff, you ! 
 
 — -O could our country from her coasts expel 
 
 Such foes, and nourish those that wish her well ! 
 
 This her mild laws forbid, but we may still 
 
 From us eject them by our sovereign will—?. 
 
 This let us do 
 
 He spoke, and, seated with his former air, 
 Look'd his full self, and fill'd his ample chair ; 
 Took one full bumper to each favourite cause, 
 And dwelt all night on politics and laws, 
 With high applauding voice which gain'd him high ap- 
 plause.'* 
 
 Bums, eager of temper, loud of tone, and with 
 declamation and sarcasm equally at command, was, 
 we may easily believe, the most hated of human 
 beings, because the most dreaded, among the pro- 
 vincial champions of the administration of which he 
 thought fit to disapprove. But that he ever, in his 
 most ardent moods, upheld the principles of those 
 whose applause of the French Revolution was but 
 the mask of revolutionary designs at home, after 
 these principles had been really developed by those 
 that maintained them, and understood by him, it 
 may be safely denied. There is not, in all his cor- 
 respondence, one syllable to give countenance to 
 such a Charge. 
 
£18 LIFE OF 
 
 His indiscretion, however, did not always con- 
 fine- itself to words ; and though an incident now 
 about to be recorded, belongs to the year 1792, 
 before the French war broke out, there is reason 
 to believe: that it formed the main subject of the 
 inquiry which the Excise Commissioners thought 
 themselves called upon to institute touching the 
 politics of our poet. 
 
 At that period a great deal of contraband traffic, 
 chiefly from the Isle of Man, was going on along the 
 colists of Galloway and Ayrshire, and the whole 
 of the revenue officers from Gretna to Dumfries, 
 were placed under the orders of a superintendent 
 residing in Annan, who exerted himself zealously 
 in intercepting the descent of the smuggling ves- 
 sels. On the 27th of February, a suspicious-look- 
 ing brig was discovered in the Sol way Frith, and 
 Bums was one of the party whom the superintend- 
 ent conducted to watch her motions. She got into 
 shallow water the day afterwards, and the officers 
 were enabled to discover that her crew were nu- 
 merous, armed, and not likely to yield without a 
 struggle. Lewars," a brother exciseman, an inti- 
 mate friend of our poet, was accordingly sent to 
 Dumfries for a guard of dragoons ; the superin- 
 tendent, Mr Crawford, proceeded himself on a si- 
 milar errand to Ecclefechan, and Burns was left 
 with some men under his orders, to watch the brig, 
 and prevent landing or escape. From the private 
 journal of one of the excisemen, (now in my hands,) 
 it appears that Bums manifested considerable im- 
 -patience while thus occupied, being left for many 
 hours in a wet salt-marsh, with a force which he 
 knew to be inadequate for the purpose it was 
 meant to fulfil. One of his comrades hearing him 
 abuse bis friend Lewars in particular, for being 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 219 
 
 slow about his journey, the man answered, that 
 he also wished the devil had him for his pains, 
 and that Bums, in the meantime, would do well 
 to indite a song upon the sluggard : Burns said 
 nothing ; but after taking a few strides by himself 
 among the reeds and shingle, rejoined his party, 
 and chanted to them the well-knoWn ditty, The 
 DeiVs run aivd tvi the Exciseman.* Lewam 
 arrived shortly afterwards with his dragoons ; and 
 Burns, putting himself at their head, waded, sword 
 in hand, to the brig, and was the first to board 
 her, The crew lost heart, and submitted, though 
 their numbers were greater than those of the as- 
 sailing force. The vessel was condemned, and, 
 with all her arms and stores, sold by auction next 
 day at Dumfries : upon which occasion, Burns, 
 whose behaviour had been highly commended, 
 thought fit to purchase four carronades, by way of 
 trophy. But his glee went a step farther; — he 
 sent the guns, with a letter, to the French Con- 
 vention, requesting that body to accept of them as 
 a mark of his admiration and respect. The pre- 
 sent, and its accompaniment, were intercepted at 
 the custom-house at Dover ; and here, there ap- 
 pears to be little room to doubt, was the principal 
 circumstance that drew on Burns the notice of his 
 jealous superiors. 
 
 We were not, it is true, at war with France ; 
 but every one knew and felt that we were to be 
 so ere long ; and nobody can pretend that Burns 
 was not guilty, on this occasion, of a most ab- 
 surd and presumptuous breach of decorum. 
 
 * The account in the Reliques of this song being com-' 
 posed for " a festive meeting of all the Excise-officers, in 
 Scotland," is therefore incorrect. Mr Train, moreover, as- 
 sures me, that there never was any such meeting-. 
 1 
 
220 LIFE OF 
 
 When he learned the impression that had been 
 created by his conduct, and its probable conse- 
 quences, he wrote to his patron, Mr Graham of 
 Fintray, the following letter : — 
 
 " December 1792. 
 " Sir, I have been surprised, confounded, and 
 distracted by Mr Mitchell, the collector, telling me 
 that he has received an order from your board to 
 inquire into my political conduct, and blaming me 
 as a person disaffected to government. Sir, you 
 are a husband and a father. You know what you 
 would feel to see the much-loved wife of your bo- 
 som, and your helpless, prattling little ones turned 
 adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced, from 
 a situation in which they had been respectable and 
 respected, and left almost without the necessary 
 support of a miserable existence. Alas ! sir, 
 must I think that such soon will be my lot ? and 
 from the damned dark insinuations of hellish, 
 groundless envy too ? I believe, sir, I may aver it, 
 and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not tell 
 a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse 
 horrors, if worse can be, than those I have men- 
 tioned, hung over my head. And I say that the 
 allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie. 
 To the British Constitution, on revolution princi- 
 ples, next, after my God, I am most devoutly at- 
 tached. You, sir, have been much and generously 
 my friend. Heaven knows how warmly I have 
 felt the obligation, and how gratefully I have 
 thanked you. Fortune, sir, has made you power- 
 ful, and me impotent ; has given you patronage, 
 and me dependence. I would not, for my single 
 self, call on your humanity : were such my insular, 
 unconnected situation, I would disperse the tear 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 221 
 
 that row swells in my eye ; I could brave mis- 
 fortune ; I could face ruin ; at the worst, ' death's 
 thousand doors stand open.' But, good God ! the 
 tender concerns that I have mentioned, the claims 
 and ties that I see at this moment, and feel around 
 me, how they unnerve courage and wither resolu- 
 tion ! To your patronage, as a man of some ge- 
 nius, you have allowed me a claim ; and your es- 
 teem, as an honest man, I know is my due. To 
 these, sir, permit me to appeal. By these may I 
 adjure you to save me_from that misery which 
 threatens to overwhelm me ; and which, with my 
 latest breath I will say, I have not deserved !" 
 
 On the 2d of January, (a week or two after- 
 wards) we find him writing to Mrs Dunlop in these 
 terms : — (The good lady had been offering him 
 some interest with the Excise board in the view of 
 promotion.) " Mr C. can be of little service to me 
 at present ; at least, I should be shy of applying. 
 I cannot probably be settled as a supervisor for se- 
 veral years. I must wait the rotation of lists, &c. 
 Besides, some envious malicious devil has raised 
 a little demur on my political principles, and I 
 wish to let that matter settle before I offer myself 
 too much in the eye of my superiors. I have set 
 henceforth a seal on my lips, as to these unlucky 
 politics ; but to you I must breathe my sentiments. 
 In this, as in everything else, I shall show the 
 undisguised emotions of my soul. War, I depre- 
 cate : misery and ruin to thousands are in the 
 blast that announces the destructive demon. 
 But " 
 
 « The remainder of this letter," says Cromelc, 
 " has been torn away by some barbarous hand.'' 
 I can have no doubt that it was torn away by one 
 T 
 
222 LIFE OF 
 
 of the kindest bands in the world — that of Mrs 
 Dunlop herself. 
 
 The exact result of the Excise Board's investi- 
 gation is hidden, as has been said above, in obscu- 
 rity ; nor is it at all likely that the cloud will be 
 withdrawn hereafter. A general impression, how- 
 ever, appears to have gone forth, that the affair 
 terminated in something which Burns himself con* 
 sidered as tantamount to the destruction of all 
 hope of future promotion in his profession ; and it 
 has been insinuated by almost every one of his 
 biographers, that the crushing of these hopes ope- 
 rated unhappily, even fatally, on the tone of his 
 mind, and, in consequence, on the habits of his life. 
 In a word, the early death of Burns has been (by 
 implication at least) ascribed mainly to the circum- 
 stances in question. Even Sir Walter Scott has dis- 
 tinctly intimated his acquiescence in this prevalent 
 notion. " The political predilections," says he, "for 
 they could hardly be termed principles, of Burns, 
 were entirely determined by his feelings. At his 
 first appearance, he felt, or affected, a propensity 
 to Jacobitism. Indeed, a youth of his warm imagi- 
 nation in Scotland thirty years ago,* could hardly 
 escape this bias. The side of Charles Edward 
 was that, not surely of sound sense and sober rea- 
 son, but of romantic gallantry and high achieve- 
 ment. The inadequacy of the means by which 
 that prince attempted to regain the crown forfeit- 
 ed by his fathers, the strange and almost poetical 
 adventures which he underwent, — the Scottish mar- 
 tial character, honoured in his victories, and de- 
 graded and crushed in his defeat, — the tales of the 
 veterans who had followed his adventurous stand- 
 
 * Quarterly Review for February 1809. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 223 
 
 ard, were all calculated to impress upon the mind 
 of a poet a warm interest in the cause of the House 
 of Stuart. Yet the impression was not of a very 
 serious cast ; for Burns himself acknowledges in 
 one of his letters, ( Reliques, p. 240,) that \ to tell 
 the matter of fact, except when my passions were 
 heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism 
 was merely by way of vive la bagatelle! The same 
 enthusiastic ardour of disposition swayed Burns in 
 his choice of political tenets, when the country 
 was agitated by revolutionary principles. That the 
 poet should have chosen the side on which high 
 talents were most likely to procure celebrity ; that 
 he to whom the fastidious distinctions of society 
 were always odious, should have listened with com- 
 placence to the voice of French philosophy, which 
 denounced them as usurpations on the rights of 
 man, was precisely the thing to be expected. Yet 
 we cannot but think, that if his superiors in the 
 Excise department had tried the experiment of 
 soothing rather than irritating his feelings, they 
 might have spared themselves the disgrace of ren- 
 dering desperate the possessor of such uncommon 
 talents. For it is but too certain, that from the 
 moment his hopes of promotion were utterly 
 blasted, his tendency to dissipation hurried him 
 precipitately into those excesses which shortened 
 his life. We doubt not, that in that awful period 
 of national discord, he had done and said enough 
 to deter, in ordinary cases, the servants of govern- 
 ment from countenancing an avowed partizan of 
 faction. But this partizan was Burns ! Surely the 
 experiment of lenity might have been tried, and 
 perhaps successfully. The conduct of Mr Graham 
 of Fintray, our poet's only shield against actual 
 
224 LIFE OF 
 
 dismission and consequent ruin, reflects the high- 
 est credit on that gentleman." 
 
 In the general strain of sentiment in this pass- 
 age, who can refuse to concur ? but I am bound 
 to say, that after a careful examination of all the 
 documents, printed and MS., to which I have had 
 access, I have great doubts as to some of the prin- 
 cipal facts assumed in the eloquent statement. I have 
 before me, for example, a letter of Mr Findlater, 
 formerly Collector at Glasgow, who was, at the pe- 
 riod in question, Burns's immediate superior in 
 the Dumfries district, in which that veryrespectable 
 person distinctly says : — fC I may venture to as- 
 sert, that when Burns was accused of a leaning to 
 democracy, and an inquiry into his conduct took 
 place, lie was subjected, in consequence thereof, 
 to no more than perhaps a verbal or private cau- 
 tion to be more circumspect in future. Neither do 
 I believe his promotion was thereby affected, as 
 has been stated. That, had he lived, would, I have 
 "every reason to think, have gone on in the usual 
 routine. His good and steady friend Mr Graham 
 would have attended to this. What cause, there- 
 fore, was there for depression of spirits on this ac- 
 count ? or how should he have been hurried there- 
 by to a premature grave ? I never saw his spirit 
 fail till he was borne down by the pressure of dis- 
 ease and bodily weakness ; and even then it would 
 occasionally revive, and like an expiring lamp, 
 emit bright flashes to the last."* 
 
 When the war had fairly broken out, a bat- 
 talion of volunteers was formed in Dumfries, and 
 Burns was an original member of the corps. It is 
 very true that his accession was objected to by 
 
 * Letter to Donald Home, Esq. W. S. Edinburgh. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 225 
 
 some of his neighbours ; but these were over-ruled 
 by the gentlemen who took the lead in the bu- 
 siness, and the poet soon became, as might have 
 been expected, the greatest possible favourite with 
 his brothers in arms. His commanding officer, 
 Colonel De Peyster, attests his zealous discharge 
 of his duties as a member of the corps ; and their 
 attachment to him was on the increase to the 
 last. He was their laureate, and in that capacity 
 did more good service to the government of the 
 country, at a crisis of the darkest alarm and dan- 
 ger, thau perhaps any one person of his rank and 
 station, with the exception of Dibdin, had the 
 power or the inclination to render. " Burns," 
 says Allan Cunningham, " was a zealous lover of 
 his country, and has stamped his patriotic feelings 
 in many a lasting verse. . . . His poor and honest 
 Sodger laid hold at once on the public feeling, and 
 it was everywhere sung with an enthusiasm which 
 only began to abate when Campbell's Exile of 
 Erin&Tid Wounded Hussar were published. Dum- 
 fries, which sent so many of her sons to the wars, 
 rung with it from port to port ; and the poet, 
 wherever he went, heard it echoing from house 
 and hall. I wish this exquisite and useful song, 
 with Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, — the Song 
 of Death, and Does haughty Gaul Invasion 
 Threat — all lyrics which enforce a love of coun- 
 try, and a martial enthusiasm into men's breasts, 
 had obtained some reward for the poet. His 
 perishable conversation was remembered by the 
 rich to his prejudice — his imperishable lyrics were 
 rewarded only by the admiration and tears of his 
 fellow peasants." 
 
 Lastly, whatever the rebuke of the Excise Board 
 amounted to — (Mr James Grav, at that time 
 t 2 
 
226 LIFE OF 
 
 schoolmaster in Dumfries, and seeing much of 
 Burns both as the teacher of his children, and as 
 a personal friend and associate of literary taste and 
 talent, is the only person who gives anything like 
 an exact statement ; and according to him, Burns 
 was admonished " that it was his business to act, 
 not to think") — in whatever language the censure 
 was clothed, the Excise Board did nothing from 
 which Burns had any cause to suppose that his 
 hopes of ultimate promotion were extinguished. 
 Nay, if he had taken up such a notion, rightly or 
 erroneously, Mr Findlater, who had him constantly 
 under his eye, and who enjoyed all his confidence, 
 and who enjoyed then, as he still enjoys, the ut- 
 most confidence of the Board, must have known 
 the fact to be so. Such, I cannot help thinking, 
 is the fair view of the case : at all events, we 
 know that Burns, the year before he died, was 
 permitted to act as a Supervisor ; a thing not 
 likely to have occurred had there been any resolu- 
 tion against promoting him in his proper order to 
 a permanent situation of that superior rank. 
 
 On the whole, then, I am of opinion that the 
 Excise Board have been dealt with harshly, when 
 men of eminence have talked of their conduct to 
 Burns as affixing disgrace to them. It appears 
 that Burns, being guilty unquestionably of great 
 indiscretion and indecorum both of word and deed, 
 was admonished in a private manner, that at such 
 a period of national distraction, it behoved a pub- 
 lic officer, gifted with talents and necessarily with 
 influence like his, very carefully to abstain from 
 conduct which, now that passions have had time 
 to cool, no sane man will say became his situation ; 
 that Burns's subsequent conduct effaced the un- 
 favourable impression created in the minds of his 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 227 
 
 superiors ; and that he had begun to taste the 
 fruits of their recovered approbation and confidence, 
 ere his career was closed by illness and death. 
 These Commissioners of Excise were themselves 
 subordinate officers of the government, and strictly 
 responsible for those under them. That they did 
 try the experiment of lenity to a certain extent, ap- 
 pears to be made out ; that they could have been 
 justified in trying it to a farther extent, is at the 
 least doubtful. But with regard to the government 
 of the country itself, I must say I think it is much 
 more difficult to defend them. Mr Pitt's ministry 
 gave Dibdin a pension of L.200 a-year for writing 
 his Sea Songs ;* and one cannot help remember- 
 ing, that when Burns did begin to excite the ar- 
 dour and patriotism of his countrymen by such 
 songs as Mr Cunningham has been alluding to, 
 there were persons who had every opportunity of 
 representing to the Premier the claims of a greater 
 than Dibdin. Lenity, indulgence, to whatever 
 length carried in such quarters as these, would 
 have been at once safe and graceful. What the 
 minor politicians of the day thought of Burns's 
 poetry I know not ; but Mr Pitt himself appre- 
 ciated it as highly as any man. " I can think of 
 no verse," said the great Minister, when Burns 
 was no more — " I can think of no verse since 
 Shakspeare's, that has so much the appearance of 
 coming sweetly from nature." f 
 
 * By the way, Mr Fox's ministry gained no credit by 
 diminishing Dibdin's pension during their brief sway, by 
 one-half. 
 
 •f- I am assured that Mr Pitt used these words at the 
 table of the late Lord Liverpool, soon after Burns's death. 
 How that event might come to be a natural topic at that 
 table, will be seen in the sequel. 
 
228 LIFE OF 
 
 Had Burns put forth some newspaper squibs 
 upon Lepaux or Carnot, or a smart pamphlet " On 
 the State of the Country," he might have been 
 more attended to in his lifetime. It is common 
 to say, " what is everybody's business is nobody's 
 business ;" but one may be pardoned for thinking 
 that in such cases as this, that which the gene- 
 ral voice of the country does admit to be every- 
 body's business, comes in fact to be the business of 
 those whom the nation intrusts with national con- 
 cerns. 
 
 To return to Sir Walter Scott's reviewal — it 
 seems that he has somewhat overstated the politi- 
 cal indiscretions of which Burns was actually guil- 
 ty. Let us hear the counter-statement of Mr Gray, 
 who, as has already been mentioned, enjoyed 
 Burns's intimacy and confidence during his resi- 
 dence at Dumfries. — No one who knows anything 
 of that excellent man, will for a moment suspect 
 him of giving any other than what he believes to 
 be true. 
 
 " Burns (says he) was enthusiastically fond of 
 liberty, and a lover of the popular part of our con- 
 stitution ; but he saw and admired the just and de- 
 licate proportions of the political fabric, and no- 
 thing could be farther from his aim than to level 
 with the dust the venerable pile reared by the la- 
 bours and the wisdom of ages. That provision of 
 the constitution, however, by which it is made to 
 contain a self-correcting principle, obtained no in- 
 considerable share of his admiration : he was, 
 therefore, a zealous advocate of constitutional re- 
 form. .The necessity of this he often supported in 
 conversation with all the energy of an irresistible 
 eloquence ; but there is no evidence that he ever 
 went farther. He was a member of no political 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 229 
 
 club. At the time when, in certain societies, the 
 mad cry of revolution was raised from one end of 
 the kingdom to the other, his voice was never heard 
 in their debates, nor did he ever support their 
 opinions in writing*, or correspond with them in 
 any form whatever. Though limited to an income 
 which any other man would have considered po- 
 verty, he refused L.50 a- year offered to him for a 
 weekly article, by the proprietors of an opposition 
 paper ; and two reasons, equally honourable to him, 
 induced him to reject this proposal. His indepen- 
 dent spirit spurned the idea of becoming the hire- 
 ling of a party ; and whatever may have been his 
 opinion of the men and measures that then pre- 
 vailed, he did not think it right to fetter the ope- 
 rations of that government by which he was em- 
 ployed." 
 
 In strong confirmation of the first part of this 
 statement by Mr Gray,* we have the following ex- 
 tract from the poet's own private diary, never, in 
 all human probability, designed to meet the public 
 eye. — " Whatever might be my sentiments of re- 
 publics, ancient or modern, I ever abjured the idea 
 of such changes here. A constitution which, in 
 its original principles, experience has proved to be 
 every way fitted for our happiness, it would be in- 
 sanity to abandon for an untried visionary theory." 
 This surely is not the language of one of those who 
 then said and sung broadly and boldly 
 
 " Of old things all are over old ; 
 Of good things none are good enough ; 
 We'll show that we can help to frame 
 A world of other stuff." 
 
 * Mr Gray removed from the school of Dumfries to the 
 High School of Edinburgh, in which eminent seminary he 
 for many years laboured with distinguished success. Ke 
 
230 LIFE OF 
 
 As to the delicate and intricate question of Parlia- 
 mentary Reform — it is to be remembered that Mr 
 Pitt advocated that measure at the outset of his 
 career, and never abandoned the principle, although 
 the events of his time were too well fitted to con- 
 vince him of the inexpediency of making any far- 
 ther attempts at carrying it into practice ; and it is 
 also to be considered that Burns, in his humble 
 and remote situation, was much more likely to seize 
 right principles, than to judge of the safety or expe- 
 diency of carrying them into effect. 
 
 The statement about the newspaper, refers to 
 Mr Perry of the Morning Chronicle, who, at the 
 suggestion of Mr Miller of Dalswinton, made the 
 proposal referred to, and received for answer a 
 letter which may be seen in the General Corres- 
 pondence of our poet, and the tenor of which is 
 in accordance with what Mr Gray has said. Mr 
 Perry afterwards pressed Burns to settle in Lon- 
 don as a regular writer for his paper, and the poet 
 declined to do so, alleging that, however small, 
 his Excise appointment was a certainty, which, in 
 justice to his family, he could not think of abandon- 
 ing.* 
 
 In conclusion, Burns's abstinence from the po- 
 litical clubs, and affiliated societies of that disas- 
 trous period, is a circumstance, the importance of 
 which will be appreciated by all who know any- 
 thing of the machinery by which the real revolu- 
 tionists of the sera designed, and endeavoured, to 
 carry their purposes into execution. 
 
 Burns, after the Excise inquiry, took care, no 
 
 then became Professor of Latin in the Institution at Belfast, 
 and is now in holy orders, and a chaplain of the East India 
 Company in the presidency of Madras. 
 
 * This is stated on the authority of Major Miller. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 231 
 
 doubt, to avoid similar scrapes ; but he had no re- 
 luctance to meddle largely and zealously in the 
 squabbles of county politics and contested elections; 
 and thus, by merely espousing, on all occasions, the 
 cause of the Whig candidates, kept up very effec- 
 tually the spleen which the Tories had originally 
 conceived on tolerably legitimate grounds. Of his 
 political verses, written at Dumfries, hardly any 
 specimens have as yet appeared in print ; it would 
 be easy to give many of them, but perhaps some of 
 the persons lashed and ridiculed are still alive— 
 their children certainly are so. 
 
 One of the most celebrated of these effusions, 
 and one of the most quotable, was written on a 
 desperately contested election for the Dumfries 
 district of boroughs, between Sir James Johnstone 
 of Westerhall, and Mr Miller, the younger, of Dal- 
 swinton ; Burns, of course, maintaining the cause 
 of his patron's family. There is much humour in 
 
 The Five Carlines. 
 
 1. There were five carlines in the south, they fell upon a 
 
 scheme, 
 To send a lad to Lunnun town to bring them tidings hame, 
 Nor only bring them tidings hame, but do their errands 
 
 there, 
 And aiblins gowd and honour baith might be that laddie's 
 
 share. 
 
 2. There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,* a dame wi' 
 
 pride eneugh, 
 And Marjory o' the Monylochs,-|- a carline auld and teugh ; 
 And blinkin Bess o' Annandale, £ that dwelt near Solway- 
 
 side, 
 And whisky Jean that took her gill in Galloway sae wide ; § 
 And black Joan frae Crichton Peel, || o' gipsy kith and kin,— 
 Five wighter carlines war na foun' the south countrie within. 
 
 * Dumfries. tLochmaben. $ Annan, 
 
 § Kirkcudbright. || Sanquhar. 
 
232 LIFE OF 
 
 3. To send a lad to Lunnun town, they met upon a day, 
 And mony a knight and mony a laird their errand fain wad. 
 
 gae, 
 But nae ane could their fancy please ; O ne'er a ane but tway. 
 
 4. The first he was a belted knight,* bred o' a border clan, 
 And he wad gae to Lunnun town, might nae man him 
 
 withstand 
 And he wad do their errands weel, and meikle he wad say, 
 And ilka ane at Lunnun court would bid to him gude day. 
 
 5. The next came in a sodger youth, + and spak wi' modest 
 
 grace, 
 
 And he wad gae to Lunnun toun if sae their pleasure was ; 
 
 He wadna hecht them courtly gifts, nor meikle speech 
 pretend, 
 
 But he wad hecht an honest heart, wad ne'er desert a friend. 
 
 C. Now, wham to choose and wham refuse, at strife thir car- 
 lines fell, 
 
 For some had gentle folks to please, and some wad please 
 themsell. 
 
 7. Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, and she spak 
 
 up wi' pride, 
 And she wad send the sodger youth, whatever might betide ; 
 For the auld guidman o' Lunnun £ court she didna care a 
 
 pin; 
 But she wad send the soger youth to greet his eldest son. § 
 
 8. Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale, and a deadly aith 
 
 she's taen, 
 That she wad vote the border knight, though she should vote 
 
 her lane ; 
 For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair, and fools o' change are 
 
 fain ; 
 But I hae tried the border knight, and I'll try him yet again. 
 
 9. Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel, a carline stoor and 
 
 grim, 
 The auld guidman, and the young guidman, for me may 
 
 sink or swim ; 
 For fools will freat o' right or wrang, while knaves laugh 
 
 them to scorn ; 
 But the sodger's friends hae blawn the best, so he shall bear 
 
 the horn. 
 
 * Sir J. Johnstone, f Major Miller. 
 
 % George III. § The Prince of Wales. 
 
ROBERT BURNS, 233 
 
 L0» Then whisky Jean spak ower her drink, Ye weel ken, 
 
 kimmers a', 
 The auld guidman o' Lunnun court, his back's been at the wa' ; 
 And mony a friend that kiss't his cup, is now a fremit wight, 
 But it's ne'er be said o' whisky Jean — I'll send the border 
 
 knight. 
 
 11. Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, and wrinkled 
 was her brow, 
 
 Her ancient weed was russet gray, her auld Scots bluid was 
 
 true ; 
 There's some great folks set light by me, — I set as light by 
 
 them ; 
 But 1 will sen' to Lunnun toun wham I like best at hame. 
 
 12. Sae how this weighty plea may end, nae mortal wight 
 
 can tell, 
 God grant the King and ilka man may look weel to himsell." 
 
 The above is far the best humoured of these pro- 
 ductions. The election to which it refers was car- 
 ried in Major Miller's favour, but after a severe 
 contest, and at a very heavy expense. 
 
 These political conflicts were not to be mingled 
 in with impunity by the chosen laureate, wit, and 
 orator of the district. He himself, in an unpub- 
 lished piece, speaks of the terror excited by 
 
 " Burns's venom, when 
 
 He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, 
 
 And pours his vengeance in the burning line ;" 
 
 and represents his victims, on one of these elec- 
 tioneering occasions, as leading a choral shout that 
 
 *' He for his heresies in church and state, 
 
 Might richly merit Muir's and Palmer's fate." 
 
 But what rendered him more and more the ob- 
 ject of aversion to one set of people, was sure to 
 connect him more and more strongly with the pas- 
 sions,* and, unfortunately for himself and for us, 
 
 * " Lord Frederick heard of all his youthful zeal, 
 And felt as lords upon a canvass feel ; 
 u 
 
234? LIFE OF 
 
 with the pleasures of the other ; and we have, 
 among many confessions to the same purpose, the 
 following, which I quote as the shortest, in one of 
 the poet's letters from Dumfries to Mrs Dunlop. 
 "lam better, but not quite free of my complaint, 
 (he refers to the palpitation of heart.) You must 
 not think, as you seem to insinuate, that in my way 
 of life, I want exercise. Of that I have enough ; 
 but occasional hard drinking is the devil to me." 
 He knew well what he was doing whenever he 
 mingled in such debaucheries : he had, long ere 
 this, described himself as parting " with a slice of 
 his constitution" every time he was guilty of such 
 excess. 
 
 This brings us back to a subject on which it can 
 give no one pleasure to expatiate. As has been 
 already sufficiently intimated, the statements of 
 Heron and Currie on this head, still more those of 
 Mr Walker and Dr Irving, are not to be received 
 without considerable deduction. No one of these 
 biographers appears to have had any considerable in- 
 tercourse with Burns during the latter years of his 
 life, which they have represented in such dark co- 
 lours every way ; and the two survivors of their 
 number are, I doubt not, among those who must 
 have heard, with the highest satisfaction, the coun- 
 ter-statements which their narratives were the 
 means of calling forth from men as well qualified 
 
 He read the satire, and he saw the use, 
 
 That such cool insult and such keen abuse 
 
 Might on the wavering minds of voting men produce. 
 
 I much rejoice, he cried, such worth to find ; 
 
 To this the world must be no longer blind. 
 
 His glory will descend from sire to son, 
 
 The Burns of English race, the happier Chatterton." 
 
 Cbabbe, in the Pulton, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 235 
 
 as themselves in point of character and attainment, 
 and much more so in point of circumstance and 
 opportunity, to ascertain and estimate the real 
 facts of a case, which is, at the best, a sufficiently 
 melancholy one. 
 
 " Dr Currie," says Gilbert Bums,* " knowing 
 the events of the latter years of my brother's life, 
 only from the reports which had been propagated, 
 and thinking it necessary, lest the candour of his 
 work should be called in question, to state the 
 substance of these reports, has given a veiy exag- 
 gerated view of the failings of my brother's life at 
 that period — which is certainly to be regretted." 
 
 " I love Dr Currie," says the Reverend James 
 Gray, already more than once referred to, " but I 
 love the memory of Burns more, and no consider- 
 ation shall deter me from a bold declaration of the 
 truth. The poet of the Cottar s Saturday Night, 
 who felt all the charms of the humble piety and 
 virtue which he sung, is charged, (in Dr Currie's 
 Narrative,) with vices which would reduce him to 
 a level with the most degraded of his species. — 
 As I knew him during that period of his life em- 
 phatically called his evil days, / am enabled to 
 speak from my own observation. It is not my in- 
 tention to extenuate his errors, because they were 
 combined with genius ; on that account, they were 
 only the more dangerous, because the more seduc- 
 tive, and deserve the more severe reprehension ; 
 but I shall likewise claim that nothing may be said 
 in malice even against him It came un- 
 der my own view professionally, that he superin- 
 tended the education of his children with a degree 
 of care that I have never seen surpassed by any 
 
 * Letter to Mr Peterkin. (Peterkin's Preface, p. 82.) 
 
236 LIFE OF 
 
 parent in any rank of life whatever. In the bo- 
 som of his family, he spent many a delightful hour 
 in directing the studies of his eldest son, a boy of 
 uncommon talents. I have frequently found him 
 explaining to this youth, then not more than nine 
 years of age, the English poets, from Shakspeare 
 to Gray, or storing his mind with examples of he- 
 roic virtue, as they live in the pages of our most 
 celebrated English historians. I would ask any 
 person of common candour, if employments like 
 these are consistent with habitual drunkenness ? 
 
 " It is not denied that he sometimes mingled with 
 society unworthy of him. He Avas of a social and 
 convivial nature. He was courted by all classes 
 of men for the fascinating powers of his conversa- 
 tion, but over his social scene uncontrolled passion 
 never presided. Over the social bowl, his wit 
 flashed for hours together, penetrating whatever it 
 struck, like the fire from heaven ; but even in the 
 hour of thoughtless gaiety and merriment, I never 
 knew it tainted by indecency. It was playful or 
 caustic by turns, following an allusion through all 
 its windings ; astonishing by its rapidity, or amu- 
 sing by its wild originality, and grotesque, yet na- 
 tural combinations, but never, within my observa- 
 tion, disgusting by its grossness. In his morning 
 hours, I never saw him like one suffering from the 
 effects of last night's intemperance. He appeared 
 then clear and unclouded. He was the eloquent 
 advocate of humanity, justice, and political free- 
 dom. From his paintings, virtue appeared more 
 lovely, and piety assumed a more celestial mien. 
 While Jus keen eye was pregnant with fancy and 
 feeling, and his voice attuned to the very passion 
 which he wished to communicate, it would hardly 
 have been possible to conceive any being more in- 
 
ROBERT BURNS, 237 
 
 teresting and delightful. I may likewise add, that 
 to the very end of his life, reading was his favourite 
 amusement. I have never known any man so in- 
 timately acquainted with the elegant English au- 
 thors. He seemed to have the poets by heart. 
 The prose authors he could quote either in their 
 own words, or clothe their ideas in language more 
 beautiful than their own. Nor was there ever any 
 decay in any of the powers of his mind. To the 
 last day of his life, his judgment, his memory, his 
 imagination, were fresh and vigorous, as when he 
 composed the Cottar's Saturday Night. The 
 truth is, that Burns was seldom intoxicated. The 
 drunkard soon becomes besotted, and is shunned 
 even by the convivial. Had he been so, he could 
 not long have continued the idol of every party. 
 It will be freely confessed, that the hour of enjoy- 
 ment was often prolonged beyond the limit marked 
 by prudence ; but what man will venture to affirm, 
 that in situations where he was conscious of giving 
 so much pleasure, he could at all times have listened 
 to her voice ? 
 
 " The men with whom he generally associated, 
 were not of the lowest order. He numbered among 
 his intimate Mends, many of the most respectable 
 inhabitants of Dumfries and the vicinity. Several of 
 those were attached to him by ties that the hand 
 of calumny, busy as it was, could never snap asun- 
 der. They admired the poet for his genius, and 
 loved the man for the candour, generosity, and 
 kindness of his nature. His early friends clung to 
 him through good and bad report, with a zeal and 
 fidelity that prove their disbelief of the malicious 
 stories circulated to his disadvantage. Among 
 them were some of the most distinguished charac- 
 ters in this country, and not a few females, emi- 
 u 2 
 
238 LIFE OF 
 
 nent for delicacy, taste, and genius. They were 
 proud of his friendship, and cherished him to the 
 last moment of his existence. He was endeared 
 to them even by his misfortunes, and they still re- 
 tain for his memory that affectionate veneration 
 which virtue alone inspires." * 
 
 Part of Mr Gray's letter is omitted, only be- 
 cause it touches on subjects, as to which Mr Find- 
 later's statement must be considered as of not 
 merely sufficient, but the very highest authority. 
 
 " My connexion with Robert Bums," says that 
 most respectable man,-|* " commenced immediately 
 after his admission into the Excise, and continued to 
 the hour of his death. J In all that time, the super- 
 intendence of his behaviour, as an officer of the re- 
 venue, was a branch of my especial province, and 
 it may be supposed I would not be an inattentive 
 observer of the general conduct of a man and a 
 poet, so celebrated by his countrymen. In the for- 
 mer capacity, he was exemplary in his attention ; 
 and was even jealous of the least imputation on his 
 vigilance : as a proof of which, it may not be foreign 
 to the subject to quote a part of a letter from him 
 to myself, in a case of only seeming inattention. — 
 ' I know, sir, and regret deeply, that this business 
 glances with a malign aspect on my character as 
 an officer ; but, as I am really innocent in the af- 
 fair, and as the gentleman is known to be an illicit 
 dealer, and particularly as this is the single instance 
 of the least shadow of carelessness or impropriety 
 in my conduct as an officer, 1 shall be peculiarly 
 unfortunate if my character shall fall a sacrifice to 
 the dark manoeuvres of a smuggler.' — This of itself 
 
 * Letter in Mr Peterkin's preface, pp. 93 — 95. 
 i Ibid. p. 93—96. 
 
 $ Mr Findlater watched by Burns the night before he 
 died. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 239 
 
 affords more than a presumption of his attention to 
 business, as it cannot be supposed he would have 
 written in such a style to me, but from the impulse 
 of a conscious rectitude in this department of his 
 duty. Indeed, it was not till near the latter end 
 of his days that there was any falling off in this 
 respect ; and this was amply accounted for in the 
 pressure of disease and accumulating infirmities. 
 I will further avow, that I never saw him, which was 
 very frequently while he lived at Elliesland, and 
 still more so, almost every day, after he removed 
 to Dumfries, but in hours of business he was quite 
 himself, and capable of discharging the duties of his 
 office : nor was he ever known to drink by himself, 
 or seen to indulge in the use of liquor in a forenoon. 
 ... I have seen Burns in all his various phases, in 
 his convivial moments, in his sober moods, and in the 
 bosom of his family ; indeed, I believe I saw more 
 of him than any other individual had occasion to 
 see, after he became an Excise officer, and I never 
 beheld anything like the gross enormities with 
 which he is now charged : That when set down 
 in an evening with a few fiiends whom he liked, 
 he was apt to prolong the social hour beyond the 
 bounds which prudence would dictate, is unques- 
 tionable ; but in his family, I will venture to say, 
 he was never seen otherwise than attentive and af- 
 fectionate to a high degree." 
 
 These statements are entitled to every consi- 
 deration : they come from men altogether inca- 
 pable, for any purpose, of wilfully stating that 
 which they know to be untrue. Yet we are not, 
 on the other hand, to throw out of view altogether 
 the feelings of partial friendship, irritated by exag- 
 gerations such as called forth these testimonies. 
 It is scarcely to be doubted that Dr Currie and 
 
240 LIFE OF 
 
 Professor Walker took care, ere they penned their 
 painful pages, to converse and correspond with 
 other persons than the enemies of the deceased poet 
 — Here, then, as in most other cases of similar con- 
 troversy, the fair and equitable conclusion would 
 seem to be, " truth lies between." 
 
 To whatever Burns's excesses amounted, they 
 were, it is obvious, and that frequently, the subject 
 of rebuke and remonstrance even from his own 
 dearest friends — even from men who had no sort 
 of objection to potations deep enough in all con- 
 science. That such reprimands, giving shape and 
 form to the thoughts that tortured his own bosom, 
 should have been received at times with a strange 
 mixture of remorse and indignation, none that have 
 considered the nervous susceptibility and haughti- 
 ness of Burns's character can hear with surprise. 
 But this was only when the good advice was oral.* 
 
 * A statement, of an isolated character, in the Quarterly 
 Review, (No. I.) has been noticed at much length, and in very 
 intemperate language, by Mr Peterkin, in the preface from 
 which the above letters of Messrs Gray and Findlater are 
 extracted. I am sure that nothing could have been further 
 from the writer's wishes than to represent anything to Burns's 
 disadvantage ; but the reader shall judge for himself. The 
 passage in the critique alluded to is as follows : — "Bred a 
 peasant, and preferred to the degrading situation of a com- 
 mon exciseman, neither the influence of the low-minded 
 crew around him, nor the gratification of selfish indulgence, 
 nor that contempt of futurity which has characterised so 
 many of his poetical brethren, ever led him to incur or en- 
 dure the burden of pecuniary obligation. A very intimate 
 friend of the poet, from whom he used occasionally to bor- 
 row a small sum for a week or two, once ventured to hint 
 that the punctuality with which the loan was always replaced 
 at the appointed time was unnecessary and unkind. The 
 consequence of this hint was, the interruption of their friend- 
 ship for some weeks, the bard disdaining the very thought 
 of being indebted to a human being one farthing beyond 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 241 
 
 No one knew better than he how to answer the 
 written homilies of such persons as were most 
 likely to take the freedom of admonishing him on 
 
 what he could discharge with the most rigid punctuality. It 
 was a less pleasing consequence of this high spirit, that 
 Burns was inaccessible to all friendly advice. To lay be- 
 fore him his errors, or to point out their consequences, was 
 to touch a string that jarred every feeling within him. On 
 such occasions his, like Churchill's, was 
 
 ' The mind which starting heaves the heartfelt groan, 
 And hates the form she knows to be her own.' 
 
 " It is a dreadful truth, that when racked and tortured by 
 the well-meant and warm expostulations of an intimate 
 friend, he started up in a paroxysm of frenzy, and drawing 
 a sword-cane which he usually wore, made an attempt to 
 plunge it into the body of his adviser — the next instant he 
 was with difficulty withheld from suicide."* 
 
 In reply to this paragraph, Mr Peterkin says, -f- " The 
 friend here referred to, Mr John Syme, in a written statement 
 now before us, gives an account of this murderous-looking 
 story, which we shall transcribe verbatim, that the nature 
 of this attempt may be precisely known. i In my parlour 
 at Byedale, one afternoon, Burns and I were very gracious 
 and confidential. I did advise him to be temperate in all 
 things. / might have spoken daggers, but I did not mean 
 them. He shook to the inmost fibre of his frame, and drew 
 the sword-cane, when I exclaimed, ' What ! wilt thou thus, 
 and in my own house ?' The poor fellow was so stung with 
 remorse, that he dashed himself down on the floor.' — And 
 this is gravely laid before the world at second-hand, as an 
 attempt by Bums to murder a friend, and to commit suicide, 
 from which 'he was with difficulty withheld!' So much 
 for the manner of telling a story. The whole amount of it, 
 by Mr Syme's account, and none else can be correct, seems 
 to be, that being ' gracious ' one afternoon, (perhaps a lit- 
 tle i glorious ' too, according to Tarn o' Shanter,) he, in his 
 own house, thought fit to give Burns a lecture on temper- 
 ance in all things ; in the course of which he acknowledges 
 that he ' might have spoken daggers ' — and that Burns, in 
 
 * Quarterly Review. No. I. p. 28. 
 t Peterkin's Preface, p. 65. 
 
242 LIFE OF 
 
 points of such delicacy ; nor is there anything in 
 all his correspondence more amusing than his re- 
 ply to a certain solemn lecture of William Nicoll, 
 
 a moment of irritation, perhaps of justly offended pride, 
 merely dreto the sword (which, like every other excise-officer, 
 he wore at all times professionally in a staff,) in order, as a 
 soldier would touch his sword, to repel indignity. But by 
 Mr Syme's own testimony, Burns only drew the sword 
 from the cane : nothing is said of an attempt to stab ; but 
 on the contrary, Mr Syme declares expressly that a mock- 
 solemn exclamation, pretty characteristic, we suspect, of the 
 whole affair, wound up the catastrophe of this tragical 
 scene. Really it is a foolish piece of business to magnify 
 such an incident into a « dreadful truth,' illustrative of the 
 ' untamed and plebeian ' spirit of Burns. We cannot help 
 regretting that Mr Syme should unguardedly have com- 
 municated such an anecdote to any of his friends, consider- 
 ing that this ebullition of momentary irritation was follow- 
 ed, as he himself states, by a friendship more ardent than 
 ever betwixt him and Burns. He should have been aware, 
 that the story, when told again and again by others, would 
 be twisted and tortured into the scandalous form which it 
 at last assumed in the Quarterly Review. The antics of 
 a good man in the delirium of a fever, might with equal 
 propriety be narrated in blank verse, as a proof that he was 
 a bad man when in perfect health. A momentary gust of 
 passion, excited by acknowledged provocation, and follow- 
 ed by nothing but drawing or brandishing a weapon acci- 
 dentally in his hand, and an immediate and strong convic- 
 tion that even this was a great error, cannot, without the 
 most outrageous violence of construction, be tortured into 
 an attempt to commit murder and suicide. All the arti- 
 fice of language, too, is used to give a horrible impression 
 of Burns. The sword-cane is spoken of without explana- 
 tion as a thing ' which he usually wore,' — as if he had ha- 
 bitually carried the concealed stiletto of an assassin : The 
 reviewer should have been much more on his guard." 
 
 The reader may probably be of opinion, upon candidly 
 considering and comparing the statements of the reviewer 
 and the re-reviewer ; — 1st, That the facts of the case are in 
 the two stories substantially the same ; 2dly, That when 
 the reviewer spoke of Burns's sword-cane as a weapon which 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 243 
 
 the same exemplary schoolmaster who " brewed 
 the peck o' maut which 
 
 Rob and Allan came to pree." 
 
 . . . " O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze 
 of prudence, full moon of discretion, and chief of 
 many counsellors ! how infinitely is thy puddle- 
 headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-head- 
 ed slave indebted to thy supereminent goodness, 
 that from the luminous path of thy own right-lined 
 rectitude thou lookest benignly down on an erring 
 wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all 
 the powers of calculation, from the simple copula- 
 tion of units, up to the hidden mysteries of fluxions I 
 May one feeble ray of that light of wisdom which 
 darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow of 
 heaven, and bright as the meteor of inspiration, 
 may it be my portion, so that I may be less un- 
 worthy of the face and favour of that father of pro- 
 verbs and master of maxims, that antipode of folly, 
 and magnet among the sages, the wise and witty 
 Willy Nicoll ! Amen ! amen ! Yea, so be it 1 
 
 " For me ! I am a beast, a reptile, and know 
 nothing !" &c. &c. &c. 
 
 To how many that have moralized over the life 
 and death of Burns, might not such a Tu quoque 
 be addressed ! 
 
 he " usually •wore," he did mean " which he wore in his 
 capacity of Exciseman ;" 3dly, That Mr Syme ought never 
 to have told the story, nor the reviewer to have published 
 it, nor the re-reviewer to have given it additional importance 
 by his attempt to explain into nothing what in reality 
 amounted to little. Burns was, according to Mr Peterkin's 
 story, " glorious " at the time when the incident occurred ; 
 and if there was no harm at all in what he did in that mo- 
 ment of unfortunate excitement and irritation, what means 
 Mr Syme's own language about " the poor fellow being 
 stung with remorse?'''' &c. 
 
244 LIFE OF 
 
 The strongest argument in favour of those who 
 denounce the statements of Heron, Currie, and 
 their fellow biographers, concerning the habits of 
 the poet, during the latter years of his career, as 
 culpably and egregiously exaggerated, still remains 
 to be considered. On the whole, Burns gave sa- 
 tisfaction by his manner of executing the duties of 
 his station in the revenue service ; he, moreover, 
 as Mr Gray tells us, (and upon this ground IVIr 
 Gray could not possibly be mistaken,) took a lively 
 interest in the education of his children, and spent 
 more hours in their private tuition than fathers who 
 have more leisure than his excisemanship left him, 
 are often in the custom of so bestowing;* and, 
 
 * "He was a kind and attentive father, and took great de- 
 light in spending his evenings in the cultivation of the 
 minds of his children. Their education was the grand ob- 
 ject of his life, and he did not, like most parents, think it 
 sufficient to send them to public schools ; he was their 
 private instructor, and even at that early age, bestowed 
 great pains in training their minds to habits of thought 
 and reflection, and in keeping them pure from every form 
 of vice. This he considered as a sacred duty, and never, 
 to the period of his last illness, relaxed in his diligence. 
 With his eldest son, a boy of not more than nine years 
 of age, he had read many of the favourite poets, and 
 some of the best historians in our language ; and what is 
 more remarkable, gave him considerable aid in the study of 
 Latin. This boy attended the Grammar School of Dum- 
 fries, and soon attracted my notice by the strength of his ta- 
 lent, and the ardour of his ambition. Before he had been 
 a year at school, I thought it right to advance him a form, 
 and he began to read Caesar, and gave me translations of 
 that author of such beauty as I confess surprised me. On 
 inquiry, I found that his father made him turn over his 
 dictionary, till he was able to translate to him the passage 
 in such a way that he could gather the author's meaning, 
 and that it was to him he owed that polished and forcible 
 English with which I was so greatly struck. I have men- 
 tioned this incident merely to show what minute attention 
 he paid to this important branch of parental duty." — Let- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 245 
 
 y, although he to all men's regret executed, 
 after his removal to Dumfries-shire, no more than 
 one poetical piece of considerable length, ( Tarn d 
 Shanter,) his epistolary correspondence, and his 
 songs contributed to Johnson's Museum, and to 
 the great collection of Mr George Thomson, furnish 
 undeniable proof that, in whatever fits of dissipa- 
 tion he unhappily indulged, he never could possi- 
 bly have sunk into anything like that habitual 
 grossness of manners and sottish degradation of 
 mind, which the writers in question have not hesi- 
 tated to hold up to the deepest commiseration, if 
 not more than this, of mankind. 
 
 Of his letters written at Elliesland and Dumfries, 
 nearly three octavo volumes have been already 
 printed by Currie and Cromek ; and it would be 
 easy to swell the collection to double this extent. 
 Enough, however, has been published to enable 
 every reader to judge for himself of the character 
 of Burns's style of epistolary composition. The 
 severest criticism bestowed on it has been, that 
 it is too elaborate — that, however natural the feel- 
 ings, the expression is frequently more studied and 
 artificial than belongs to that species of composi- 
 tion. Be this remark altogether just in point of 
 taste, or otherwise, the fact on which it is founded, 
 furnishes strength to our present position. The 
 poet produced in these years a great body of ela- 
 borate prose-writing. 
 
 We have already had occasion to notice some of 
 his contributions to Johnson's Museum. He con- 
 tinued to the last month of his life, to take a lively 
 interest in that work ; and besides writing for it 
 some dozens of excellent original songs, his diligence 
 
 ter from the Reverend James Gray to Mr Gilbert Bums. 
 See his Edition, vol. 1. Appendix, No. v. 
 
246 LIFE OF 
 
 in collecting ancient pieces hitherto unpublished' 
 and his taste and skill in eking out fragments, 
 were largely, and most happily exerted, all along, 
 for its benefit. Mr Cromek saw among John- 
 son's papers, no fewer than 184 of the pieces 
 which enter into the collection, in Burns's hand- 
 writing.* 
 
 His connexion with the more important work of 
 Mr Thomson commenced in September 1792 ; and 
 Mr Gray justly says, that whoever considers his 
 correspondence with the editor, and the collection 
 itself, must be satisfied, that from that time till the 
 commencement of his last illness, not many days 
 ever passed over his head without the production 
 of some new stanzas for its pages. Besides old 
 materials, for the most part embellished with lines, 
 if not verses of his own, and a whole body of hints, 
 suggestions, and criticisms, Burns gave Mr Thom- 
 son about sixty original songs. It is, however, 
 but justice to poor Heron to add, that compara- 
 tively few of this number had been made public at 
 the time when he drew up that rash and sweeping 
 statement, which Dr Currie adhered to in some 
 particulars without sufficient inquiry. 
 
 The songs in this collection are by many emi- 
 nent critics placed decidedly at the head of all our 
 poet's performances : it is by none disputed that 
 very many of them are worthy of his most felici- 
 tous inspiration. He bestowed much more care 
 on them than on his contributions to the Mu- 
 seum ; and the taste and feeling of the editor se- 
 cured the work against any intrusions of that over- 
 warm element which was too apt to mingle in his 
 amatory effusions. Burns knew that he was now 
 
 * Reliques, p. 185. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 247 
 
 engaged on a work destined for the eye and ear of 
 refinement; he laboured throughout, under the sa- 
 lutary feeling, " virginibus puerisque canto ;" and 
 the consequences have been happy indeed for his 
 own fame — for the literary taste, and the national 
 music, of Scotland ; and, what is of far higher im- 
 portance, the moral and national feelings of his 
 countrymen. 
 
 In almost all these productions — certainly in all 
 that deserve to be placed in the first rank of his 
 compositions — Burns made use of his native dia- 
 lect. He did so, too, in opposition to the advice 
 of almost all the lettered correspondents he had — 
 more especially of Dr Moore, who, in his own no- 
 vels, never ventured on more than a few casual spe- 
 cimens of Scottish colloquy — following therein the 
 example of his illustrious predecessor Smollett; and 
 not foreseeing that a triumph over English prejudice, 
 which Smollett might have achieved, had he pleased 
 to make the effort, was destined to be the prize of 
 Burns's perseverance in obeying the dictates of na- 
 tive taste and judgment. Our poet received such 
 suggestions, for the most part, in silence — not 
 choosing to argue with others on a matter which 
 concerned only his own feelings; but in writing to 
 Mr Thomson, he had no occasion either to conceal 
 or disguise his sentiments. " These English songs," 
 says he, " gravel me to death. I have not that com- 
 mand of the language that I have of my native 
 tongue ;"* and again, " so much for namby-pam- 
 by. I may, after all, try my hand at it in Scots 
 verse. There I am always most at home."f — 
 He, besides, would have considered it as a sort of 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr Thomson, p. 111. 
 f Ibid. p. 80. 
 
248 LIFE OF 
 
 national crime to do anything that must tend to 
 divorce the music of his native land from her pe- 
 culiar idiom. The " genius loci" was never wor- 
 shipped more fervently than by Burns. " I am 
 such an enthusiast," says he, " that in the course 
 of my several peregrinations through Scotland, I 
 made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from 
 which every song took its rise, Lochaber and the 
 Braes of Ballenden excepted. So far as the lo- 
 cality, either from the title of the air or the tenor of 
 the song, could be ascertained, I have paid my de- 
 votions at the particular shrine of every Scottish 
 Muse." With such feelings, he was not likely to 
 touch with an irreverent hand the old fabric of our 
 national song, or to meditate a lyrical revolution 
 for the pleasure of strangers. " There is," says he,* 
 " a naivete, a pastoral simplicity in a slight intermix- 
 ture of Scots words and phraseology, which is more 
 in unison (at least to my taste, and I will add, to 
 every genuine Caledonian taste) with the simple 
 pathos or rustic sprightliness of our native music, 
 than any English verses whatever. One hint more 
 let me give you. — Whatever Mr Pleyel does, let 
 him not alter one iota of the original airs; I mean in 
 the song department ; but let our Scottish national 
 music preserve its native features. They are, I own, 
 frequently wild and irreducible to the more modern 
 rules ; but on that very eccentricity, perhaps, de- 
 pends a great part of their effect." f 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr Thomson, p. 38. 
 
 •f- It may amuse the reader to hear, tha in spite of all 
 Burns's success in the use of his native dialect, even an emi- 
 nently spirited bookseller to whom the manuscript of Wa- 
 verley was submitted, hesitated for some time about pub- 
 lishing it, on account of the Scots dialogue interwoven in 
 the novel. 
 
ROBERT BURN&. 249 
 
 Of the delight with which Burns laboured for 
 Mr Thomson's Collection, his letters contain some 
 lively descriptions. " You cannot imagine/' says 
 he, 7th April, 1793, " how much this business has 
 added to my enjoyments. What with my early 
 attachment to ballads, your book and ballad-ma- 
 king are now as completely my hobbyhorse as ever 
 fortification was Uuncle Toby's ; so I'll e'en can- 
 ter it away till I come to the limit of my race, 
 (God grant I may take the right side of the win- 
 ning-post,) and then, cheerfully looking back on 
 the honest folks with whom I have been happy, I 
 shall say or sing, ' Sae merry as we a' hae been,' 
 and raising my last looks to the whole human race? 
 the last words of the voice of Coila shall be * Good 
 night, and joy be wi' you a'." * 
 
 " Until f am complete master of a tune in my 
 own singing, such as it is, I can never," says Bums, 
 " compose for it. My way is this. I consider^the 
 poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the 
 musical expression, — then choose my theme, — com- 
 pose one stanza. When that is composed, which 
 is generally the most difficult part of the business, 
 I walk out, — sit down now and then, — look out 
 for objects in Nature round me that are in unison 
 or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and 
 workings of my bosom, — humming every now and 
 then the air, with the verses I have framed. When 
 I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the so- 
 litary fireside of my study, and there commit my ef- 
 fusions to paper ; swinging at intervals on the hind 
 legs of my elbow-chair, by way of calling forth my 
 own critical strictures, as my pen goes. Seriously, 
 his, at home^ is almost invariably my way. — What 
 nursed egotism !"-j- 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr Thomson, p. 57- 
 t Ibid. p. 119. 
 
250 LIFE OF 
 
 In this correspondence with Mr Thomson, and 
 in Cromek's later publication, the reader will find 
 a world of interesting details about the particular 
 circumstances under which these immortal songs 
 were severally written. They are all, or almost 
 all, in fact, part and parcel of the poet's personal 
 history. No man ever made his muse more com- 
 pletely the companion of his own individual life. 
 A new flood of light has just been poured on the 
 same subject, in Mr Allan Cunningham's " Col- 
 lection of Scottish Songs ;" unless, therefore, I were 
 to transcribe volumes, and all popular volumes too, 
 it is impossible to go into the details of this part 
 of the poet's history. The reader must be con- 
 tented with a few general memoranda; e. g. 
 
 " Do you think that the sober gin-horse rou- 
 tine of existence could inspire a man with life, and 
 love and joy — could fire him with enthusiasm, or 
 melt him with pathos equal to the genius of your 
 book ? No, no. Whenever I want to be more than 
 ordinary in song — to be in some degree equal to 
 your divine airs — do you imagine I fast and pray 
 for the celestial emanation? Tout au contraire. I 
 have a glorious recipe, the very one that for his 
 own use was invented by the Divinity of healing 
 and poetry, when erst he piped to the flocks of 
 Admetus, — I put myself on a regimen of admiring 
 a fine woman."* 
 
 " I can assure you I was never more in earnest. 
 — Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel, 
 and highly venerate ; but, somehow, it does not 
 make such a figure in poesy as that other species 
 of the> passion, 
 
 " Where love is liberty, and nature law." 
 
 ■ Correspondence with Mr Thomson, p. 174. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 251 
 
 Musically speaking, the first is an instrument, of 
 which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the 
 tones inexpressibly sweet; while the last has powers 
 equal to all the intellectual modulations of the hu- 
 man soul. Still I am a very poet in my enthusi- 
 asm of the passion. The welfare and happiness of 
 the beloved object is the first and inviolate senti- 
 ment that pervades my soul ; and — whatever plea- 
 sures I might wish for, or whatever raptures they 
 might give me — yet, if they interfere with that 
 first principle, it is having these pleasures at a 
 dishonest price ; and justice forbids, and genero- 
 sity disdains the purchase." * So says Bums 
 
 in introducing to Mr Thomson's notice one of his 
 many songs in celebration of the Lassie wi the 
 lint-white locks. " The beauty of Chloris," says, 
 nevertheless, Allan Cunningham, " has added 
 many charms to Scottish song ; but that which 
 has increased the reputation of the poet, has les- 
 sened that of the man. Chloris was one of those 
 who believe in the dispensing power of beauty, and 
 thought that love should be under no demure re- 
 straint. Burns sometimes thought in the same way 
 himself; and it is not wonderful, therefore, that 
 the poet should celebrate the charms of a liberal 
 beauty who was willing to reward his strains, and 
 who gave him many opportunities of catching in- 
 spiration from her presence." And in a note on the 
 ballad which terminates with the delicious stanza ; 
 
 " Let others love the city, and gaudy show at summer noon, 
 Gie me the lonely valley, the dewy eve, and rising moon, 
 Fair beaming and streaming her silver light the boughs 
 
 amang ; 
 While falling, recalling, the amorous thrush concludes her 
 
 sang ; 
 
 ' Correspondence jvith Mr Thomson, p. 191. 
 
252 LIFE OF 
 
 There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove, by wimpling burn 
 
 and leafy shaw, 
 And hear my vows o' truth and love, and say thou lo'es 
 
 me best of a' ?" 
 
 The same commentator adds — « Such is the glowing 
 picture which the poet gives of youth, and health, 
 and voluptuous beauty ; but let no lady envy the 
 poetical elevation of poor Chloris ; her situation in 
 poetry is splendid — her situation in life merits our 
 pity — perhaps our charity." 
 
 Of all Burns's love songs, the best, in his own 
 opinion, was that which begins, 
 
 w Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
 A place where body saw na\" 
 
 Mr Cunningham says, " if the poet thought so, 
 I am sorry for it ;" while the Reverend Hamilton 
 Paul fully concurs in the author's own estimate 
 of the performance. " I believe, however," says 
 Cunningham, " Anna ivi the gowden locks was no 
 imaginary person. Like the dame in the old song, 
 She brewed gude ale for gentlemen ; and while she 
 served the bard with a pint of wine, allowed her 
 customer leisure to admire her, < as hostler wives 
 should do.' " 
 
 There is in the same collection a love song, which 
 unites the suffrages, and ever will do so, of all 
 men. It has furnished Byron with a motto, and 
 Scott has said that that motto is " worth a thou- 
 sand romances." 
 
 " Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 'Never met, — or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted." 
 
 The " Nancy" of this moving strain was, according 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 253 
 
 to Cunningham, another fair and somewhat frail 
 dame of Dumfries-shire. * 
 
 I envy no one the task of inquiring minutely in 
 how far these traditions, for such unquestionably 
 they are, and faithfully conveyed by Allan Cun- 
 ningham, rest on the foundation of truth. They 
 refer at worst to occasional errors. " Many insi- 
 nuations/' says Mr Gray, " have been made against 
 the poet's character as a husband, but without the 
 slightest proof; and I might pass from the charge 
 with that neglect which it merits ; but I am happy 
 to say that I have in exculpation the direct evi- 
 dence of Mrs Burns herself, who, among many 
 amiable and respectable qualities, ranks a venera- 
 tion for the memory of her departed husband, 
 whom she never names but in terms of the pro- 
 foundest respect and the deepest regret, to lament 
 his misfortunes, or to extol his kindnesses to her- 
 self, not as the momentary overflowings of the heart 
 in a season of penitence for offences generously 
 forgiven, but an habitual tenderness, which ended 
 only with his life. I place this evidence, which I 
 am proud to bring forward on her own authority, 
 against a thousand anonymous calumnies." -j- 
 
 Among the effusions, not amatory, which Burns 
 contributed to Mr Thomson's Collection, the fa- 
 mous song of Bannockburn holds the first place. 
 We have already seen in how lively a manner 
 Bums's feelings were kindled when he visited that 
 glorious field. According to tradition, the tune 
 played when Bruce led his troops to the charge, 
 was " Hey tuttie tattie ;" and it was humming this 
 old air as he rode by himself through Glenken in 
 
 • Cunningham's Scottish Songs, vol iv. p. 178. 
 
 ■f Letter in Gilbert Bums's edition, vol. I. app. v. p. 437. 
 
254- LIFE OF 
 
 Galloway, during a terrific storm of wind and rain, 
 that the poet composed his immortal lyric in its 
 first and noblest form. * This is one more instance 
 of his delight in the sterner aspects of nature. 
 
 " Come, winter, with thine angry howl, 
 And raging bend the naked tree — " 
 
 " There is hardly," says he in one of his letters? 
 " there is scarcely any earthly object gives me 
 more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure 
 •—but something which exalts me, something which 
 enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side 
 of a wood in a cloudy winter day, and hear the 
 stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving 
 over the plain. It is my best season for devotion : 
 my mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to 
 Him> who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew 
 Bard, < walks on the wings of the wind.' " When 
 Burns entered a druidical circle of stones on a 
 dreary moor, he has already told us that his first 
 movement was " to say his prayers." His best 
 poetry was to the last produced amidst scenes of 
 solemn desolation. 
 
 * The last line of each stanza was subsequently lengthened 
 and weakened, in order to suit the tune of Lewie Gordon, 
 which Mr Thomson preferred to Hey tuttie tattie. I may 
 add, however, what is well known to all lovers of Burns, 
 and of Scottish Music, that almost immediately after having 
 prevailed on the poet to make this alteration, Mr Thom- 
 son saw his error, and discarded both the change and the 
 air which it was made to suit. The original air, and the 
 original words, are now united for ever. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 255 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 *' I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
 With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear." 
 
 We are drawing near the close of this great 
 poet's mortal career ; and I would fain hope the de- 
 tails of the last chapter may have prepared the hu- 
 mane reader to contemplate it with sentiments of 
 sorrow, pure comparatively, and undebased with 
 any considerable intermixture of less genial feel- 
 ings. 
 
 For some years before Burns was lost to his 
 country, it is sufficiently plain that he had been, on 
 political grounds, an object of suspicion and dis- 
 trust to a large portion of the population that had 
 most opportunity of observing him. The mean sub- 
 alterns of party had, it is very easy to suppose, de- 
 lighted in decrying him od pretexts, good, bad, and 
 indifferent, equally— to their superiors ; and hence, 
 who will not willingly believe it ? the temporary 
 and local prevalence of those extravagantly inju- 
 rious reports, the essence of which Dt Currie, no 
 doubt, thought it his duty, as a biographer, to ex- 
 tract and circulate. 
 
 The untimely death of one who, had he lived 
 to anything like the usual term of human exist- 
 ence, might have done so much to increase his 
 fame as a poet, and to purify and dignify his cha- 
 racter as a man, was, it is too probable, hastened 
 by his own intemperances and imprudences : but 
 it seems to be extremely improbable, that, even if 
 9 
 
256 LIFE OF 
 
 his manhood had been a course of saintlike virtue 
 in all respects, the irritable and nervous bodily con- 
 stitution which he inherited from his father, shaken 
 as it was by the toils and miseries of his ill-starred 
 youth, could have sustained, to anything like the 
 psalmist's " allotted span," the exhausting excite- 
 ments of an intensely poetical temperament. Since 
 the first pages of this narrative were sent to the 
 press, I have heard from an old acquaintance of the 
 bard, who often shared his bed with him at Moss- 
 giel, that even at that early period, when intem- 
 perance assuredly had had nothing to do with the 
 matter, those ominous symptoms of radical disor- 
 der in the digestive system, the " palpitation and 
 suffocation" of which Gilbert speaks, were so re- 
 gularly his nocturnal visitants, that it was his cus- 
 tom to have a great tub of cold water by his bed- 
 side, into which he usually plunged more than 
 once in the course of the night, thereby procuring 
 instant, though but shortlived relief. On a frame 
 thus originally constructed, and thus early tried 
 with most severe afflictions, external and internal, 
 what must not have been, under any subsequent 
 course of circumstances, the effect of that exqui- 
 site sensibility of mind, but for which the world 
 would never have heard anything either of the sins, 
 or the sorrows, or the poetry of Burns ! 
 
 " The fates and characters of the rhyming tribe," 
 thus writes the poet himself to Miss Chalmers in 
 1793, " often employ my thoughts when I am dis- 
 posed to be melancholy. There is not, among all 
 the martyrologies that ever were penned, so rueful 
 a narrative as the lives of the poets. — In the com- 
 parative view of wretches, the criterion is not what 
 they are doomed to suffer, but how they are form- 
 ed to bear. Take a being of our kind, give him a 
 8 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 257 
 
 stronger imagination and a more delicate sensibi- 
 lity, which between them will ever engender a 
 more ungovernable set of passions, than are the 
 usual lot of man ; implant in him an irresistible 
 impulse to some idle vagary, such as, arranging 
 wild flowers in fantastical nosegays, tracing the 
 grasshopper to his haunt by his chirping song, 
 watching the frisks of the little minnows in the 
 sunny pool, or hunting after the intrigues of but- 
 terflies — in short, send him adrift after some pur- 
 suit which shall eternally mislead him from the 
 paths of lucre, and yet curse him with a keener 
 relish than any man living for the pleasures that 
 lucre can purchase ; lastly, fill up the measure of 
 his woes by bestowing on him a spurning sense of 
 his own dignity, and you have created a wight 
 nearly as miserable as a poet." In these few short 
 sentences, as it appears to me, Burns has traced 
 his own character far better than any one else has 
 done it since. — But with this lot what pleasures 
 were not mingled ? — " To you, madam," he pro- 
 ceeds, " I need not recount the fairy pleasures the 
 muse bestows to counterbalance this catalogue of 
 evils. Bewitching poetry is like bewitching woman; 
 she has in all ages been accused of misleading man- 
 kind from the counsels of wisdom and the paths 
 of prudence, involving them in difficulties, baiting 
 them with poverty, branding them with infamy, 
 and plunging them in the whirling vortex of ruin ; 
 yet, where is the man but must own that all our hap- 
 piness on earth is not worthy the name — that even 
 the holy hermit's solitary prospect of paradisiacal 
 bliss is but the glitter of a northern sun, rising 
 over a frozen region, compared with the many 
 pleasures, the nameless raptures, that we owe to 
 the lovely Queen of the heart of man !" 
 
 y S 
 
258 LIFE OP 
 
 " What is a poet ?" asks one well qualified to 
 answer his own question. " He is a man endowed 
 with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and 
 tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human 
 nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are 
 supposed to be common among mankind ; a man 
 pleased with his own passions and volitions, and 
 who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of 
 life that is in him ; delighting to contemplate simi- 
 lar volitions and passions as manifested in the go- 
 ings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to 
 create them where he does not find them. To 
 these qualities he has added a disposition to be af- 
 fected, more than other men, by absent things, as 
 if they were present ; an ability of conjuring up in 
 himself passions which are far indeed from being 
 the same as those produced by real events, yet 
 (especially in those parts of the general sympathy 
 which are pleasing and delightful) do more nearly 
 resemble the passions produced by real events 
 than anything which, from the motions of their 
 own minds merely, other men are accustomed to 
 feel in themselves." * So says one of the rare 
 beings who have been able to sustain and enjoy, 
 through a long term of human years, the tear and 
 wear of sensibilities thus quickened and refined be- 
 yond what falls to the lot of the ordinary brothers 
 of their race — feeling more than others can dream 
 of feeling, the joys and the sorrows that come to 
 them as individuals, and filling up all those blanks 
 which so largely interrupt the agitations of com- 
 mon bosoms — with the almost equally agitating 
 sympathies of an imagination to which repose 
 would 1 be death. It is common to say of those 
 who over-indulge themselves in material stimu- 
 lants, that they live fast; what wonder that the 
 
 * Preface to the second edition of Wordsworth's Poems* 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 259 
 
 career of the poet's thick-coming fancies should, 
 in the immense majority of cases, be rapid too ? 
 That Burns lived fast, in both senses of the phrase, 
 we have abundant evidence from himself ; and that 
 the more earthly motion was somewhat accelerated 
 as it approached the close, we may believe, with- 
 out finding it at all necessary to mingle anger with 
 our sorrow. " Even in his earliest poems," as Mr 
 Wordsworth says, in a beautiful passage of his 
 letter to Mr Gray, " through the veil of assumed 
 habits and pretended qualities, enough of the real 
 man appears to show that he was conscious of suf- 
 ficient cause to dread his own passions, and to be- 
 wail his errors ! We have rejected as false some- 
 times in the letter, and of necessity as false in the 
 spirit, many of the testimonies that others have 
 borne against him: — but, by his own hand — in 
 words the import of which cannot be mistaken — 
 it has been recorded that the order of his life but 
 faintly corresponded with the clearness of his 
 views. It is probable that he would have proved 
 a still greater poet if, by strength of reason, he 
 could have controlled the propensities which his 
 sensibility engendered ; but he would have been a 
 poet of a different class : and certain it is, had that 
 desirable restraint been early established, many 
 peculiar beauties which enrich his verses could 
 never have existed, and many accessary influences, 
 which contribute greatly to their effect, would have 
 been wanting. For instance, the momentous truth 
 of the passage — 
 
 " One point must still be greatly dark," &c. * 
 
 * " Then gently scan your brother man, 
 Still gentlier sister woman — 
 
 Tho' they may gang a kennin' wrang ; 
 To step aside is human : 
 
260 LIFE OF 
 
 could not possibly have been conveyed with such 
 pathetic force by any poet that ever lived, speak- 
 ing in his own voice ; unless it were felt that, like 
 Burns, he was a man who preached from the text 
 of his own errors ; and whose wisdom, beautiful as 
 a flower that might have risen from seed sown 
 from above, was in fact a scion from the root of 
 personal suffering. Whom did the poet intend 
 should be thought of as occupying that grave over 
 which, after modestly setting forth the moral dis- 
 cernment and warm affections of its < poor inha- 
 bitant,' it is supposed to be inscribed that 
 
 * . Thoughtless follies laid him low, 
 
 And stain'd his name ?* 
 
 Who but himself, — himself anticipating the too 
 probable termination of his own course ? Here is 
 a sincere and solemn avowal — a public declaration 
 from his own will — a confession at once devout, 
 poetical, and human — a history in the shape of a 
 prophecy ! What more was required of the bio- 
 grapher than to put his seal to the writing, testi- 
 fying that the foreboding had been realized, and 
 that the record was authentic ?" 
 
 In how far the " thoughtless follies" of the poet 
 did actually hasten his end, it is needless to con- 
 jecture. They had their share, unquestionably, 
 along with other influences which it would be in- 
 human to characterise as mere follies — such, for 
 example, as that general depression of spirits, which 
 haunted him from his youth, and, in all likelihood, 
 sat more heavily on such a being as Burns than a 
 
 One point must still be greatly dark, 
 
 The moving why they do it : 
 And just as lamely can ye mark, 
 
 How far perhaps they rue it." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 261 
 
 man of plain common sense might guess, — or even 
 a casual expression of discouraging tendency from 
 the persons on whose good-will all hopes of sub- 
 ' stantial advancement in the scale of worldly pro- 
 motion depended, — or that partial exclusion from 
 the species of society our poet had been accus- 
 tomed to adorn and delight, which, from how- 
 ever inadequate causes, certainly did occur during 
 some of the latter years of his life — All such sor- 
 rows as these must have acted with twofold harm- 
 fulness upon Burns ; harassing, in the first place, 
 one of the most sensitive minds that ever filled a 
 human bosom, and, alas ! by consequence, tempt- 
 ing to additional excesses; — impelling one who, 
 under other circumstances, might have sought and 
 found far other consolation, to seek too often for it 
 
 " In fleeting mirth, that o'er the bottle lives, 
 In the false joy its inspiration gives, 
 And in associates pleased to find a friend 
 With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend, 
 In all those scenes where transient ease is found 
 For minds whom sins oppress, and sorrows wound."* 
 
 The same philosophical poet tells us, that 
 
 " — Wine is like anger, for it makes us strong ; 
 
 Blind and impatient, and it leads us wrong ; 
 
 The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long." 
 
 But a short period was destined for the sorrows 
 and the errors equally of Burns. 
 
 How he struggled against the tide of his misery, 
 let the following letter speak — it was written Fe- 
 bruary 25, 1794, and addressed to Mr Alexander 
 Cunningham, an eccentric being, but generous and 
 
 * Crabbe's Edward Shore, a tale, in which the poet has 
 obviously had Burns in his view. 
 
 y2 
 
262 LIFE OF 
 
 faithful in his friendship to Burns, and, when 
 Burns was no more, to his family. 
 
 " Canst thou minister," says the poet, " to a 
 mind diseased ? Canst thou speak peace and rest 
 to a soul tost on a sea of troubles, without one 
 friendly star to guide her course, and dreading that 
 the next surge may overwhelm her ? Canst thou 
 give to a frame, tremblingly alive as the tortures 
 of suspense, the stability and hardihood of the rock 
 that braves the blast ? If thou canst not do the least 
 of these, why would'st thou disturb me in my mise- 
 ries, with thy inquiries after me ? 
 
 " For these two months I have not been able to 
 lift a pen. My constitution and frame were ab 
 origine, blasted with a deep incurable taint of hy- 
 pochondria, which poisons my existence. Of late 
 a number of domestic vexations, and some pecuni- 
 ary share in the ruin of these ***** times — losses 
 which, though trifling, were yet what I could ill 
 bear, have so irritated me, that my feelings at 
 times could only be envied by a reprobate spirit 
 listening to the sentence that dooms it to perdition. 
 
 " Are you deep in the language of consolation ? 
 I have exhausted in reflection every topic of com- 
 fort. A heart at ease would have been charmed 
 with my sentiments and reasonings ; but as to my- 
 self, I was like Judas Iscariot preaching the gos- 
 pel ; he might melt and mould the hearts of those 
 around him, but his own kept its native incorrigi- 
 bility. — Still there are two great pillars that bear 
 us up, amid the wreck of misfortune and misery. 
 The one is composed of the different modifications 
 of a certain noble, stubborn something in man, 
 known by tne names of courage, fortitude, magna- 
 nimity. The other is made up of those feelings 
 and sentiments, which, however the sceptic may 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 263 
 
 deny, or the enthusiast disfigure them, are yet 
 I am convinced, original and component parts 
 of the human soul ; those senses of the mind, if I 
 may be allowed the expression, which connect us 
 with, and link us to those awful obscure realities 
 — an all powerful and equally beneficent God — 
 and a world to come, beyond death and the grave. 
 The first gives the nerve of combat, while a ray 
 of hope beams on the field ; — the last pours the 
 balm of comfort into the wounds which time can 
 never cure. 
 
 " I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that 
 you and I ever talked on the subject of religion at 
 all. I know some who laugh at it, as the trick of 
 the crafty few, to lead the undiscerning many ; 
 or at most as an uncertain obscurity, which man- 
 kind can never know anything of, and with which 
 they are fools if they give themselves much to do. 
 Nor would I quarrel with a man for his irreligion, 
 any more than I would for his want of a musical 
 ear. I would regret that he was shut out from 
 what, to me and to others, were such superlative 
 sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of view, 
 and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue the 
 mind of every child of mine with religion. If my 
 son should happen to be a man of feeling, senti- 
 ment, and taste, I shall thus add largely to his en- 
 joyments. Let me flatter myself that this sweet 
 little fellow who is just now running about my 
 desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing 
 heart; and an imagination, delighted with the paint- 
 er, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure him, 
 wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the 
 balmy gales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of 
 the spring ; himself the while in the blooming youth 
 of life. He looks abroad on all nature, and through 
 
284 LIFE OF 
 
 nature up to nature's God. His soul, by swift, 
 delighted degrees, is rapt above this sublunary 
 sphere, until he can be silent no longer, and bursts 
 out into the glorious enthusiasm of Thomson, 
 
 ' These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God. — The rolling year 
 Is full of thee;' 
 
 and so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that 
 charming hymn. — These are no ideal pleasures ; 
 they are real delights ; and I ask what of the de- 
 lights among the sons of men are superior, not to 
 say, equal to them ? And they have this precious, 
 vast addition, that conscious virtue stamps them 
 for her own; and lays hold on them to bring 
 herself into the presence of a witnessing, judging, 
 and approving God." 
 
 They who have been told that Burns was ever 
 a degraded being — who have permitted themselves 
 to believe that his only consolations were those of 
 " the opiate guilt applies to grief," will do well to 
 pause over this noble letter and judge for them- 
 selves. The enemy under which he was destined 
 to sink, had already beaten in the outworks of his 
 constitution when these lines were penned. 
 
 The reader has already had occasion to observe, 
 that Burns had in those closing years of his life to 
 struggle almost continually with pecuniary diffi- 
 culties, than which nothing could have been more 
 likely to pour bitterness intolerable into the cup 
 of his existence. His lively imagination exaggera- 
 ted to itself every real evil ; and this among, and 
 perhaps above, all the rest ; at least, in many of his 
 letters we find him alluding to the probability of 
 his being arrested for debts, which we now know 
 to have been of very trivial amount at the worst, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 265 
 
 which we also know he himself lived to discharge 
 to the utmost farthing, and in regard to which it is 
 impossible to doubt that his personal friends in 
 Dumfries would have at all times been ready to 
 prevent the law taking its ultimate course. This 
 last consideration, however, was one which would 
 have given slender relief to Burns. How he shrunk 
 with horror and loathing from the sense of pecu- 
 niary obligation, no matter to whom, we have had 
 abundant indications already.* 
 
 The question naturally arises : Burns was all 
 this while pouring out his beautiful songs for the 
 Museum of Johnson and the greater work of Thom- 
 son ; how did he happen to derive no pecuniary 
 advantages from this continual exertion of his ge- 
 nius in a form of composition so eminently calcu- 
 lated for popularity ? Nor, indeed, is it an easy 
 matter to answer this very obvious question. The 
 poet himself, in a letter to Mr Carfrae, dated 1789, 
 speaks thus : " The profits of the labours of a man 
 of genius are, I hope, as honourable as any profits 
 whatever ; and Mr Mylne's relations are most 
 justly entitled to that honest harvest which fate 
 
 * The following extract from one of his letters to Mr Mac- 
 murdo, dated December, 1 793, will speak for itself :— 
 
 " Sir, it is said that we take the greatest liberties with 
 our greatest friends, and I pay myself a very high compli- 
 ment in the manner in which I am going to apply the re- 
 mark. I have owed you money longer than ever I owed it 
 to any man — Here is Ker's account, and here are six gui- 
 neas ; and now, I don't owe a shilling to man, or woman ei- 
 ther. But for these damned dirty, dog's-eared little pages, 
 (Scotch bank-notes,) I had done myself the honour to have 
 waited on you long ago. Independent of the obligations 
 your hospitality has laid me under, the consciousness of 
 your superiority in the rank of man and gentleman of itself 
 was fully as much as I could ever make head against ; but 
 to owe you money too, was more than I could face*" 
 
266 LIFE OF 
 
 has denied himself to reap." And yet, so far from 
 looking to Mr Johnson for any pecuniary remu- 
 neration for the very laborious part he took in his 
 work, it appears from a passage in Cromek's Re- 
 liques, that the poet asked a single copy of the Mu- 
 seum to give to a fair friend, by way of a great fa- 
 vour to himself — and that that copy and his own 
 were really all he ever received at the hands of the 
 publisher. Of the secret history of Johnson and 
 his book I know nothing ; but the Correspondence 
 of Bunas with Mr Thomson contains curious enough 
 details concerning his connexion with that gentle- 
 man's more important undertaking. At the outset, 
 September, 1792, we find Mr Thomson saying, 
 " We will esteem your poetical assistance a par- 
 ticular favour, besides paying any reasonable pri^r e 
 you shall please to demand for it. Profit is quite 
 a secondary consideration with us, and we are re- 
 solved to save neither pains nor expense on the 
 publication." To which Burns replies immediately, 
 " As to any remuneration, you may think my songs 
 either above or below price ; for they shall abso- 
 lutely be the one or the other. In the honest en- 
 thusiasm with which I embark in your underta- 
 king, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire, &c, would 
 be downright prostitution of soul. A proof of each 
 of the songs that I compose or amend I shall re- 
 ceive as a favour. In the rustic phrase of the 
 season, Gude speed the wark." The next time we 
 meet with any hint as to money matters in the Cor- 
 respondence is in a letter of Mr Thomson, 1st July, 
 1793, where he says, " I cannot express how 
 much I am obliged to you for the exquisite new 
 songs 'you are sending me ; but thanks, my friend, 
 are a poor return for what you have done : as I 
 shall be benefitted by the publication, you must 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 267 
 
 suffer me to enclose a small mark of my gratitude, 
 and to repeat it afterwards when I find it conve- 
 nient. Do not return it, for, by Heaven, if yon 
 do, our correspondence is at an end." To which 
 letter (it enclosed L.5) Bums thus replies :— 
 " I assure you, my dear sir, that you truly hurt me 
 with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in 
 my own eyes. However, to return it would sa- 
 vour of affectation ; but as to any more traffic of 
 that debtor and creditor kind, I swear by that ho- 
 nour which crowns the upright statue of Robert 
 Burns's integrity — on the least motion of it, I will 
 indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from 
 that moment commence entire stranger to you. 
 Burns's character for generosity of sentiment and 
 independence of mind will, I trust, long outlive 
 any of his wants which the cold unfeeling ore can 
 supply : at least, I will take care that such a cha- 
 racter he shall deserve." — In November, 1794, we 
 find Mr Thomson writing to Burns, " Do not, I 
 beseech you, return any books." — In May, 1795, 
 " You really make me blush when you tell me 
 you have not merited the drawing from me ;" 
 (this was a drawing of the Cottars Saturday 
 Night, by Allan) ; " I do not think I can ever 
 repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you, 
 for the liberal and kind manner in which you have 
 entered into the spirit of my undertaking, which 
 could not have been perfected without you. So I 
 beg you would not make a fool of me again by 
 speaking of obligation," On February, 1796, we 
 have Burns acknowledging a " handsome elegant 
 
 present to Mrs B ," which was a worsted 
 
 shawl. Lastly, on the 12th July of the same year, 
 (that is, little more than a week before Burns died,) 
 he writes to Mr Thomson in these terms : — " Af- 
 
268 LIFE OF 
 
 ter all my boasted independence, cursed necessity 
 compels me to implore you for five pounds. A 
 
 cruel of a haberdasher, to whom I owe an 
 
 account, taking it into his head that I am dying, 
 has commenced a process, and will infallibly put 
 me into jail. Do, for God's sake, send me that 
 sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this 
 earnestness ; but the horrors of a jail have put me 
 half distracted.- — I do not ask this gratuitously ; 
 for, upon returning health, I hereby promise and 
 engage to furnish you with five pounds worth of 
 the neatest song genius you have seen." To which 
 Mr Thomson replies — " Ever since I received 
 your melancholy letter by Mrs Hyslop, I have 
 been ruminating in what manner I could endea- 
 vour to alleviate your sufferings. Again and again 
 I thought of a pecuniary offer ; but the recollec- 
 tion of one of your letters on this subject, and the 
 fear of offending your independent spirit, checked 
 my resolution. I thank you heartily, therefore, for 
 the frankness of your letter of the 12th, and with 
 great pleasure enclose a draft for the very sum I 
 proposed sending. Would I were Chancellor of 
 
 the Exchequer but one day for your sake ! 
 
 Pray, my good sir, is it not possible for you to 
 
 muster a volume of poetry? Do not 
 
 shun this method of obtaining the value of your 
 labour ; remember Pope published the Iliad by 
 subscription. Think of this, my dear Burns, and 
 do not think me intrusive with my advice." 
 
 Such are the details of this matter, as recorded 
 in the correspondence of the two individuals con- 
 cerned. Some time after Bums's death, Mr Thom- 
 son was attacked on account of his behaviour to 
 the poet, in an anonymous novel, which I have 
 never seen, called Nvhilia ; in Professor Walker's 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 269 
 
 Memoirs, which appeared in 1816, Mr Thomson 
 took the opportunity of defending himself :* and 
 
 * " I have been attacked with much bitterness, and accu- 
 sed of not endeavouring to remunerate Burns for the songs 
 which he wrote for my collection ; although there is the 
 clearest evidence of the contrary, both in die printed cor- 
 respondence between the poet and me, and in the public 
 testimony of Dr Currie. My assailant, too, without know- 
 ing anything of the matter, states, that I had enriched my- 
 self by the labours of Burns ; and of course, that my want 
 of generosity was inexcusable. 
 
 " Now, the fact is, that notwithstanding the united la- 
 bours of all the men of genius who have enriched my col- 
 lection, I am not even yet compensated for the precious 
 time consumed by me in poring over musty volumes, and 
 in corresponding with every amateur and poet by whose 
 means I expected to make any valuable additions to our 
 national music and song ; — for the exertion and money it 
 cost me to obtain accompaniments from the greatest masters 
 of harmony in Vienna ; — and for the sums paid to engra- 
 vers, printers, and others. On this subject, the testimony 
 of Mr Preston in London, a man of unquestionable and 
 well-known character, who has printed the music for every 
 copy of my work, may be more satisfactory than anything 
 I can say : In August 1809, he wrote me as follows : l I 
 am concerned at the very unwarrantable attack which has 
 been made upon you by the author of Nubilia : nothing 
 could be more unjust than to say you had enriched your- 
 self by Burns's labours ; for the whole concern, though it 
 includes the labours of Haydn, has scarcely afforded a 
 compensation for the various expenses, and for the time 
 employed on the work. When a work obtains any cele- 
 brity, publishers are generally supposed to derive a pro- 
 fit ten times beyond the reality ; the sale is greatly mag- 
 nified, and the expenses are not in the least taken into 
 consideration. It is truly vexatious to be so grossly and 
 scandalously abused for conduct, the very reverse of which 
 has been manifest through the whole transaction.' 
 
 . " Were I the sordid man that the anonymous author 
 calls me, I had a most inviting opportunity to profit much 
 more than I did by the lyrics of our great bard. He had 
 written above fifty songs expressly for my work ; they were 
 in my possession unpublished at his death ; I had the right 
 z 
 
270 LIFE OF 
 
 Professor Walker, who enjoyed the personal friend- 
 ship of Burns, and who also appears to have had 
 the honour of Mr Thomson's intimate acquaintance, 
 has delivered an opinion on the whole merits of the 
 case, which must necessarily be far more satisfac- 
 tory to the reader than anything which I could pre- 
 sume to offer in its room. " Burns," says this writer, 
 " had all the unmanageable pride of Samuel John- 
 son ; and, if the latter threw away, with indigna- 
 tion, the new shoes which had been placed at his 
 chamber-door, secretly and collectively by his com- 
 panions,, — the former would have been still more 
 ready to resent any pecuniary donation with which 
 a single individual, after his peremptory prohibi- 
 tion, should avowedly have dared to insult him. 
 
 and the power of retaining them till I should be ready to 
 publish them ; but when I was informed that an edition of 
 the poet's works was projected for the benefit of his family, 
 I put them in immediate possession of the whole of his 
 songs, as well as letters, and thus enabled Dr Currie to com- 
 plete the four volumes which were sold for the family's be- 
 hoof to Messrs Cadell and Davies. And I have the satis- 
 faction of knowing, that the most zealous friends of the fa- 
 mily, Mr Cunninghame, Mr Syme, and Dr Currie, and the 
 poet's own brother, considered my sacrifice of the prior right 
 of publishing the songs, as no ungrateful return for the dis- 
 interested and liberal conduct of the poet. Accordingly, 
 Mr Gilbert Burns, in a letter to me, which alone might 
 suffice for an answer to all the novelist's abuse, thus ex- 
 presses himself : i If ever I come to Edinburgh, I wiD cer- 
 tainly call on a person whose handsome conduct to my bro- 
 ther's femily has secured my esteem, and confirmed me in 
 the opinion, that musical taste and talents have a close con- 
 nexion with the harmony of the moral feelings.' Nothing 
 is farther from my thoughts than to claim any merit for 
 what I did. I never would have said a word on the subject, 
 but for the harsh and groundless accusation which has been 
 brought forward, either by ignorance or animosity, and which 
 I have long suffered to remain unnoticed, from my great dis- 
 like to any public appearance." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 271 
 
 He would instantly have construed such conduct 
 into a virtual assertion that his prohibition was in- 
 sincere, and his independence affected ; and the 
 more artfully the transaction had been disguised, 
 the more rage it would have excited, as implying 
 the same assertion, with the additional charge, that 
 
 if secretly made it would not be denied. 
 
 The statement of Mr Thomson supersedes the ne- 
 cessity of any additional remarks. When the pub- 
 lic is satisfied ; when the relations of Burns are 
 grateful ; and, above all, when the delicate mind 
 of Mr Thomson is at peace with itself in contem- 
 plating his conduct, there can be no necessity for a 
 nameless novelist to contradict them." * 
 
 So far, Mr Walker : — why Burns, who was of 
 opinion, when he wrote his letter to Mr Carfrae, 
 that " no profits are more honourable than those 
 of the labours of a man of genius," and whose own 
 notions of independence had sustained no shock 
 in the receipt of hundreds of pounds from Creech, 
 should have spumed the suggestion of pecuniary 
 recompense from Mr Thomson, it is no easy mat- 
 ter to explain : nor do I profess to understand why 
 Mr Thomson took so little pains to argue the mat- 
 ter in limine with the poet, and convince him, that 
 the time which he himself considered as fairly en- 
 titled to be paid for by a common bookseller, 
 ought of right to be valued and acknowledged on 
 similar terms by the editor and proprietor of a 
 book containing both songs and music. 
 
 They order these things differently now : a 
 living lyric poet whom none will place in a higher 
 rank than Burns, has long, it is understood, been 
 in the habit of receiving about as much money an- 
 
 • Life prefixed to Morrison's Burns, pp. cviii. cxii. 
 
272 LIFE OF 
 
 nually for an animal handful of song8, as was ever 
 paid to our bard for the whole body of his writings. 
 
 Of the increasing irritability of our poet's tem- 
 perament, amidst those troubles, external and inter- 
 nal, that preceded his last illness, his letters fur- 
 nish proofs, to dwell on which could only inflict 
 unnecessary pain. Let one example suffice. — 
 " Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue bu- 
 siness, and may probably keep me employed with 
 my pen until noon. Fine employment for a poet's 
 pen ! Here I sit, altogether Novemberish, a d 
 melange of fretfulness and melancholy; not enough 
 of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of the other 
 to repose me in torpor ; my soul flouncing and 
 fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, 
 caught amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust 
 into a cage. Well, I am persuaded that it was of 
 me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he foretold 
 — - ( And behold, on whatsoever this man doth set 
 his heart, it shall not prosper !' Pray that wisdom 
 and bliss be more frequent visitors of R. B." 
 
 Towards the close of 1795 Burns was, as has 
 been previously mentioned, employed as an acting 
 Supervisor of Excise. This was apparently a step 
 to a permanent situation of that higher and more lu- 
 crative class ; and from thence, there was every rea- 
 son to believe, the kind patronage of Mr Graham 
 might elevate him yet farther. These hopes, how- 
 ever, were mingled and darkened with sorrow. For 
 four months of that year his youngest child lingered 
 through an illness of which every week promised 
 to be the last ; and she was finally cut off when 
 the poet, who had watched her with anxious ten- 
 derness, Was from home on professional business* 
 This was a severe blow, and his own nerves, though 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 273 
 
 as yet he had not taken any serious alarm about 
 his ailments, were ill fitted to withstand it. 
 
 " There had need," he writes to MrsDunlop, 15th 
 December, " there had much need be many plea- 
 sures annexed to the states of husband and father, 
 for God knows, they have many peculiar cares. I 
 cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours 
 these ties frequently give me. I see a train of 
 helpless little folks ; me and my exertions all their 
 stay ; and on what a brittle thread does the life of 
 man hang ! If I am nipt off at the command of 
 fate, even in all the vigour of manhood as I am, 
 such things happen every day — gracious God ! 
 what would become of my little flock ! Tis here 
 that I envy your people of fortune. — A father on 
 his death-bed, taking an everlasting leave of his 
 children, has indeed woe enough ; but the man of 
 competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters 
 independency and friends ; while I — but I shall 
 run distracted if I think any longer on the subject." 
 
 To the same lady, on the 29th of the month, 
 he, after mentioning his supervisorship, and saying 
 that at last his political sins seemed to be forgiven 
 him — goes on in this ominous tone — "What a tran- 
 sient business is life ! Very lately I was a boy ; 
 but t'other day a young man ; and I already begin 
 to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old 
 age coming fast over my frame." We may trace 
 the melancholy sequel in these extracts. 
 
 " 31st January 1796. — I have lately drunk 
 deep of the cup of affliction. The autumn robbed 
 me of my only daughter and darling child, and 
 that at a distance too, and so rapidty, as to put it 
 out of my power to pay the last duties to her. 
 I had scarcely begun to recover from that shock, 
 when I became mvself the victim of a most severe 
 z2 
 
274? LIFE OF 
 
 rheumatic fever, and long the die spun doubtful ; 
 until, after many weeks of a sick-bed, it seems to 
 have turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl 
 across my room, and once indeed have been before 
 my own door in the street. 
 
 " When pleasure fascinates the mental sight, 
 
 Affliction purifies the visual ray, 
 Religion hails the drear the untried night, 
 
 That shuts, for ever shuts ! life's doubtful day." 
 
 But a few days after this, Burns was so exceed- 
 ingly imprudent as to join a festive circle at a ta- 
 vern dinner, where he remained till about three in 
 the morning. The weather was severe, and he, 
 being much intoxicated, took no precaution in thus 
 exposing his debilitated frame to its influence. It 
 has been said, that he fell asleep upon the snow 
 on his way home. It is certain, that next morn- 
 ing he was sensible of an icy numbness through 
 all his joints — that his rheumatism returned with 
 tenfold force upon him — and that from that un- 
 happy hour, his mind brooded ominously on the fa- 
 tal issue. The course of medicine to which he 
 submitted was violent ; confinement, accustomed 
 as he had been to much bodily exercise, preyed 
 miserably on all his powers ; he drooped visibly, 
 and all the hopes of his friends that health would 
 return with summer, were destined to disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 u &th June 1796.* — I am in such miserable 
 health as to be utterly incapable of showing my 
 loyalty in any way. Rackt as I am with rheuma- 
 tisms, I meet every face with a greeting like that 
 of Balak and Balaam, — « Come curse me Jacob ; 
 and come defy me Israel.' " 
 
 * The birth-day of George III. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 275 
 
 " Ith July, — I fear the voice of the Bard will 
 soon be heard among you no more. — For these eight 
 or ten months I have been ailing, sometimes bed- 
 fast and sometimes not; but these last three months 
 I have been tortured with an excruciating rheuma- 
 tism which has reduced me to nearly the last stage. 
 You actually would not know me if you saw me— 
 pale, emaciated, and so feeble, as occasionally to 
 need help from my chair. — My spirits fled I fled ! 
 But I can no more on the subject." 
 
 This last letter was addressed to Mr Cunning- 
 ham of Edinburgh, from the small village of 
 Brow on the Solway Frith, about ten miles from 
 Dumfries, to which the poet removed about the 
 end of June ; " the medical folks," as he says, 
 " having told him that his last and only chance 
 was bathing, country quarters, and riding." In se- 
 parating himself by their advice from his family for 
 these purposes, he carried with him' a heavy bur- 
 den of care. " The deuce of the matter," he writes, 
 " is this ; when an exciseman is off duty, his sa- 
 lary is reduced. What way, in the name of thrift, 
 shall I maintain myself and keep a horse in coun- 
 try quarters on L.35 ?" He implored his friends 
 in Edinburgh, to make interest with the Board to 
 grant him his full salary ; " if they do not, I must 
 lay my account with an exit truly en poete — if I die 
 not of disease, I must perish with hunger." The 
 application was, I believe, successful ; but Burns 
 lived not to profit by the indulgence, or the justice, 
 of his superiors. 
 
 Mrs Riddell of Glenriddel, a beautiful and very 
 accomplished woman, to whom many of Burns's 
 most interesting letters, in the latter years of his 
 life, were addressed, happened to be in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Brow when Burns reached his bathing 
 
276 LIFE OF 
 
 quarters, and exerted herself to make him as com- 
 fortable as circumstances permitted. Having sent 
 her carnage for his conveyance, the poet visited 
 her on the 5th July ; and she has, in a letter pub- 
 lished by Dr Currie, thus described his appearance 
 and conversation on that occasion : — - 
 
 " I was struck with his appearance on entering 
 the room. The stamp of death was impressed on 
 his features. He seemed already touching the brink 
 of eternity. His first salutation was, ' Well, ma- 
 dam, have you any commands for the other world?' 
 I replied that it seemed a doubtful case which of 
 us should be there soonest, and that I hoped he 
 would yet live to write my epitaph. (I was then 
 in a poor state of health.) He looked in my face 
 with an air of great kindness, and expressed his 
 concern at seeing me look so ill, with his accustom- 
 ed sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing, and 
 he complained of having entirely lost the tone of 
 his stomach. We had a long and serious conver- 
 sation about his present situation, and the ap- 
 proaching termination of all his earthly prospects. 
 He spoke of his death without any of the ostenta- 
 tion of philosophy, but with firmness as well as 
 feeling — as an event likely to happen very soon, 
 and which gave him concern chiefly from leaving 
 his four children so young and unprotected, and 
 his wife in so interesting a situation — in hourly ex- 
 pectation of lying-in of a fifth. He mentioned, 
 with seeming pride and satisfaction, the promising 
 genius of his eldest son, and the flattering marks of 
 approbation he had received from his teachers, and 
 dwelt particularly on his hopes of that boy's future 
 conduct and merit. His anxiety for his family 
 seemed to hang heavy upon him, and the more 
 perhaps from the reflection that he had not done 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 277 
 
 them all the justice he was so well qualified to do. 
 Passing from this subject, he showed great concern 
 about the care of his literary fame, and particularly 
 the publication of his posthumous works. He said 
 he was well aware that his death would occasion 
 some noise, and that every scrap of his writing 
 would be revived against him to the injury of his 
 future reputation : that letters and verses written 
 with unguarded and improper freedom, and which 
 he earnestly wished to have buried in oblivion, 
 would be handed about by idle vanity or malevo- 
 lence, when no dread of his resentment would re- 
 strain them, or prevent the censures of shrill- 
 tongued malice, or the insidious sarcasms of envy, 
 from pouring forth all their venom to blast his fame. 
 He lamented that he had written many epigrams 
 on persons against whom he entertained no enmity, 
 and whose characters he should be sorry to wound ; 
 and many indifferent poetical pieces, which he fear- 
 ed would now, with all their imperfections on their 
 head, be thrust upon the world. On this account 
 he deeply regretted having deferred to put his pa- 
 pers into a state of arrangement, as he was now 
 quite incapable of the exertion. — The conversation 
 was kept up with great evenness and animation on 
 his side. I have seldom seen his mind greater or 
 more collected. There was frequently a consider- 
 able degree of vivacity in his sallies, and they 
 would probably have had a greater share, had not 
 the concern and dejection I could not disguise, 
 damped the spirit of pleasantry he seemed not un- 
 willing to indulge. — We parted about sun-set on 
 the evening of that day (the 5th of July, 1796) ; 
 the next day I saw him again, and we parted to 
 meet no more !" 
 
278 LIFE OF 
 
 I do not know the exact date of the following :— - 
 
 To Mrs Bums. — "Brow, Thursday. — My dear- 
 est Love, I delayed writing until I could tell you 
 what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. It 
 would be injustice to deny that it has eased my 
 pains, and 1 think has strengthened me ; but my 
 appetite is still extremely bad. No flesh nor fish 
 can I swallow: porridge and milk are the only 
 things I can taste. I am very happy to hear, by 
 Miss Jess Lewars, that you are all well. My very 
 best and kindest compliments to her and to all the 
 children. I will see you on Sunday. Your af- 
 fectionate husband, R. B." 
 
 There is a very affecting letter to Gilbert, dated 
 the 7th, in which the poet says, " I am dangerous- 
 ly ill, and not likely to get better. — God keep my 
 wife and children." On the 12th, he wrote the 
 letter to Mr George Thomson, above quoted, re- 
 questing L.5 ; and, on the same day, he penned 
 also the following — the last letter that he ever 
 wrote — to his friend Mrs Dunlop. 
 
 " Madam, I have written you so often, without 
 receiving any answer, that I would not trouble you 
 again, but for the circumstances in which I am. 
 An illness which has long hung about me, in all 
 probability will speedily send me beyond that 
 bourne whence no traveller returns. Your friend- 
 ship, with which for many years you honoured me, 
 was a friendship dearest to my soul. Your con- 
 versation, and especially your correspondence, were 
 at once highly entertaining and instructive. With 
 what pleasure did I use to break up the seal ! The 
 remembrance yet adds one pulse more to my poor 
 palpitating heart. Farewell ! ! I" 
 
 I give the following anecdote in the words of Mr 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 279 
 
 M'Diarmid : * — " Rousseau, we all know, when 
 dying, wished to be earned into the open air, that he 
 might obtain a parting look of the glorious orb of 
 day. A night or two before Burns left Brow, he 
 drank tea with Mrs Craig, widow of the minister 
 of Ruthwell. His altered appearance excited much 
 silent sympathy ; and the evening being beautiful, 
 and the sun shining brightly through the casement, 
 Miss Craig (now Mrs Henry Duncan), was afraid 
 the light might be too much for him, and rose with 
 the view of letting down the window blinds. Burns 
 immediately guessed what she meant ; and, re- 
 garding the young lady with a look of great benig- 
 nity, said, < Thank you, my dear, for your kind 
 attention ; but, oh, let him shine ; he will not shine 
 long for me.' " 
 
 On the 18th, despairing of any benefit from the 
 sea, our poet came back to Dumfries. Mr Allan 
 Cunningham, who saw him arrive " visibly changed 
 in his looks, being with difficulty able to stand 
 upright, and reach his own door," has given a 
 striking picture, in one of his essays, of the state 
 of popular feeling in the town during the short 
 space which intervened between his return and his 
 death. — " Dumfries was like a besieged place. It 
 was known he was dying, and the anxiety, not of 
 the rich and the learned only, but of the mechanics 
 and peasants, exceeded all belief. Wherever two 
 or three people stood together, their talk was of 
 Burns, and of him alone. They spoke of his his- 
 tory — of his person — of his works — of his family 
 —of his fame — and of his untimely and approach- 
 
 * I take the opportunity of once more acknowledging my 
 great obligations to this gentleman, who is, I understand, 
 connected by his marriage with the family of the poet. 
 
280 LIFE OF 
 
 ing fate, with a warmth and an enthusiasm which 
 will ever endear Dumfries to my remembrance. 
 All that he said or was saying — the opinions of the 
 physicians, (and Maxwell was a kind and a skilful 
 one,) were eagerly caught up and reported from 
 street to street, and from house to house." 
 
 " His good humour," Cunningham adds, " was 
 unruffled, and his wit never forsook him. He 
 looked to one of his fellow volunteers with a smile, 
 as he stood by the bed-side with his eyes wet, and 
 said, < John, don't let the awkward squad fire over 
 me.' He repressed with a smile the hopes of his 
 friends, and told them he had lived long enough. 
 As his life drew near a close, the eager yet decorous 
 solicitude of his fellow townsmen increased. It is 
 the practice of the young men of Dumfries to meet 
 in the streets during the hours of remission from la- 
 bour, and by these means I had an opportunity of 
 witnessing the general solicitude of all ranks and of 
 all ages. His differences with them on some im- 
 portant points were forgotten and forgiven ; they 
 thought only of his genius — of the delight his com- 
 positions had diffused — and they talked of him with 
 the same awe as of some departing spirit, whose 
 voice was to gladden them no more." * 
 
 " A tremour now pervaded his frame," says Dr 
 Currie, on the authority of the physician who at- 
 tended him ; " his tongue was parched ; and his 
 mind sunk into delirium, when not roused by con- 
 versation. On the second and third day the fever 
 'ncreased, and his strength diminished." On the 
 fourth, July 21st, 1796, Robert Burns died. 
 
 " I went to see him laid out for the grave," 
 says Mr Allan Cunningham ; " several elder peo- 
 
 • In the London Magazine, 1824. Article, " Robert 
 Burns and Lord Byron," 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 281 
 
 pie were with me. He lay in a plain unadorned 
 coffin, with a linen sheet drawn over his face ; and 
 on the bed, and around the body, herbs and flowers 
 were thickly strewn, according to the usage of the 
 country. He was wasted somewhat by long ill- 
 ness ; but death had not increased the swarthy hue 
 of his face, which was uncommonly dark and deep- 
 ly marked — his broad and open brow was pale and 
 serene, and around it his sable hair lay in masses, 
 slightly touched with grey. The room where he 
 lay was plain and neat, and the simplicity of the 
 poet's humble dwelling pressed the presence of death 
 more closely on the heart than if his bier had been 
 embellished by vanity, and covered with the bla- 
 zonry of high ancestry and rank. We stood and 
 gazed on him in silence for the space of several 
 minutes — we went, and others succeeded us— 
 not a whisper was heard. This was several days 
 after his death." 
 
 On the 25th of July, the remains of the poet 
 were removed to the Trades-hall, where they lay 
 in state until next morning. The volunteers of 
 Dumfries were determined to inter their illustrious 
 comrade (as indeed he had anticipated) with mi- 
 litary honours. The chief persons of the town and 
 neighbourhood resolved to make part of the pro- 
 cession ; and not a few travelled from great dis- 
 tances to witness the solemnity. The streets were 
 lined by the Fencible Infantry of Angus-shire, and 
 the Cavalry of the Cinque Ports, then quartered at 
 Dumfries, whose commander, Lord Hawkesbury, 
 (now Earl of Liverpool,) although he had always 
 declined a personal introduction to the poet, * of- 
 ficiated as one of the chief mourners. " The mul- 
 
 * So Mr Syme has informed Mr M'Diarmid. 
 2 A 
 
282 LIFE OF 
 
 titude who accompanied Burns fcrthe grave, went 
 step by step," says Cunningham, " with the chief 
 mourners. They might amount to tenor twelve thou- 
 sand. Not a word was heard .... It was an im- 
 pressive and mournful sight to see men of all ranks 
 and persuasions and opinions mingling as brothers, 
 and stepping side by side down the streets of Dum- 
 fries, with the remains of him who had sung of 
 their loves and joys and domestic endearments, 
 with a truth and a tenderness which none perhaps 
 have since equalled. I could, indeed, have wished 
 the military part of the procession away. The 
 scarlet and gold — the banners displayed — the mea- 
 sured step, and the military array — with the sounds 
 of martial instruments of music, had no share in 
 increasing the solemnity of the burial scene ; and 
 had no connexion with the poet. I looked on it 
 then, and I consider it now, as an idle ostentation, 
 a piece of superfluous state which might have been 
 spared, more especially as his neglected and trar 
 duced and insulted spirit had experienced no kind- 
 ness in the body from those lofty people who are 
 now proud of being numbered as his coevals and 
 
 countrymen I found myself at the 
 
 brink of the poet's grave, into which he was about 
 to descend for ever. There was a pause among 
 the mourners, as if loath to part with his remains ; 
 and when he was at last lowered, and the first 
 shovelful of earth sounded on his coffin lid, I look- 
 ed up and saw tears on many cheeks where tears 
 were not usual. The volunteers justified the fears 
 of their comrade, by three ragged and straggling 
 volleys. The earth was heaped up, the green sod 
 laid over him, and the multitude stood gazing on 
 the grave for some minutes' space, and then melted 
 silently away. The day was a fine one, the sun 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 283 
 
 was almost without a cloud, and not a drop of rain 
 fell from dawn to twilight. I notice this, not from 
 any concurrence in the common superstition, that 
 f happy is the corpse which the rain rains on,' but 
 to confute the pious fraud of a religious Magazine, 
 which made heaven express its wrath, at the inter- 
 ment of a profane poet, in thunder, in lightning, 
 and in rain." 
 
 During the funeral solemnity, Mrs Burns was 
 seized with the pains of labour, and gave birth to 
 a posthumous son, who quickly followed his fa- 
 ther to the grave. Mr Cunningham describes the 
 appearance of the family, when they at last emerged 
 from their home of sorrow : — " A weeping widow 
 and four helpless sons ; they came into the streets 
 in their mournings, and public sympathy was awa- 
 kened afresh. I shall never forget the looks of his 
 boys, and the compassion which they excited. The 
 poet's life had not been without errors, and such 
 errors, too, as a wife is slow in forgiving ; but he 
 was honoured then, and is honoured now, by the 
 unalienable affection of his wife, and the world re- 
 pays her prudence and her love by its regard and 
 esteem." 
 
 There was much talk at the time of a subscrip- 
 tion for a monument ; but Mrs Burns beginning, 
 ere long, to suspect that the business was to end 
 in talk, covered the grave at her own expense with 
 a plain tombstone, inscribed simply with the name 
 and age of the poet. In 1813, however, a public 
 meeting was held at Dumfries, General Dunlop, 
 son to Burns's friend and patroness, being in the 
 chair; a subscription was opened, and contribu- 
 tions flowing in rapidly from all quarters, a costly 
 mausoleum was at length erected on the most eleva- 
 ted site which the churchyard presented. Thither 
 
284 LIFE OF 
 
 the remains of the poet were solemnly transferred * 
 on the 5th June 1815 ; and the spot continues to be 
 visited every year by many hundreds of travellers. 
 The structure, which is perhaps more gaudy than 
 might have been wished, bears this inscription : 
 
 IN AETERNUM HONOEEM 
 
 ROBERTI BURNS 
 
 POETARUM CALEDONIAE SUI AEVI LONGE PRINCIPIS 
 
 CUJUS CARMINA EXIMIA PATRIO SERMONE SCRIPTA 
 
 ANIMI MAGIS ARDENTIS V1QUE INGENII 
 
 QUAM ARTE VEL CULTU CONSPICUA 
 
 FACETIIS JUCUNDITATE LEPORE AFFLUENTIA 
 
 OMNIBUS LITTERARUM CULTORIBUS SATIS NOTA 
 
 CIVES SUI NECNON PLERIQUE OMNES 
 
 MUSARUM AMANTISSIMI MEMORIAMQUE VIRI 
 
 ARTE POETICA TAM PRAECLARI FOVENTES 
 
 HOC MAUSOLEUM 
 
 SUPER RELIQUIAS POETAE MORTALES 
 
 EXTRUENDUM CURAVERE 
 
 PRIMUM HUJUS AEDIFICII LAPIDEM 
 
 GULIELMUS MILLER ARMIGER 
 
 REIPUBLICAE ARCHITECTONICAE APUD SCOTOS 
 
 INREGIONEAUSTRALI CURIO MAXIMUS PROVINCIALIS 
 
 GEORGIO TERTIO REGNANTE 
 
 GEORGIO WALLIARUM PRINCIPE 
 
 SUMMAM IMPERII PRO PATRE TENENTE 
 
 JOSEPHO GASS ARMIGERO DUMFRISIAE PRAEFECTO 
 
 THOMA F. HUNT LONDINENSI ARCHITECTO 
 
 POSUIT 
 
 NONIS JUNIIS ANNO LUCIS VMDCCCXV 
 
 SALUTIS HUMANAE MDCCCXV.* 
 
 Immediately after the poet's death, a subscrip- 
 tion was opened for the benefit of his family ; Mr 
 
 • The original tombstone of Burns was sunk under the 
 pavement of the mausoleum ; and the grave which first re- 
 ceived his remains is now occupied, according to her own 
 dying request, by a daughter of Mrs Dunlop. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 285 
 
 Miller of Dalswinton, Dr Maxwell, Mr Syme, Mr 
 Cunningham, and Mr M'Murdo, becoming trus- 
 tees for the application of the money. Many 
 names from other parts of Scotland appeared in 
 the lists, and not a few from England, especially 
 London and Liverpool. Seven hundred pounds 
 were in this way collected ; an additional sum was 
 forwarded from India ; and the profits of Dr Cur- 
 rie's Life and Edition of Burns were also consi- 
 derable. The result has been, that the sons of the 
 poet received an excellent education, and that Mrs 
 Burns has continued to reside, enjoying a decent 
 independence, in the house where the poet died, 
 situated in what is now, by the authority of the 
 Dumfries Magistracy, called Burns' Street. 
 
 " Of the (four surviving) sons of the poet," 
 says their uncle Gilbert in 1820, " Robert, the 
 eldest, is placed as a clerk in the Stamp Office, 
 London," (Mr Burns still remains in that esta- 
 blishment,) Francis Wallace, the second, died in 
 1803 ; William Nicoll, the third, went to Madras 
 in 1811 ; and James Glencairn, the youngest, to 
 Bengal in 1812, both as cadets in the Honourable 
 Company's service." These young gentlemen have 
 all, it is believed, conducted themselves through 
 life in a manner highly honourable to themselves, 
 and to the name whieh they bear. One of them, 
 (James,) as soon as his circumstances permitted, 
 settled a liberal annuity on his estimable mother, 
 which she still survives to enjoy 
 
 Gilbert Burns, the admirable brother of the 
 poet, survived till the 27th of April 1827. He 
 removed from Mossgiel, shortly after the death 
 of the poet, to a farm in Dumfries-shire, carrying 
 with him his aged mother, who died under his 
 2 A 2 
 
286 LIFE OF 
 
 roof. At a later period he became factor to the 
 noble family of Blantyre, on their estates in East 
 Lothian. The pecuniary succours which the poet 
 afforded Gilbert Burns, and still more the inte- 
 rest excited in his behalf by the account of his 
 personal character contained in Currie's Memoir, 
 proved of high advantage to him. He trained up 
 a large family, six sons and five daughters, and 
 bestowed on all his boys what is called a classical 
 education. The untimely death of one of these, a 
 young man of very promising talents, when on the 
 eve of being admitted to holy orders, is supposed 
 to have hastened the departure of the venerable 
 parent. It should not be omitted, that, on the 
 publication of his edition of his brother's works, in 
 1819, Gilbert repaid, with interest, the sum which 
 the poet advanced to him in 1788. Through life, 
 and in death, he maintained and justified the pro- 
 mise of his virtuous youth, and seems in all re- 
 spects to have resembled his father, of whom 
 Murdoch, long after he was no more, wrote in 
 language honourable to his own heart : " O for a 
 world of men of such dispositions ! I have often 
 wished, for the good of mankind, that it were as 
 customary to honour and perpetuate the memory 
 of those who excel in moral rectitude as it is to 
 extol what are called heroic actions : then would 
 the mausoleum of the friend of my youth overtop 
 and surpass most of those we see in Westminster 
 Abbey !" * 
 
 It is pleasing to trace, in all these details, the 
 happy influence which our poet's genius has ex- 
 
 * These particulars are taken from an article which ap- 
 peared, soon after Mr Burns's death, in the Dumfries 
 Cornier. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 287 
 
 erted over the destinies of his connexions. " In 
 the fortunes of his family," says Mr M'Diarmid,* 
 " there are few who do not feel the liveliest inte- 
 rest ; and were a register kept of the names, and 
 numbers, and characters, of those who from time 
 to time visit the humble but decent abode in which 
 Burns breathed his last, amid the deepest despond- 
 ency for the fate of those who were dearer to him 
 than life, and in which his widow is spending tran- 
 quilly the evening of her days in the enjoyment of 
 a competency, not derived from the bounty of the 
 public, but from the honourable exertions of her 
 own offspring — the detail, though dry, would be 
 pleasing to many, and would weaken, though it 
 could not altogether efface, one of the greatest 
 stains on the character of our country. Even as 
 it is, his name has proved a source of patronage to 
 those he left behind him, such as the high and the 
 noble cannot always command. Wherever his 
 sons wander, at home or abroad, they are regarded 
 as the scions of a noble stock, and receive the 
 cordial greetings of hundreds who never saw their 
 faces before, but who account it a happiness to 
 grasp in friendly pressure the proffered hand in 
 which circulates the blood of Burns." f 
 
 • Article in the Dumfries Magazine, August, 1825. 
 + Mr M'Diarnrid, in the article above quoted, gives a 
 touching account of the illness and death of one of the daugh- 
 ters of Mr James Glencairn Burns, on her voyage homewards 
 from India. At the funeral of this poor child there was 
 witnessed, says he, a most affecting scene. " Officers, pas- 
 sengers, and men, were drawn up in regular order on deck ; 
 some wore crape round the right arm, others were dressed 
 in the deepest mourning ; every head was uncovered ; and 
 as the lashing of the waves on the sides of the coffin pro- 
 claimed that the melancholy ceremony had closed, every 
 
288 LIFE OF 
 
 Sic vos non vobis. — The great poet himself, 
 whose name is enough to ennoble his children's 
 children, was, to the eternal disgrace of his conn- 
 try, suffered to live and die in penury, and, as far 
 as such a creature could be degraded by any ex- 
 ternal circumstances, in degradation. Who can 
 open the page of Bums, and remember without a 
 blush, that the author of such verses, the human 
 being whose breast glowed with such feelings, was 
 doomed to earn mere bread for his children by 
 casting up the stock of publicans' cellars, and ri- 
 ding over moors and mosses in quest of smuggling 
 stills ? The subscription for his Poems was, for the 
 time, large and liberal, and perhaps absolves the 
 gentry of Scotland as individuals ; but that some 
 strong movement of indignation did not spread over 
 the whole kingdom, when it was known that Robert 
 Burns, after being caressed and flattered by the 
 noblest and most learned of his countrymen, was 
 about to be established as a common gauger among 
 the wilds of Nithsdale — and that, after he was so 
 established, no interference from a higher quarter 
 arrested that unworthy career : — these are circum- 
 stances which must continue to bear heavily on 
 the memory of that generation of Scotsmen, and 
 especially of those who then administered the pub- 
 lic patronage of Scotland. 
 
 In defence, or at least in palliation, of this na- 
 tional crime, two false arguments, the one resting 
 on facts grossly exaggerated, the other having no 
 foundation whatever either on knowledge or on 
 
 countenance seemed saddened with grief — every eye moisten- 
 ed with tears. Not a few of the sailors wept outright, na- 
 tives of Scotland, who, even when far away, had revived 
 their recollections of home and youth, by listening to, or re- 
 peating the poetry of Burns." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 289 
 
 wisdom^have been rashly set up, and arrogantly as 
 well as ignorantly maintained. To the one, namely, 
 that public patronage would have been wrongfully 
 bestowed on the Poet, because the Exciseman was 
 a political partizan, it is hoped the details embo- 
 died in this narrative have supplied a sufficient an- 
 swer : had the matter been as bad as the boldest 
 critics have ever ventured to insinuate, Sir Walter 
 Scott's answer would still have remained — " this 
 partizan was Burns." The other argument is a 
 still more heartless, as well as absurd one ; to wit, 
 that from the moral character and habits of the 
 man, no patronage, however liberal, could have in- 
 fluenced and controlled his conduct, so as to work 
 lasting and effective improvement, and lengthen his 
 life by raising it more nearly to the elevation of 
 his genius. This is indeed a candid and a gene- 
 rous method of judging ! Are imprudence and in- 
 temperance, then, found to increase usually in pro- 
 portion as the worldly circumstances of men are 
 easy ? Is not the very opposite of this doctrine ac- 
 knowledged by almost all that have ever tried the 
 reverses of Fortune's wheel themselves — by all that 
 have contemplated, from an elevation not too high 
 for sympathy, the usual course of manners, when 
 their fellow creatures either encounter or live in 
 constant apprehension of 
 
 " The thousand ills that rise where money fails, 
 
 Debts, threats, and duns, bills, bailiffs, writs, and jails ?" 
 
 To such mean miseries the latter years of Burns's 
 life were exposed, not less than his early youth, 
 and after what natural buoyancy of animal spirits 
 he ever possessed, had sunk under the influ- 
 ence of time, which, surely bringing experience, 
 fails seldom to bring care also and sorrow, to spi- 
 
290 LIFE OF 
 
 rits more mercurial than his ; and in what bitter- 
 ness of heart he submitted to his fate, let his own 
 burning words once more tell us. " Take," says 
 he, writing to one who never ceased to be his 
 friend — " take these two guineas, and place them 
 over against that ****** account of yours, which 
 has gagged my mouth these five or six months ! 
 I can as little write good things as apologies to the 
 man I owe money to. O, the supreme curse of 
 making three guineas do the business of five ! Po- 
 verty ! thou half sister of death, thou cousin-ger- 
 man of hell ! Oppressed by thee, the man of sen- 
 timent, whose heart glows with independence, and 
 melts with sensibility, inly pines under the neglect, 
 or writhes in bitterness of soul, under the contume- 
 ly of aiTOgant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by 
 thee, the son of genius, whose ill-starred ambition 
 plants him at the tables of the fashionable and po- 
 lite, must see, in suffering silence, his remark ne- 
 glected, and his person despised, while shallow 
 greatness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall meet 
 with countenance and applause. Nor is it only 
 the family of worth that have reason to complain 
 of thee ; the children of folly and vice, though, in 
 common with thee, the offspring of evil, smart 
 equally under thy rod. The man of unfortunate 
 disposition and neglected education, is condemned 
 as a fool for his dissipation, despised and shunned 
 as a needy wretch, when his follies, as usual, bring 
 him to want ; and when his necessities drive him 
 to dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a miscre- 
 ant, and perishes by the justice of his country. 
 But far otherwise is the lot of the man of family 
 and fortune. His early follies and extravagance, 
 are spirit and fire ; his consequent wants, are the 
 embarrassments of an honest fellow ; and when, to 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 291 
 
 remedy the matter, he has gained a legal commis- 
 sion to plunder distant provinces, or massacre 
 peaceful nations, he returns, perhaps, laden with 
 the spoils of rapine and murder ; lives wicked and 
 respected, and dies a ******* and a lord. — Nay, 
 worst of all, alas for helpless woman ! the needy 
 prostitute, who has shivered at the comer of the 
 street, waiting to earn the wages of casual prosti- 
 tution, is left neglected and insulted, ridden down 
 by the chariot wheels of the coroneted rip, hurry- 
 ing on to the guilty assignation ; she, who, with- 
 out the same necessities to plead, riots nightly in 
 the same guilty trade. — Well I divines may say of 
 it what they please, but execration is to the mind, 
 what phlebotomy is to the body ; the vital sluices 
 of both are wonderfully relieved by their respective 
 evacuations." * 
 
 In such evacuations of indignant spleen the proud 
 heart of many an unfortunate genius, besides this, 
 has found or sought relief : and to other more dan- 
 gerous indulgences, the affliction of such sensitive 
 spirits had often, ere his time, condescended. The 
 list is a long and a painful one ; and it includes 
 some names that can claim but a scanty share in the 
 apology of Burns. Addison, himself, the elegant, 
 the philosophical, the religious Addison, must be 
 numbered with these offenders : — Jonson, Cotton, 
 Prior, Parnell, Otway, Savage? all sinned in the 
 same sort, and the transgressions of them all have 
 been leniently dealt with, in comparison with 
 those of one whose genius was probably greater 
 than any of theirs ; his appetites more fervid, his 
 temptations more abundant, his repentance more 
 
 " Letter to Mr Peter Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh. Ge- 
 neral Correspondence, p. 328. 
 
292 LIFE OF 
 
 severe. The beautiful genius of Collins sunk un- 
 der similar contaminations; and those who have 
 from dulness of head, or sourness of heart, joined 
 in the too general clamour against Bums, may learn 
 a lesson of candour, of mercy, and of justice, from 
 the language in which one of the best of men, and 
 loftiest of moralists, has commented on frailties that 
 hurried a kindred spirit to a like untimely grave. 
 " In a long continuance of poverty, and long habits 
 of dissipation," says Johnson, " it cannot be expect- 
 ed that any character should be exactly uniform.-— 
 That this man, wise and virtuous as he was, passed 
 always unentangled through the snares of life, it 
 would be prejudice and temerity to affirm : but it 
 may be said that he at least preserved the source 
 of action unpolluted, that his principles were never 
 shaken, that his distinctions of right and wrong 
 were never confounded, and that his faults had no- 
 thing of malignity or design, but proceeded from 
 some unexpected pressure or casual temptation. 
 Such was the fate of Collins, with whom I once 
 delighted to converse, and whom I yet remember 
 with tenderness." 
 
 Burns was an honest man : after all his strug- 
 gles, he owed no man a shilling when he died. His 
 heart was always warm and his hand open. " His 
 charities," says Mr Gray, " were great beyond his 
 means ;" and I have to thank Mr Allan Cunningham 
 for the following anecdote, for which I am sure 
 every reader will thank him too. Mr Maxwell of 
 Teraughty,an old, austere, sarcastic gentleman, who 
 cared nothing about poetry, used to say when the 
 Excise-books of the district were produced at the 
 meetings of the justices, — " Bring me Burns's jour- 
 nal : it always does me good to see it, for it shows 
 5 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 293 
 
 that an honest officer may carry a kind heart about 
 with him." 
 
 Of his religious principles, we are bound to 
 judge by what he has told us himself in his mor e 
 serious moments. He sometimes doubted with the 
 sorrow, what in the main, and above all, in the 
 end, he believed with the fervour of a poet. " It 
 occasionally haunts me/' says he in one of his let- 
 ters, — " the dark suspicion, that immortality may 
 be only too good news to be true ;" and here, as on 
 many points besides, how much did his method of 
 thinking, (I fear I must add of acting,) resemble 
 that of a noble poet more recently lost to us. " I am 
 no bigot to infidelity," said Lord Byron, " and did 
 not expect that because I doubted the immortality 
 of man, I should be charged with denying the ex- 
 istence of a God. It was the comparative insigni- 
 ficance of ourselves and our world, when placed 
 in comparison with the mighty whole, of which it 
 is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our 
 pretensions to immortality might be overrated." I 
 dare not pretend to quote the sequel from memory, 
 but the effect was, that Byron, like Burns, com- 
 plained of " the early discipline of Scotch Calvin- 
 ism," and the natural gloom of a melancholy 
 heart, as having between them engendered " a 
 hypochondriacal disease" which occasionally vi- 
 sited and depressed him through life. In the 
 opposite scale, we are, in justice to Burns, to place 
 many pages which breathe the ardour, nay the ex- 
 ultation of faith, and the humble sincerity of Chris- 
 tian hope ; and as the poet bimself has warned us, 
 it well befits us " at the balance to be mute." 
 Let us avoid, in the name of Religion herself, the 
 fatal error of those who would rashly swell the 
 catalogue of the enemies of religion. " A sally of 
 2b 9 
 
294. LIFE OF 
 
 levity," says once more Dr Johnson, " an indecent 
 jest, an unreasonable objection, are sufficient, in 
 the opinion of some men, to efface a name from 
 the lists of Christianity, to exclude a soul from 
 everlasting life. Such men are so watchful to 
 censure, that they have seldom much care to look 
 for favourable interpretations of ambiguities, or to 
 know how soon any step of inadvertency has been 
 expiated by sorrow and retractation, but let fly 
 their fulminations without mercy or prudence 
 against slight offences or casual temerities, against 
 crimes never committed, or immediately repented. 
 The zealot should recollect, that he is labouring; by 
 this frequency of excommunication, against his own 
 cause, and voluntarily adding strength to the ene- 
 mies of truth. It must always be the condition of 
 a great part of mankind, to reject and embrace te- 
 nets upon the authority of those whom they think 
 wiser than themselves, and therefore the addition 
 of every name to infidelity, in some degree inva- 
 lidates that argument upon which the religion of 
 multitudes is necessarily founded." * In conclu- 
 sion, let me adopt the sentiment of that illustrious 
 moral poet of our own time, whose generous de- 
 fence of Burns will be remembered while the lan- 
 guage lasts ; — 
 
 " Let no mean hope your souls enslave — 
 Be independent, generous, brave ; 
 Your" Poet '- such example gave, 
 
 And such revere, 
 But be admonish'd by his grave, 
 
 And think and fear." -J* 
 
 * Life of Sir Thomas Browne. 
 
 •f Wordsworth's address to the sons of Burns, on visit- 
 ing his grave in 1803. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 295 
 
 It is possible, perhaps for some it may be easy, 
 to imagine a character of a much higher cast than 
 that of Bums, developed, too, under circumstances 
 in many respects not unlike those of his history — 
 the character of a man of lowly birth, and power- 
 ful genius, elevated by that philosophy which is 
 alone pure and divine, far above all those annoy- 
 ances of terrestrial spleen and passion, which mixed 
 from the beginning with the workings of his inspi- 
 ration, and in the end were able to eat deep into the 
 great heart which they had long tormented. Such 
 a being would have received, no question, a spe- 
 cies of devout reverence, I mean when the grave 
 had closed on him, to which the warmest admirers 
 of our poet can advance no pretensions for their 
 unfortunate favourite ; but could such a being have 
 delighted his species— could he even have instruct- 
 ed them like Burns ? Ought we not to be thank- 
 ful for every new variety of form and circum- 
 stance, in and under which the ennobling energies 
 of true and lofty genius are found addressing them- 
 selves to the common brethren of the race ? Would 
 we have none but Mil tons and Cowpers in poetry 
 — but Brownes and Southeys in prose? Alas ! if 
 it were so, to how large a portion of the species 
 would all the gifts of all the muses remain for ever 
 a fountain shut up and a book sealed ! Were the 
 doctrine of intellectual excommunication to be thus 
 expounded and enforced, how small the library 
 that would remain to kindle the fancy, to draw 
 out and refine the feelings, to enlighten the head 
 by expanding the heart of man ! From Aristo- 
 phanes to Byron, how broad the sweep, how woe- 
 ful the desolation ! 
 
 In the absence of that vehement sympathy with 
 humanity as it is, its sorrows and its joys as they 
 
296 LIFE OF 
 
 are, we might have had a great man, perhaps a 
 great poet, but we could have had no Burns. It 
 is very noble to despise the accidents of fortune ; 
 but what moral homily concerning these, could 
 have equalled that which Burns's poetry, considered 
 alongside of Burns's history, and the history of his 
 fame, presents ! It is very noble to be above the 
 allurements of pleasure ; but who preaches so ef- 
 fectually against them, as he who sets forth in im- 
 mortal verse his own intense sympathy with those 
 that yield, and in verse and in prose, in action and 
 in passion, in life and in death, the dangers and 
 the miseries of yielding ? 
 
 It requires a graver audacity of hypocrisy than 
 falls to the share of most men, to declaim against 
 Burns's sensibility to the tangible cares and toils 
 of his earthly condition ; there are more who ven- 
 ture on broad denunciations of his sympathy with 
 the joys of sense and passion. To these, the great 
 moral poet already quoted speaks in the following 
 noble passage — and must he speak in vain ? " Per- 
 mit me," says he, " to remind you, that it is the 
 privilege of poetic genius to catch, under certain 
 restrictions of which perhaps at the time of its be- 
 ing exerted it is but dimly conscious, a spirit of 
 pleasure wherever it can be found, — in the walks 
 of nature, and in the business of men. — The poet, 
 trusting to primary instincts, luxuriates among the 
 felicities of love and wine, and is enraptured while 
 he describes the fairer aspects of war ; nor does he 
 shrink from the company of the passion of love 
 though immoderate — from convivial pleasure though 
 intemperate — nor from the presence of war though 
 savage, and recognised as the hand-maid of deso- 
 lation. Frequently and admirably has Burns given 
 way to these impulses of nature ; both with refer- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 297 
 
 ence to himself, and in describing the condition of 
 others. Who, but some impenetrable dunce or 
 narrow-minded puritan in works of art, ever read 
 without delight the picture which he has drawn of 
 the convivial exaltation of the rustic adventurer, 
 Tarn o'Shanter? The poet fears not to tell the 
 reader in the outset, that his hero was a desperate 
 and sottish drunkard, whose excesses were fre- 
 quent as his opportunities. This reprobate sits 
 down to his cups, while the storm is roaring, and 
 heaven and earth are in confusion ; — the night is 
 driven on by song and tumultuous noise— laughter 
 and jest thicken as the beverage improves upon the 
 palate — conjugal fidelity archly bends to the ser- 
 vice of general benevolence — selfishness is not ab- 
 sent, but wearing the mask of social cordiality — 
 and, while these various elements of humanity are 
 blended into one proud and happy composition of 
 elated spirits, the anger of the tempest without 
 doors only heightens and sets off the enjoyment 
 within. — I pity him who cannot perceive that, in 
 all this, though there was no moral purpose, there 
 is a moral effect. 
 
 " Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
 O'er a' the ills of life victorious." 
 
 ei What a lesson do these words convey of chari- 
 table indulgence for the vicious habits of the prin- 
 cipal actor in this scene, and of those who resem- 
 ble him ! — Men who to the rigidly virtuous are 
 objects almost of loathing, and whom therefore 
 they cannot serve ! The poet, penetrating the un- 
 sightly and disgusting surfaces of things, has un- 
 veiled with exquisite skill the finer ties of imagi- 
 nation and feeling, that often bind these beings to 
 
298 LIFE OF 
 
 practices productive of much unhappiness to them- 
 selves, and to those whom it is their duty to che- 
 rish ; — and, as far as he puts the reader into pos- 
 session of this intelligent sympathy, he qualifies 
 him for exercising a salutary influence over the 
 minds of those who are thus deplorably decei- 
 ved." * 
 
 That some men in every age will comfort them- 
 selves in the practice of certain vices, by reference 
 to particular passages both in the history and in 
 the poetry of Burns, there is all reason to fear ; 
 but surely the general influence of both is calcula- 
 ted, and has been found, to produce far different 
 effects. The universal popularity which his wri- 
 tings have all along enjoyed among one of the 
 most virtuous of nations, is of itself, as it would 
 seem, a decisive circumstance. Search Scotland 
 over, from the Pentland to the Solway, and there 
 is not a cottage-hut so poor and wretched as to be 
 without its Bible ; and hardly one that, on the same 
 shelf, and next to it, does not possess a Burns. 
 Have the people degenerated since their adoption 
 of this new manual ? Has their attachment to the 
 Book of Books declined? Are their hearts less 
 firmly bound, than were their fathers', to the old 
 faith and the old virtues ? I believe, he that knows 
 the most of the country will be the readiest to 
 answer all these questions, as every lover of genius 
 and virtue would desire to hear them answered. 
 
 On one point there can be no controversy ; the 
 poetry of Bums has had most powerful influence 
 in reviving and strengthening the national feelings 
 of his countrymen. Amidst penury and labour, 
 his youth fed on the old minstrelsy and traditional 
 
 * Wordsworth's Letter to Gray, page 24. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 299 
 
 glories of his nation, and his genius divined, that 
 what he felt so deeply must belong to a spirit that 
 might lie smothered around him, but could not 
 be extinguished. The political circumstances of 
 Scotland were, and had been, such as to starve 
 the flame of patriotism ; the popular literature had 
 striven, and not in vain, to make itself English ; 
 and, above all, a new and a cold system of spe- 
 culative philosophy had begun to spread widely 
 among us. A peasant appeared, and set himself to 
 check the creeping pestilence of this indifference. 
 Whatever genius has since then been devoted to 
 the illustration of the national manners, and sus- 
 taining thereby of the national feelings of the peo- 
 ple, there can be no doubt that Burns will ever be 
 remembered as the founder, and, alas I in his own 
 person as the martyr, of this reformation. 
 
 That what is now-a-days called, by solitary emi- 
 nence, the wealth of the nation, had been on the 
 increase ever since our incorporation with a greater 
 and wealthier state — nay, that the laws had been 
 improving, and, above all, the administration of 
 the laws, it would be mere bigotry to dispute. It 
 may also be conceded easily, that the national 
 mind had been rapidly clearing itself of many in- 
 jurious prejudices — that the people, as a people, 
 had been gradually and surely advancing in know- 
 ledge and wisdom, as well as in wealth and secu- 
 rity. But all this good had not been accomplished 
 without rude work. If the improvement were 
 valuable, it had been purchased dearly. " The 
 spring fire," Allan Cunningham says beautifully 
 somewhere, " which destroys the furze, makes 
 an end also of the nests of a thousand song-birds ; 
 and he who goes a-trouting with lime leaves little 
 of life in the stream." We were getting fast asha- 
 
300 LIFE OF 
 
 med of many precious and beautiful things, only 
 for that they were old and our own. 
 
 It has already been remarked, how even Smol- 
 lett, who began with a national tragedy, and one of 
 the noblest of national lyrics, never dared to make 
 use of the dialect of his own country ; and how 
 Moore, another most enthusiastic Scotsman, fol- 
 lowed in this respect, as in others, the example of 
 Smollett, and over and over again counselled Burns 
 to do the like, But a still more striking sign of the 
 times is to be found in the style adopted by both 
 of these novelists, especially the great master of 
 the art, in their representations of the manners and 
 characters of their own countrymen. In Humphry 
 Clinker, the last and best of Smollett's tales, there 
 are some traits of a better kind — but, taking his 
 works as a whole, the impression it conveys is 
 certainly a painful, a disgusting one. The Scots- 
 men of these authors, are the Jockeys and Archies 
 of farce — 
 
 Time out of mind the Southrons' mirthmakers — 
 
 the best of them grotesque combinations of sim- 
 plicity and hypocrisy, pride and meanness. When 
 such men, high-spirited Scottish gentlemen, pos- 
 sessed of learning and talents, and, one of them 
 at least, of splendid genius, felt, or fancied, the ne- 
 cessity of making such submissions to the preju- 
 dices of the dominant nation, and did so without 
 exciting a murmur among their own countrymen, 
 we may form some notion of the boldness of 
 Burns's experiment ; and on contrasting the state 
 of things then with what is before us now, it will 
 cost no effort to appreciate the nature and conse- 
 quences of the victory in which our poet led the 
 way, by achievements never in their kind to be 
 2 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 301 
 
 surpassed.* " Burns," says Mr Campbell, " has 
 given the elixir vitse to his dialect :" -j- — -he gave it 
 to more than his dialect. 
 
 The moral influence of his genius has not 
 been confined to his own countrymen. " The 
 range of the pastoral," said Johnson, " is nar- 
 row. Poetry cannot dwell upon the minuter dis- 
 tinctions by which one species differs from an- 
 other, without departing from that simplicity of 
 grandeur which Jills the imagination ; nor dissect 
 the latent qualities of things, without losing its 
 general power of gratifying every mind by recall- 
 ing its own conceptions. Not only the images of 
 rural life, but the occasions on which they can be 
 properly applied, are few and general. The state 
 of a man confined to the employments and plea- 
 sures of the country, is so little diversified, and 
 exposed to so few of those accidents which pro- 
 duce perplexities, terrors, and surprises, in more 
 complicated transactions, that he can be shown 
 
 s "He was," says a writer, in whose language a brother 
 poet will be recognised — " he was in many respects born at 
 a happy time ; happy for a man of genius like him, but fa- 
 tal and hopeless to the more common mind. A whole world 
 of life lay before Burns, whose inmost recesses, and darkest 
 nooks, and sunniest eminences, he had familiarly trodden 
 from his childhood. All that world he felt could be made 
 his own. No conqueror had overrun its fertile provinces, 
 and it was for him to be crowned supreme over all the 
 ' Lyric singers of that high-soul'd land.' 
 
 The crown that he has won can never be removed from his 
 head. Much is yet left for other poets, even among that life 
 where his spirit delighted to work ; but he has built monu- 
 ments on all the high places, and they who follow can only 
 hope to leave behind them some far humbler memorials." 
 —Blackwood's Magazine* Feb. 1817- 
 
 -j- Specimens of the British Poets, vol. vii. p. 240. 
 2 c 
 
S02 LIFE OF 
 
 but seldom in such circumstances as attract cu- 
 riosity. His ambition is without policy, and his 
 love without intrigue. He has no complaints to 
 make of his rival,, but that he is richer than him- 
 self; nor any disasters to lament, but a cruel mis- 
 tress or a bad harvest." * Such were the notions 
 of the great arbiter of taste, whose dicta formed 
 the creed of the British world, at the time when 
 Burns made his appearance to overturn all such 
 dogmata at a single blow; to convince the loftiest 
 of the noble, and the daintiest of the learned, that 
 wherever human nature is at work, the eye of a 
 poet may discover rich elements of his art — that 
 over Christian Europe, at all events, the purity of 
 sentiment and the fervour of passion may be found 
 combined with sagacity of intellect, wit, shrewd- 
 ness, humour, whatever elevates and whatever de- 
 lights the mind, not more easily amidst the most 
 " complicated transactions" of the most polished 
 societies, than 
 
 (i In huts where poor men lie." 
 
 Burns did not place himself only within the esti- 
 mation and admiration of those whom the world 
 called his superiors — a solitary tree emerging into 
 light and air, and leaving the parent underwood as 
 low and as dark as before. He, as well as any 
 man, 
 
 "■ Knew his own worth, and reverenced the lyre ;" -J- 
 
 * Rambler, No. 36. 
 
 •j- Perhaps some readers will smile to hear, that Burns 
 very often wrote his name on his books thus — " Robert 
 Burns, Poet ;" and that Allan Cunningham remembers a 
 favourite cbUie at Elliesland having the same inscription on 
 his collar. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 303 
 
 but he ever announced himself as a peasant, the 
 representative of his class, the painter of their man- 
 ners, inspired by the same influences which ruled 
 their bosoms; and whosoever sympathized with 
 the verse of Burns, had his soul opened for the 
 moment to the whole family of man. If, in 
 too many instances, the matter has stopped there 
 — the blame is not with the poet, but with the mad 
 and unconquerable pride and coldness of the world- 
 ly heart — " man's inhumanity to man." If, in spite 
 of Burns, and all his successors, the boundary lines 
 of society are observed with increasing strictness 
 among us — if the various orders of men still, day 
 by day, feel the chord of sympathy relaxing, let us 
 lament over symptoms of a disease in the body po- 
 litic, which, if it goes on, must find sooner or la- 
 ter a fatal ending : but let us not undervalue the 
 antidote which has all along been checking this 
 strong poison. Who can doubt that at this mo- 
 ment thousands of " the first-born of Egypt" look 
 upon the smoke of a cottager's chimney with feel- 
 ings which would never have been developed with- 
 in their being, had there been no Burns ? 
 
 Such, it can hardly be disputed, has been and is 
 the general influence of this poet's genius ; and the 
 effect has been accomplished, not in spite of, but 
 by means of the most exact contradiction of, every 
 one of the principles laid down by Dr Johnson in 
 a passage already cited ; and, indeed, assumed 
 throughout the whole body of that great author's 
 critical disquisitions. Whatever Burns has done, 
 he has done by his exquisite power of entering into 
 the characters and feelings of individuals, as Heron 
 has well expressed it, " by the effusion of particu- 
 lar, not general sentiments, and in the picturing out 
 of particular imagery." 
 
304 LIFE Of 
 
 Dr Currie says, that " if fiction be the soul of 
 poetry, as some assert, Burns can have small pre- 
 tensions to the name of poet." The success of 
 Burns, the influence of his verse, would alone 
 be enough to overturn all the systems of a thou- 
 sand definers ; but the Doctor has obviously ta- 
 ken fiction in far too limited a sense. There are 
 indeed but few of Burns's pieces in which he is 
 found creating beings and circumstances, both alike 
 alien from his own person and experience, and then 
 by the power of imagination, divining and express- 
 ing what forms life and passion would assume 
 with, and under these — But there are some ; there 
 is quite enough to satisfy every reader of Hal- 
 lowe'en^ the Jolly Beggars, and Tarn o' Shanter, 
 (to say nothing of various particular songs, such as 
 Bruce s Address, Macpherson's Lament, &c.)that 
 Burns, if he pleased, might have been as largely 
 and as successfully an inventor in this way, as he 
 is in another walk, perhaps not so inferior to this 
 as many people may have accustomed themselves 
 to believe ; in the art, namely, of recombining and 
 new-combining, varying, embellishing, and fixing 
 and transmitting the elements of a most pictu- 
 resque experience, and most vivid feelings. 
 
 Lord Byron, in his letter on Pope, treats with 
 high and just contempt the laborious trifling which 
 has been expended on distinguishing by air-drawn 
 lines and technical slang-words, the elements and 
 materials of poetical exertion ; and, among other 
 things, expresses his scorn of the attempts that 
 have been made to class Burns among minor poets, 
 merely because he has put forth few large pieces, 
 and still fewer of what is called the purely imagi- 
 native character. Fight who will about words and 
 forms, " Burns's rank," says he, " is in the first 
 
ROBERT BURKS, 305 
 
 class of his art ;" and, I believe, the world at large 
 are now-a-days well prepared to prefer a line from 
 such a pen as Byron's on any such subject as this, 
 to the most luculent dissertation that ever per- 
 plexed the brains of writer and of reader. Sentio, 
 ergo sum, says the metaphysician ; the critic may 
 safely parody the saying, and assert that that is 
 poetry of the highest order, which exerts influence 
 of the most powerful order on the hearts and minds 
 of mankind. 
 
 Burns has been appreciated duly, and he has had 
 the fortune to be praised eloquently, by almost 
 every poet who has come after him. To accumu- 
 late all that has been said of him, even by men like 
 himself, of the first order, would fill a volume — 
 and a noble monument, no question, that volume 
 would be — the noblest, except what he has left us 
 in his own immortal verses, which — were some 
 dross removed, and the rest arranged in a chrono- 
 logical order — would I believe form, to the intelli- 
 gent, a more perfect and vivid history of his life 
 than will ever be composed out of all the mate- 
 rials in the world besides. 
 
 " The impression of his genius," says Campbell, 
 " is deep and universal ; and viewing him merely 
 as a poet, there is scarcely another regret connect- 
 ed with his name, than that his productions, with 
 all their merit, fall short of the talents which he 
 possessed. That he never attempted any great 
 work of fiction, may be partly traced to the cast 
 of his genius, and partly to his circumstances, and 
 defective education. His poetical temperament 
 was that of fitful transports, rather than steady in- 
 spiration. Whatever he might have written, was 
 likely to have been fraught with passion. There 
 is always enough of interest in lite to cherish the 
 
306 LIFE OF 
 
 feelings of genius ; but it requires knowledge to 
 enlarge and enrich the imagination. Of that know- 
 ledge, which unrolls the diversities of human man- 
 ners, adventures, and characters, to a poet's study, 
 he could have no great share ; although he stamped 
 the little treasure which he possessed in the mint- 
 age of sovereign genius." * 
 
 " Notwithstanding," says Sir Walter Scott, C( the 
 spirit of many of his lyrics, and the exquisite 
 sweetness and simplicity of others, we cannot but 
 deeply regret that so much of his time and talents 
 was frittered away in compiling and composing 
 for musical collections. There is sufficient evi- 
 dence, that even the genius of Burns could not 
 support him in the monotonous task of writing 
 love verses, on heaving bosoms and sparkling eyes, 
 and twisting them into such rhythmical forms as 
 might suit the capricious evolutions of Scotch 
 reels and strathspeys. Besides, this constant 
 waste of his power and fancy in small and in- 
 significant compositions, must necessarily have had 
 no little effect in deterring him from underta- 
 king any grave or important task. Let no one 
 suppose that we undervalue the songs of Burns. 
 When his soul was intent on suiting a favourite 
 air to words humorous or tender, as the subject 
 demanded, no poet of our tongue ever displayed 
 higher skill in marrying melody to immortal verse. 
 But the wilting of a series of songs for large musi- 
 cal collections, degenerated into a slavish labour 
 which no talents could support, led to negligence, 
 and, above all, diverted the poet from his grand 
 plan of dramatic composition. To produce a work 
 of this kind, neither, perhaps, a regular tragedy 
 
 * Specimens, vol. vii. p. 241. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 307 
 
 nor comedy, but something partaking- of the na- 
 ture of both, seems to have been long the cherish- 
 ed wish of Burns. He had even fixed on the 
 subject, which was an adventure in low life, said 
 to have happened to Robert Bruce, while wander- 
 ing in danger and disguise, after being defeated by 
 the English. The Scottish dialect would have 
 rendered such a piece totally unfit for the stage ; 
 but those who recollect the masculine and lofty 
 tone of martial spirit which glows in the poem of 
 Bannockburn, will sigh to think what the charac- 
 ter of the gallant Bruce might have proved under 
 the hand of Bums. It would undoubtedly have 
 wanted that tinge of chivalrous feeling which the 
 manners of the age, no less than the disposition of 
 the monarch, demanded ; but this deficiency would 
 have been more than supplied by a bard who 
 could have drawn from his own perceptions the 
 unbending energy of a hero sustaining the deser- 
 tion of friends, the persecution of enemies, and the 
 utmost maliee of disastrous fortune. The scene, 
 too, being partly laid in humble life, admitted that 
 display of broad humour and exquisite pathos, with 
 which he could, interchangeably and at pleasure, 
 adorn his cottage views. Nor was the assemblage 
 of familiar sentiments incompatible in Burns, with 
 those of the most exalted dignity. In the inimi- 
 table tale of Tarn o Shanter, he has left us suffi- 
 cient evidence of his abilities to combine the ludi- 
 crous with the awful, and even the horrible. No 
 poet, with the exception of Shakspeare, ever pos- 
 sessed the power of exciting the most varied and 
 discordant emotions with such rapid transitions. 
 His humorous description of death in the poem 
 on Dr Hornbook borders on the terrific, and the 
 witches' dance in the kirk of Alloway is at once 
 
308 LIFE OF 
 
 ludicrous and horrible. Deeply must we then re- 
 gret those avocations which diverted a fancy so 
 varied and so vigorous, joined with language and 
 expression suited to all its changes, from leaving 
 a more substantial monument to his own fame, and 
 to the honour of his country." * 
 
 The cantata of the Jolly Beggars, which was 
 not printed at all until some time after the poet's 
 death, and has not been included in the editions 
 of his works until within these few years, cannot be 
 considered as it deserves, without strongly height- 
 ening our regret that Burns never lived to execute 
 his meditated drama. That extraordinary sketch, 
 coupled with his later lyrics in a higher vein, is 
 enough to show that in him we had a master ca- 
 pable of placing the musical drama on a level with 
 the loftiest of our classical forms. Beggars Bush, 
 and Beggars Opera, sink into tameness in the 
 comparison ; and indeed, without profanity to the 
 name of Shakspeare, it may be said, that out of 
 such materials, even his genius could hardly have 
 constructed a piece in which imagination could 
 have more splendidly predominated over the out- 
 ward shows of things — in which the sympathy- 
 awakening power of poetry could have been dis- 
 played more triumphantly under circumstances of 
 the greatest difficulty. — That remarkable perform- 
 ance, by the way, was an early production of the 
 Mauchline period ;f I know nothing but the Tarn 
 o' Shanter that is calculated to convey so high an 
 impression of what Burns might have done. 
 
 * Quarterly Review, No. 1. p. 33. 
 
 ■f So John Richmond of Mauchline informed Chambers 
 — see the " Picture of Scotland," article Mauchline, for 
 some entertaining particulars of the scene that suggested 
 the poem. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 309 
 
 As to Bums's want of education and know- 
 ledge, Mr Campbell may not have considered, but 
 he must admit, that whatever Burns's opportunities 
 had been at the time when he produced his first 
 poems, such a man as he was not likely to be a 
 hard reader, (which he certainly was,) and a con- 
 stant observer of men and manners, in a much 
 wider circle of society than almost any other great 
 poet has ever moved in, from three-and-twenty 
 to eight-and-thirty, without having thoroughly re- 
 moved any pretext for auguring unfavourably on 
 that score, of what he might have been expected to 
 produce in the more elaborate departments of his 
 art, had his life been spared to the usual limits of 
 humanity. In another way, however, 1 cannot 
 help suspecting that Burns's enlarged knowledge, 
 both of men and books, produced an unfavourable 
 effect, rather than otherwise, on the exertions, such 
 as they were, of his later years. His generous 
 spirit was open to the impression of every kind 
 of excellence ; his lively imagination, bending its 
 own vigour to whatever it touched, made him ad- 
 mire even what other people try to read in vain ; 
 and after travelling, as he did, over the general 
 surface of our literature, he appears to have been 
 somewhat startled at the consideration of what he 
 himself had, in comparative ignorance, adventured, 
 and to have been more intimidated than encoura- 
 ged by the retrospect. In most of the new depart- 
 ments in which he made some trial of his strength, 
 (such, for example, as the moral epistle in Pope's 
 vein, the heroic satire, &c.,) he appears to have 
 soon lost heart, and paused. There is indeed one 
 magnificent exception in Tarn o Shanter — a piece 
 which no one can understand without believing, that 
 had Burns pursued that walk, and poured out his 
 
310 LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 stores of traditionary lore, embellished with his 
 extraordinary powers of description of all kinds, 
 we might have had from his hand a series of na- 
 tional tales, uniting the quaint simplicity, sly hu- 
 mour, and irresistible pathos of another Chaucer, 
 with the strong and graceful versification, and mas- 
 culine wit and sense of another Dryden. 
 
 This was a sort of feeling that must have in 
 time subsided.— But let us not waste words in re- 
 gretting wnat might have been, where so much is, 
 Bums, short and painful as were his years, has left 
 behind him a volume in which there is inspiration 
 for every fancy, and music for every mood ; which 
 lives, and will live in strength and vigour — " to 
 soothe," as a generous lover of genius has said — " the 
 sorrows of how many a lover, to inflame the patriot- 
 ism of how many a soldier, to fan the fires of how 
 many a genius., to disperse the gloom of solitude, 
 appease the agonies of pain, encourage virtue, and 
 show vice its ugliness ;"*— a volume, in which, cen- 
 turies hence, as now, wherever a Scotsman may 
 wander, he will find the dearest consolation of Ins 
 exile. Already has 
 
 . Glory without end 
 
 Scattered the clouds away ; and on that name attend 
 The tears and praises of all time."-f- 
 
 * See the Censura Literaria of Sir Egerton Brydges, 
 vol. ii. p. 55. 
 
 f Childe Harold, Canto iv. 36. 
 
 EDINUUKGH : 
 FK1NIED BY BALLANIYNE & CO. 
 
DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, 
 TO THE KING. 
 
 
 
 [GINAIrfir 
 
 ORIGINAL PREFACE. 
 
 The change that has gradually taken place 
 during the last thirty or forty years in the 
 numbers and circumstances of the reading 
 public, and the unlimited desire of know- 
 ledge that now pervades every class of soci- 
 ety, have suggested the present undertaking. 
 Previously to the commencement of the late 
 war, the buyers of books consisted princi- 
 pally of the richer classes — of those who 
 were brought up to some of the learned pro- 
 fessions, or who had received a liberal edu- 
 cation. The saving of a few shillings on the 
 price of a volume was not an object of much 
 importance to such persons, many of whom 
 prized it chiefly for the fineness of its pa- 
 per, the beauty of its typography, and the 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 amplitude of its margins — qualities which 
 add to the expense of a work, without ren- 
 dering it in any degree more useful. But 
 now when the more general diffusion of edu- 
 cation and of wealth, has occasioned a vast 
 increase in the number of readers, and in 
 the works which daily issue from the press, 
 a change in the mode of publishing seems to 
 be called for. The strong desire entertained 
 by most of those who are engaged in the va- 
 rious details of agriculture, manufactures, 
 and commerce, for the acquisition of useful 
 knowledge, and the culture of their minds, 
 is strikingly evinced by the establishment 
 of subscription libraries and scientific in- 
 stitutions, even in the most inconsiderable 
 towns and villages throughout the empire ; 
 and by the extensive sale which several very 
 expensive, though by no means valuable 
 works, published in numbers, have met with. 
 Under these circumstances, it occurred to 
 the projector of this Miscellany, that if 
 Standard Works, not hitherto accessible 
 to the great mass of the Public, intermin- 
 gled with Original Treatises on subjects 
 of great general importance, and executed 
 
by writers of acknowledged talent, were 
 published in a cheap, convenient, and not 
 inelegant form, they would obtain a most 
 extensive circulation, and be productive alike 
 of benefit to the Public and of profit to 
 those concerned in them. 
 
 In the selection of Treatises, and in the 
 mode of circulation, the Publishers have ad- 
 opted that plan which they supposed would 
 be most likely to meet the wishes of the great 
 mass of readers, or of the middle classes. 
 And they are resolved to spare neither trou- 
 ble nor expense to give effect to their pur- 
 pose, of making this Miscellany the deposi- 
 tory of a selection of Works on all the most 
 interesting branches of human knowledge, 
 written by the most approved authors, and of 
 rendering it as perfect a vehicle of useful 
 information and of rational entertainment 
 as it can possibly be made. 
 
 The exalted patronage under which 
 this Miscellany is ushered into the world, is 
 of itself a sufficient pledge, that nothing will 
 be admitted into its pages tainted with party 
 politics, or which can be construed as milita- 
 ting, in any way, against any of the princi- 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 pies of religion and morality. The object in 
 view is to render this Work a truly National 
 Publication, which shall be equally accept- 
 able to readers of all parties and denomi- 
 nations. 
 
 January 1827. 
 
 To the above little need be added. Im- 
 mediately on its commencement in January 
 1827, this Miscellany met with extensive 
 encouragement, which has enabled the Pub- 
 lishers to bring forward a series of works 
 of the very highest interest, and at unparal- 
 leled low prices. Twenty-three volumes 
 are already before the Public, forming six- 
 teen distinct works, any of which may be 
 purchased separately. Every volume con- 
 tains a vignette title-page; and numerous 
 other illustrations, such as maps, portraits, 
 &c. are occasionally given. 
 
 £f> The Editor begs to return thanks for the obli- 
 ging Contributions and suggestions with which 
 he has been favoured, and will thankfully re- 
 ceive similar Communications, adapted to the 
 nature and objects of this Work. 
 
 Edinburgh, April 1828. 
 
LIST OF WORKS ALREADY PUBLISHED, 
 
 Those Articles marked thus * are original works, prepared 
 or written expressly for this Miscellany. 
 
 VOLS. I. II. III. 
 
 CAPTAIN BASIL HALL'S VOYAGES. 3. vols. 
 
 %* These contain— I. VOYAGE toLOO-CHOO, 
 and other Places in the EASTERN SEAS, in the 
 year 1816. * Including an Account of Captain Max- 
 well's Attack on the Batteries at Canton ; and Notes 
 of an Interview with NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE, 
 at St Helena, in August 1817.— II. EXTRACTS 
 from a JOURNAL written on the Coasts of Chili, 
 Peru, and Mexico, in the years 1820, 1821, and 1822; 
 containing some Account of the recent Revolutions, 
 together with Observations on the State of Society in 
 those Countries. 
 
 VOL. IV. 
 ADVENTURES of BRITISH SEAMEN in the 
 SOUTHERN OCEAN. Containing Shipwreck of 
 the Antelope, and A ccount of the Pelew Islands. Mu- 
 tiny of the Bounty. Voyage and Shipwreck of the 
 Pandora. Settlement of John Adams ; and History 
 of Pitcairn Island. Catastrophe of the Ship Boyd, 
 &c. Edited by Hugh Murray, F.R.S.E. * 
 
 VOL. V. 
 MEMOIRS of the MARCHIONESS of LA- 
 ROCHEJAQUELEIN, the War in La Vendee, 
 &c. From the French. * With a Preface and Notes 
 by Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 VOLS. VI. VII. 
 CONVERTS from INFIDELITY ; or Lives of 
 Eminent Individuals who have renounced Sceptical 
 and Infidel opinions, and embraced Christianity. By 
 Andrew Crichton. 2 vols.* 
 
x Works already Vublished. 
 
 VOLS. VIII. IX. 
 The BIRMAN EMPIRE— An ACCOUNT of 
 the EMBASSY to the KINGDOM of AVA, in the 
 year 1795. By Michael Symes, Esq. Major in his 
 Majesty's 76th Regiment.— NARRATIVE of the 
 LATE MILITARY and POLITICAL OPERA- 
 TIONS in the Burmese Territory, from Original 
 Communications, and other authentic Sources of In- 
 formation. 2 vols.* 
 
 VOL. X. 
 TABLE-TALK: or Selections from the Ana ; 
 containing Extracts from the different Collections of 
 Ana, French, English, Italian, and German. 1 vol. * 
 
 VOL. XL 
 PERILS and CAPTIVITY; comprising the 
 SUFFERINGS of the PICARD FAMILY, after 
 the Shipwreck of the Medusa Frigate, in the year 
 1816. By Madame Dard, one of the Sufferers. 
 Translated from the French, by Patrick Max- 
 well, Esq. *— NARRATIVE of the CAPTIVITY 
 of M. DE BRISSON in the Deserts of Africa, in the 
 year 1785. Translated from the French— VOYAGE 
 of MADAME GODIN along the River of the Ama- 
 zons, and Subsequent Sufferings. 1 vol. 
 
 VOL. XII. 
 SELECTIONS of the Most REMARKABLE 
 PHENOMENA of NATURE, taken from the Wri- 
 tings of the most Eminent Naturalists, and from 
 Voyages and Travels in various quarters of the Globe.* 
 
 VOLS. XIII. XIV; 
 An ACCOUNT of the NATIVES of the TONGA 
 ISLANDS, in the SOUTH PACIFIC OCEAN. 
 Compiled and arranged from the Communications of 
 Mr William Mariner, several years resident in 
 those Islands. By John Martin, M.D. Third Edi- 
 tion, considerably Improved.* 2 vols. 
 
Works already Published. xi 
 
 VOLS. XV. XVI. 
 
 HISTORY of the REBELLION in SCOTLAND, 
 1745. By Robert Chambers, Author of " Tradi- 
 tions of Edinburgh," &c. 2 vols.* 
 VOL. XVII. 
 
 NARRATIVE of VOYAGES and EXCURSIONS 
 on the East Coast, and in the Interior of Central 
 America, describing various Tribes of Free Indians, 
 their Manners, Customs, Commerce, and Govern- 
 ment ; including the Natural History and Produc- 
 tions of the Country. Also a JOURNEY up the 
 JUVER ST JUAN, through the lake of Nicaragua, 
 to Leon, with some Mercantile and other interesting 
 information, relative to the Spanish and Indian Trade, 
 —pointing out the Advantages of a Direct Commer- 
 cial Intercourse, &c. By Orlando W. Roberts, 
 many years a Resident Trader. With Notes, &c. by 
 Edward Irving. 1 vol.* 
 
 VOLS. XVIII. XIX. 
 
 The HISTORICAL WORKS of FREDERICK 
 SCHILLER, comprising his " History of the Thirty 
 Years' War," and his " Revolt of the United Ne- 
 therlands," &c. Translated from the German, by 
 George Moir, Esq. In 2 vols.* 
 VOLS XX XXI. 
 
 An HISTORICAL VIE W of the Manners and 
 Customs, Dresses, Arts, Literature, Commerce, and 
 Government of Great Britain, from the time of the 
 Saxons, down to the Eighteenth Century. Collected 
 from Authentic and Interesting Sources. By Richard 
 Thomson, Esq. 2 vols.* 
 
 VOL. XXII. 
 
 The GENERAL REGISTER of POLITICS, 
 SCIENCE, and LITERATURE, for 1827; contri- 
 buted by several Distinguished Writers. In 1 vol. * 
 %* This Volume will be continued annually. 
 VOL. XXIII. 
 
 LIFE of ROBERT BURNS. By J. G. LOCK- 
 HART, LL.B, 1 vol.* 
 
WORKS IN THE PRESS. 
 
 I. LIFE of MARY, QUEEN of SCOTS. By 
 H. G. Bell, Esq. 2 vols.* 
 
 U. EVIDENCES of CHRISTIANITY : The 
 PLEIAD, or a Series of Abridgements of Seven 
 distinguished Writers, in Opposition to the pernici- 
 ous Doctrines of DEISM. By the Rev. Francis 
 Wrangham, M.A. F.R.S. Archdeacon of Cleve- 
 land. * 
 
 III. MEMORIALS of the LATE WAR; viz- 
 JOURNAL of a SOLDIER of the 71st REG T «, from 
 1806 to 1815, including particulars of the Battles of 
 Vimeira, Vittoria, the Pyrenees, Toulouse, and Wa- 
 terloo.— A NARRATIVE of the Operations and Me- 
 morable Retreat of the British Army in Spain, under 
 the Command of Sir John Moore, in 1808; with 
 Details of the Battle of Corunna, &c. &c. By Adam 
 Neale, M.D. one of the Physicians to his Majesty's 
 Forces, during that Expedition. * — The EARL of 
 HOPETOUN'S DESPATCH after the Battle of 
 Corunna, and other Documents — MEMOIRS of the 
 WAR of the FRENCH in SPAIN. By M. De 
 Rocca. Translated from the French. 2 vols. * 
 
 IV. HISTORY of the PRINCIPAL REVOLU- 
 TIONS in EUROPE, from the Subversion of the 
 Roman Empire in the East, to the period of the 
 French Revolution. Translated from the French of 
 C. G. Koch. 2 vols.* 
 
 V. HISTORY of the REBELLIONS in IRE? 
 LAND in the Years 1798 and 1803. 2 vols. * 
 
 VI. HISTORY of the REBELLIONS IN SCOT- 
 LAND, under Montrose, Dundee, and Mar, in 1644, 
 1689, and 1715. By Robert Chambers, Author 
 of " The Rebellion of 1 745." 2 vols.* 
 
LATELY PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WILLIAM TAIT, Prince's Street, Edinburgh; 
 
 AND 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 THE PICTURE of SCOTLAND. By Ro- 
 bert Chambers, author of Traditions of Edin- 
 burgh, History of the Rebellion 1745, &c. 2 vols. 
 post 8vo, with plates, L.l, Is. 
 
 This work may be said to contain all the information regarding 
 Scotland which can be interesting to either a stranger or a na- 
 tive* It is a classical tour, in which the characteristic features 
 of every district are sketched with fidelity and effect; and allu- 
 sion is made to every remarkable person or event, connected 
 with the locality described. In addition to extensive reading 
 and research, the author has walked over all Scotland, collect- 
 ing materials for the work, 
 
 s < The task Mr Chambers undertook, is one for which he is admi- 
 rably qualified." Scotsman — " A book full of curious infor- 
 mation ; at the head of the Class to which it belongs, and which 
 bids fair to become a standard work." Dumfries Courier.— 
 *' Equally original and amusing. To please and interest is the 
 author's object ; and he has fully succeeded. The ( Picture of 
 Scotland' will unquestionably be a very popular book." Mer- 
 cury. — " To the traveller an amusing and instructive compa- 
 nion. We most cordially recommend it to all who desire to 
 become rightly acquainted with the localities of Scottish his- 
 tory, or the scenes immortalized by her poets." Inverness Cou- 
 rier. — " This is a pleasant book ; pleasantly printed, pleasantly 
 embellished, pleasantly written, and pleasantly read. Every 
 Englishman, as soon as he crosses the Tweed, will consider the 
 * Picture of Scotland' the most valuable book in his portman- 
 
 . teau. To his own countrymen Mr Chambers has given a work 
 which will endear his name to many a village, town, and fa- 
 mily fireside." Observer. 
 
 TRADITIONS of EDINBURGH. By Robert 
 Chambers. In 2 vols, foolscap, 12s. 
 
 " The book is one that will last, and deserves to last." Literary 
 Gazette.—" A most amusing book, full of the best kind of An- 
 tiquavianism. It has had a great sale, and it well de-erves it. 
 Sir Waiter Scott and Charles Sharpe have both communicated 
 anecdotes of the olden time." Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 PRIZE ESSAY on the STATE of S JC1ETY 
 and KNOWLEDGE in the HIGHLANDS 
 of SCOTLAND, particularly in the Northern 
 Counties, at the period of the Rebellion in 
 1745 ; and their progress up to the Establish- 
 ment of the NORTHERN INSTITUTION, 
 for the promotion of Science and Literature, 
 in 1825. By John Anderson, W.S. Sec. to 
 the Society of Scottish Antiquaries. 8vo, 7s« 
 
2 Published by W. Tail, Edinburgh, 
 
 LECTURES on the PHILOSOPHY of the 
 HUMAN MIND. By the late Tho. Brown, 
 M.D., Professor of Moral Philosophy in the 
 University of Edinburgh. Second Edition, cor- 
 rected. In 4 vols. 8vo, L 2, 12s. 6d. 
 
 " An inestimable book." — Dr Parr. 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS of DR THOMAS 
 BROWN. In 4 vols, post 8vo, L.l, 8s. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT of the LIFE and WRITINGS 
 of DR THOMAS BROWN. By the Rev. 
 David W^elsh, Minister of St David's, Glas- 
 gow. In 8vo, with a fine Portrait, 14s. 
 
 BROWN'S PHILOSOPHY of the MIND, with 
 the addition of a Portrait, a Biographical Me- 
 moir by Welsh, and a full Index, in one large 
 vol. 8vo, beautifully printed, L.l, Is. 
 
 Without any notice from the principal Reviews, four editions 
 of these Lectures have been called for within a few years; 
 and since their appearance, it has been almost universally 
 allowed that they take precedence of all the other works on 
 the same subject, in the English language. Although no cri- 
 tique on them, sufficiently elaborate for insertion in the Edin- 
 burgh or Quarterly Review, has yet been written, Dr Brown's 
 Lectures have been reviewed or incidentally noticed in most of 
 the Magazines of the day ; and uniformly mentioned as now, 
 without question, the chief work on Metaphysics and Moral 
 Philosophy. , 
 
 HUME'S PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS ; now 
 first collected ; beautifully printed in 4 large 
 vols. 8vo, L.2, 8s. 
 
 It is not a little remarkable, that not one of the many editions 
 of Hume's Essays is complete. Each wants several Essays to 
 be found in other editions. All the Essays are now printed 
 together, for the first time; with the addition of the Treatise 
 on Human Nature, the Dialogues on Natural Religion, the 
 Account of the Controversy with Rousseau, the Author's Life 
 of himself, and a Portrait. The successive editkns which 
 were revised by the author, have been carefully collated, and 
 the variations pointed out in notes. 
 
Published by W. Tait, Edinburgh. 3 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES of POLITICAL ECO- 
 NOMY ; with a Sketch of the Rise and Pro- 
 gress of the Science. By J. R. M'Cullocet, 
 Esq. Professor of Political Economy in the Uni- 
 versity of London. 8vo, 12s. 
 
 SMITH'S WEALTH of NATIONS ; with large 
 additions by Professor M'Culloch. In 4 
 large and beautifully printed vols. 8vo, L.2, 
 12s. 6d. 
 
 This new and complete edition of Dr Smith's great work contains 
 a Life of the Author, and a fine Portrait engraved by Hors- 
 burgh : an Introductory Discourse, showing the rise of the 
 Science of Political Economy, what Dr Smith did for it, and 
 its subsequent progress : numerous foot-notes, containing cor- 
 rections and additions ; and such lengthened supplemental notes 
 and dissertations in the last volume, as were necessary to show 
 the fallacy of some of Dr Smith's doctrines, and to furnish a 
 brief but distinct account, of the most material improvements 
 that have been made in the science since Dr Smith's time. A 
 very copious Index, compiled with great care, has also been 
 added. 
 
 , AN ESSAY on the CIRCUMSTANCES which 
 Determine the RATE of WAGES, and the 
 Condition of the LABOURING CLASSES. 
 By J. R. M'Culloch, Esq. In 18mo, Is. 
 MEMOIRS of the Rev. JOHN BLACKADER, 
 compiled chiefly from unpublished MSS., and 
 Memoirs of his Life and Ministry, written by 
 himself while a prisoner on the Bass Rock ; and 
 containing illustrations of the Episcopal perse- 
 cution in Scotland, from the Restoration till 
 the death of Charles II. ; with an Appendix, 
 giving a short account of the history and siege 
 of the Bass. By Andrew Crichton, Au- 
 thor of " The Life of Colonel Blackadder," &c. 
 Second edition, 12mo, 5s. 
 
 This edition has received important additions and improvements. 
 Among other supplementary matter, it contains some account 
 of the battle of Pentland and the murder of AreHbishop 
 Sharpe ; besides original letters, and various other interesting 
 particulars, which were formerly either but slightly noticed or 
 entirely omitted. 
 
4 Publis hed by W. Tait, Edinburgh. 
 
 DR JAMIESON'S SCOTTISH DICTIONA- 
 RY, Supplement to ; (a valuable Repository 
 of the Antiquities, Traditions, and ancient Cus- 
 toms of Scotland ;) 2 vols. 4to, L.5, 5s. — A li- 
 beral price given for the original work. 
 
 THE BRUCE, by Barbour ; and WALLACE, 
 by Blind Harry ; two ancient Scottish Poems, 
 edited by Dr Jamieson, 2 vols. 4to, (original 
 price L.6, 6s.) L.3, 3s. 
 
 W. Tait, having purchased the whole remaining copies of this, 
 the only good edition of these two celebrated Poems, offers 
 copies at present at L.3, 3s,, exactly half price. Only 250 copies 
 were printed ; and of that small impression only a few copies 
 remain to he sold ; so that the hook must speedily get scarce. 
 
 CHEAP FAMILY BIBLES,—The large Folio 
 Bibles, printed by M. and C. Kerr, late his 
 Majesty's Printers, having been all bought by 
 William Tait and Adam Black, are now 
 sold by them at 12s. in quires, instead of 24s., 
 the original price ; the Apocrypha (3s. 6d.) at 
 Is. 6d., and the Scottish Psalms and Paraphrases 
 (4s.) at 2s. 
 
 These Bibles are particularly worthy of the attention of the Book- 
 selling Trade, and the Public, being the only ones of the Folio 
 size to be had, and cheaper beyond all comparison than any 
 ever before offered for sale. They have found a ready and an 
 extensive sale wherever they have been shown. The type is 
 large and distinct. 
 
 The Trade Supplied on liberal Terms. 
 
 POPULAR POLITICAL ECONOMY. By 
 Thomas Hodgskin, Lecturer on Political 
 Economy to the London Mechanics' Institu- 
 tion, closely printed in 12mo, 6s. 
 
 Contents. — Object and scope of Political Economy— Labour — 
 Influence of Observation and Knowledge — Division of labour 
 — Trade— Money— Prices— Effects of the Accumulation of Ca- 
 pital—Agriculture — Introduction of potatoes — Improvements 
 in Navigation — Steam-Engine — Gas-Lights — Pin-Making— In- 
 fluence of Population— Retail and Wholesale Dealers— Foreign 
 Trade — Promissory Notes and Bills of Exchange, Banking, &c. 
 
 *' These Lectures should be in the possession of every Mechanics* 
 Institution in the kingdom. As an elementary work it is high- 
 ly useful, and may be safely recommended to all who desire a 
 general acquaintance with the subject of which it treats."— 
 New Monthly Mag. See also the Times, Globe, &c &c. wheee 
 this work has met with equal praise* 
 
Published by W. Tait, Edinburgh. 5 
 
 A COMPARATIVE VIEW of CHRISTIA- 
 NITY, and all the other FORMS of RELI- 
 GION which have existed, particularly in re- 
 gard to their moral tendency. By William 
 Laurence Brown, D.D. Principal of Maris- 
 chal College, Aberdeen, &c. &c. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 
 This work has been reviewed at great length, and in terms of the 
 highest commendation, by the Evangelical Magazine, Wes- 
 leyan Magazine, Theological M agazine, &c. &c. 
 
 STORER'S VIEWS in EDINBURGH.— W. 
 Tait, having purchased the remaining copies of 
 this elegant work, offers copies at L.l, lis. 6d., 
 exactly half the original price ; and copies on 
 large paper, with proof impressions, at L.2, 2s., 
 instead of L.5. 
 
 Storer's Views, which are above 100 in number, are remarkable 
 for their beautiful execution and their uncommon fidelity of 
 representation. They are accompanied by descriptive letter- 
 press, and a histoiy of the city, by a very popular author. 
 
 WATT'S BIBLIOTHECA BRITANNICA, or 
 
 General Index to British and Foreign Lite- 
 rature ; in two Parts, Authors and Subjects ; 4 
 large vols. 4to, published at L.ll, lis., but now 
 offered for a limited time at L.6, 6s. 
 
 This work is one of the most stupendous productions of human 
 industry. It is of the very highest utility, as it is both a com- 
 plete catalogue of the works of each author, and a key to all 
 that has been written on every subject. 
 
 In the first part of the work, the authors, above 40,000 in 
 number, are arranged in alphabetical order ; and under each 
 author is given a chronological list of his works, their various 
 editions, sizes, and prices ; and, as far as possible, a short bio- 
 graphical notice. In the second part, the Subjects are ar- 
 ranged alphabetically ; and under each subject, all the svorks 
 treating of it ' are arranged in chronological order ; so as to 
 form a sort of annals of what has been written on every sub« 
 ject, from the first publication to the last; including a com- 
 plete list of anonymous publications. 
 
 ELEMENTS of ARITHMETIC, ALGEBRA, 
 and GEOMETRY, for Mechanics' Institutions, 
 by George Lees, A.M. Lecturer in the Edin- 
 burgh School of Arts and the Military Academy. 
 In 8vOj. 5s. 
 
6 Published by W. Tail, Edinburgh, 
 
 GERMAN ROMANCE ; Specimens of its chief 
 Authors; with Biographical and Critical Notices, 
 In 4 vols, post 8vo, with beautiful Vignette Ti- 
 tles. 
 
 • : These Volumes, both in their original and translated contents, 
 have at onee roused and amused us. They may be recommended: 
 aa a -welcome treat to the amateurs of National Fiction. Few 
 will escape being carried away by the eloquence and enthusiasm 
 displayed by the Author." Examiner. — This work has also 
 been noticed with the highest approbation by the Quarterly 
 Review, London Magazine, Literary Gazette, &c. &c. 
 
 MACKENZIE'S LIFE of HOME, author of 
 Douglas, &c. (an exceedingly curious and en- 
 tertaining work,) 8vo, published originally at 
 7s., now offered at 3s. 
 
 MATHEMATICS PRACTICALLY AP- 
 PLIED to the USEFUL and FINE ARTS. 
 By Baron Dupin. Adapted to the State 
 of the Arts in England, by George 
 Birkbeck, Esq. M.D., President of the Lon- 
 don Mechanics' Institution. This volume, con- 
 taining the " Geometry of the Arts," is 
 handsomely printed in 8vo, with 15 plates, en- 
 graved by Turrel, 10s. 6d. 
 
 " It is particularly addressed to the understandings, and adapted 
 to the purses, of those who are engaged in the common busi- 
 ness of life."— Times, 
 
 *' It is plain, simple, and just what such a work ought to be."— 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 ** It is remarkably simple and perspicuous, and abounds in illus- 
 trations drawn from the useful arts." — Scotsman. 
 
 " This is a most useful and interesting work, and should be 
 possessed by the members and auditors of every Mechanics' In- 
 stitution. The acquisition of knowledge in which such per- 
 sons are defective, is of very high importance ; and this work 
 bids fair to supply the deficiency in an important branch of 
 science. For this purpose we most cordially recommend it."— 
 New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 '* Though written in a masterly style, it at the same time possesses 
 all that simplicity and perspicuity which are so essential to such 
 a work, and characteristic of true science. We do not hesitate 
 strongly to recommend this work, especially to such as are de- 
 sirous of acquiring the practical use of mathematics-, whilst 
 studying the elements of that science." — Edin. Phil. Journal. 
 
 *« The peculiar merit of Dupin's work seems to be, that he has 
 looked at every manual operation, with a view of ascertaining 
 what geometrical principles were involved in it ; and he has 
 thus made a book amusing as well as instructive. It is the 
 only work on Geometry we have ever seen that is amusing. It 
 abounds in useful illustrations." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
Published by W. Tait, Edinburgh. 7 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT'S NOVELS : The For- 
 tunes of Nigel, Kenilworth, the Pirate, Quen- 
 tin Durward, and St Ronan's Well ; each pub- 
 lished in 3 vols. Post 8vo, at L.l, lis. 6d ; may 
 be had of W. Tait, new, in boards, at 10s. 6d., 
 ready money. The Monastery and the Abbot 
 may also be had at 10s. 6d. each, instead of 
 L.l, 4s. Early application is necessary to secure 
 copies at this unprecedentedly cheap rate. 
 
 EULER'S LETTERS to a GERMAN PRIN- 
 CESS, on different subjects in Natural Philo- 
 sophy. A new Edition, edited by David 
 Brewster, LL.D., Sec. R.S.E., &c. &c. In 
 two vols. 12mo, with plates, 16s. 
 
 THE EVENTFUL LIFE of a SOLDIER, du- 
 ring the late War in Portugal, Spain, and France. 
 
 By a Sergeant of the Regt. of Infantry, 
 
 ] 2mo, 7s. 
 
 " One of the most extraordinary and most interesting books pub- 
 lished for many years." Atlas. — " A genuine, natural, and vivid 
 picture, &c. The story is various, adventurous, and strongly 
 interesting, in consequence of its truth and fidelity." Literary 
 Gazette.—" One of the most interesting books, &c. which we 
 recommend for its vivid pictures of war, and interesting narra- 
 tives of individual exploits." Retrospective Review — " The in- 
 terest excited by the soldier and his adventures, in many in- 
 stances, equals that of the ablest work of fiction." Globe — " Re- 
 cords of the feelings and opinions of the body of the army." 
 Morning- Chronicle. — " The most faithful picture ever given of 
 the toils, privations, dangers, harassing duties, and shortlived 
 joys of a soldier's life."— Scotsman. 
 
 SCENES and SKETCHES of a SOLDIER'S 
 LIFE in Ireland. By the author of The Event- 
 ful Life of a Soldier, 12mo, 5s. 
 
 This little work is one of uncommon interest. It is really the 
 production of a soldier ; one who, like the soldier of the 71st 
 Regiment, whose Journal was so very favourably received, can 
 select with judgment the most remarkable scenes and occur 
 rences that happened to fall within his observation, in the 
 course of a varied and adventurous life, and paint them natu- 
 rally and vividly. The character and feelings of the British 
 Soldiers, and of the Irish Peasantry, both Catholics and Pro- 
 testants, are in this little narrative pour tray ed to the- life, by 
 an intelligent and candid observer. 
 
8 Published by W, Tait, Edinburgh. 
 
 STATISTICAL ACCOUNT of SCOTLAND; 
 
 drawn up from the Communications of the Mi- 
 nisters of the different parishes, by Sir John 
 Sinclair, Bart. 21 vols. 870, published at 
 L.12, 12s., but now offered at L.5, 5s. in quires. 
 
 This extensive Work contains an account of the Agriculture, 
 Climate, Soil, Manufactures, Population, Antiquities, Tradi- 
 tions, &e. &c. of every parish in Scotland. It is one of those 
 books which no man wishes to part with, after once putting it 
 into his Library. A large edition of it has been sold, with the 
 exception of the few copies remaining in W. Tait's hands. It 
 certainly will never be reprinted, and must soon get scarce, and 
 rise in price. 
 
 ANALYSIS of the STATISTICAL AC- 
 COUNT, by Sir J. Sinclair, in two Parts. 
 
 This important addition to the Statistical Account, was recently 
 published in 2 vols. 8vo, the one at 12s., the other at 8s. 
 Copies of both volumes may be had of W. Tait, at 10s. 6d. 
 
 SINCLAIR'S (Sir John) GENERAL RE- 
 PORT of the Political and Agricultural 
 State of Scotland, 5 vols. 870, and Plates 
 in 4to, published at L.4, 4s. now sold by W. 
 Tait at L.l, lis, 6d. — Very few remain. 
 
 SINCLAIR'S ACCOUNT of the Systems of 
 HUSBANDRY pursued in the more improved 
 Districts of Scotland, 2 vols. 8vo, Plates, (pub- 
 lished at L.l, 10s.) 10s. 6d. 
 
 HISTORY and CHRONICLES of SCOT- 
 LAND. Written originally in Latin, by Hec- 
 tor Boece, Canon of Aberdeen; and Tran- 
 slated, about the year 1536, into the Scottish 
 Language, by John Bellenden, Archdean of 
 Moray and Canon of Ross. 
 
 Of this beautiful reprint of the Chronicles of Scotland, in 2 vols. 
 4to, only 200 were printed ; and very few now remain to be sold. 
 The original Biack Letter edition is extremely rare. A copy 
 brought L.81 at the Townley sale. — Hector Boece is by far the 
 most entertaining of the Historians whose works embrace the 
 early period of our history ; and Beilenden's translation of this 
 curious History, and his translation of Livy, are allowed to be 
 the finest specimens of the auld langage of Scottis that have been 
 left us. His style is uncommonly perspicuous. Even those who 
 are unacquainted with either the ancient English authors, or with 
 the modern Scottish dialect, will, after a few hours, read Bei- 
 lenden's animated pages with facility and pleasure. 
 
Published by IV. Tait, Edinburgh. 9 
 
 The First FIVE BOOKS of TITUS LIVIUS. 
 
 Translated into the Scottish Language by Bel- 
 lenden ; now first printed from the original 
 MS. In 4to. Only 250 printed. 
 
 This translation is one of the earliest executed in Britain ; and is 
 allowed to be a gTeat literary curiosity. With the exception of 
 Gawin Douglas's Virgil, it is the only translation of a Latin Clas- 
 sic into the Scottish language. 
 
 WORKS of JOHN HOME; viz. DOUGLAS, 
 and his other Tragedies ; the HISTORY of 
 the REBELLION 1745,— Portrait of Prince 
 Charles, — Plans of the Battles of Preston, Fal- 
 kirk, and Culloden ; and an Account of Home's 
 Life and Writings, by Henry Mackenzie, 
 Esq. Author of the Man of Feeling, &c. In 
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 KIRKTON'S SECRET and TRUE HISTO- 
 RY of the CHURCH of SCOTLAND, from 
 the Restoration to 1678 ; with an Account of 
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 HISTORICAL NOTICES of the ROMAN 
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 BROWN'S SUPPLEMENT to MORISON'S 
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 INDEX of NAMES to the whole COLLEC- 
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 GENERAL SYNOPSIS (or Digested Index) 
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 LORD HAILES' DECISIONS, from 1766 to 
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 CODE of HEALTH and LONGEVITY. By 
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 In a few days will be published, in Svo, 
 
 HISTORY OF SCOTLAND, by P. F. TYT- 
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 Honorary Associate of the Royal Society of Li- 
 terature, London. Vol. I. including the period 
 from the Accession of Alexander III. to the 
 death of Robert Bruce. 
 
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