THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 (U 1 

 
 VOL. I. 
 THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 EOBEET BUKNS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A CRITICISM ON HIS WRITINGS. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED, 
 
 A REVIEW OF THE LIFE OF BURNS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OF VARIOUS CRITICISMS ON HIS CHARACTER 
 AND WRITINGS, 
 
 fyc. Sfc.

 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY EDITED 
 
 By JAMES CURRIE, M. D. 
 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED, 
 
 A REVIEW OF THE LIFE OF BURNS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OF VARIOUS CRITICISMS ON HIS CHARACTER AND 
 WRITINGS. 
 
 By ALEXANDER PETERKIN. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 Printed ly Michael Andersen, 
 
 TOR. MACREDIE, SKEI.IY, AST) MUCKEESY, 52, TRINCF** 
 STREET, EDINBURGH, 
 
 181,
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 FIRST EDINBURGH EDITION 
 
 CURRIE'S BURNS. 
 
 Dr Currie's first edition of the Works of Robert 
 Burns having been published in the year 1800, 
 the period has now elapsed, to which the law of 
 this country limits the exclusive right of literary 
 property in those by whom the privilege of pub- 
 lishing it has till now been enjoyed. The con- 
 tents of that edition, therefore, are now the 
 property of the world ; and the present repu- 
 blication of it is undertaken in the fair exercise of 
 a title which every individual possesses. 
 
 If the widow and family of Robert Burns had 
 been able, in any way, to secure for ever the 
 profits arising from the sale of his works, the 
 vol. i. a 
 
 T-Cfe*. S^S -^r^«X\^r>
 
 JV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 present publishers would never have grasped 
 at one mite of the scanty pecuniary inheritance 
 which a poet bequeathes to his children. But 
 this cannot be done : and although the booksellers 
 who originally published Dr Currie's edition, are 
 generally understood to have acted towards the 
 family of Burns with commendable liberality, they 
 are also understood to have been fully requited 
 by their extensive sales of his works. Neither 
 the natural claims of Burns's family, however, nor 
 the mercantile pretensions of the booksellers who 
 published Dr Currie's first edition, can now pro- 
 cure them an immunity from the operation of 
 those rights which are enjoyed by every trades- 
 man ; and the publishers gladly avail them- 
 selves of an early opportunity of circulating more 
 widely the best edition which belongs to the pub- 
 lic of the works of Robert Burns ; the most ex- 
 traordinary, the still unrivalled genius, in the na- 
 tive literature of Scotland. 
 
 The present is an exact re-print of Dr Currie's 
 first edition. Every thing that tends to throw 
 the fullest light on Burns as a man and a poet
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. V 
 
 will be found in these volumes : and for this 
 purpose a very ample Review of his Life, and of 
 various Criticisms which have appeared since his 
 death, is included in this edition. This, the pub- 
 lishers Hatter themselves, will render it the fullest 
 and most satisfactory edition of Burns's works 
 which has yet been given to the public. There 
 are several original documents annexed to the 
 Review, which supply an evident defect in Ur 
 Currie's work — and which the publishers reckon - 
 of inestimable value, as containing the testimony 
 of respectable individuals, who had the most am- 
 ple opportunities of knowing the conduct of Burns 
 in the latter years of his life ; testimony to matters 
 of fact, of more real value than all the hypotheti- 
 cal and visionary speculations of five hundred bio- 
 graphers and critics, who never perhaps even 
 saw him. These give the present edition a claim 
 to public notice which no other can possess.
 
 ( vii ) 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 Pugt 
 
 To the Subscribers for a National Monument to the 
 Memory of Robert Burns, 
 
 A Review of the Life of Robert Burns, and of vari- 
 ous Criticisms on his Character and Writings, 
 
 Supplement to a Review of the Life and Writings of 
 Robert Burns, lxxviii 
 
 IX 
 
 xia 
 
 LETTER I.— From Mr Gilbert Burns, 
 LETTER II— From Mr James Gray, formerly 
 
 in Dumfries, now one of the Masters in the 
 
 High School, Edinburgh, 
 LETTER III. — From Alexander Findlater, Esq 
 
 Collector of Excise, Glasgow, 
 LETTER IV. — From Mr George Thomson, 
 LETTER from Dr CURRIE to Capt 
 
 GRAHAME MOORE, Rojal Navy, 
 
 lxxx 
 
 lxxxiii 
 
 xcn 
 
 XCV1 
 
 xcix 
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS ON THE CHARACTER AND CON- 
 DITION OF THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY. 
 
 Effects of the legal establishment of parochial schools — of 
 the church establishment — of the absence of poor laws 
 —of the Scottish music and national songs — of the laws \fi 
 respecting marriage and incontinence — Observation* 
 an the domestic and national attachment of the Scots, ^A
 
 Vlil CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 Narrative of his infancy and youth, by himself — Narrative 
 on the same subject, by his brother, and by Mr Mur- 
 doch, of London, his teacher — Other particulars of 
 Burns while resident in Ayrshire — History of Burns 
 while resident in Edinburgh, including letters to the 
 Editor from Mr Stewart, and Dr Adair — History of 
 Burns while on the farm of Ellisland, in Dumfries-shire 
 — History of Burns while resident in Dumfries — his last 
 illness — death — and character — with general reflections, 3$ 
 
 Memoir respecting Burns, by a Lady, . . . 247 
 
 Criticism on the Writings of Burns, including obser- 
 vations on poetry in the Scottish dialect, and some re- 
 marks on Scottish literature, ..... 260 
 
 Tributary Verses on the Death of Burns, by Mr 
 IioscoE 333 
 
 Appendix, No. 1 341 
 
 Appendix, No. II. including an extract of a Poem ad- 
 dressed to Burns, by Mr Telford, .... 353 
 
 INDEX TO THE POETRY 
 
 in this volume. 
 
 The Lass of Ballochmyle 122 
 
 To Mary in Heaven ...... 125 
 
 Poem on meeting with Lord Daer .... 134 
 
 On a young Lady residing on the Banks of the Devon 171 
 
 On Gordon Castle . 180 
 
 On the birth-day of Prince Charles Edward . . 182 
 
 Soliloquy on the Author's Marriage . . . 191 
 
 The Son* of Death 212
 
 THE SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 FOR 
 
 A NATIONAL MONUMENT 
 
 IN MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 I dedicate the following illustrations of the Life and 
 Writings of Robert Burns to you, as the avowed friends and 
 admirers of our national Poet. I expect nothing from you, 
 but approbation for having obtained evidence in refutation of 
 some foul charges against the moral qualities of Burns, and 
 his poetry, which have of late been propagated. Of the suffi- 
 ciency of that evidence the public must judge : for the infe- 
 rences which I have deduced, and the views which I have taken 
 of the subject, I do not hesitate to incur all the responsibility 
 which the case can involve. 
 
 I dedicate these illustrations to you, because I consider 
 the monument which you are about to raise, the most suitable 
 VOL. I. lj
 
 X TO THE SUBSCRIBERS FOR A MONUMENT 
 
 and useful mark of national homage to the genius of Burns, 
 which his country can bestow. I do not, with many, lament 
 that he did not, during his life, receive either the favour and 
 pensions of a Court, or the debasing patronage of individual 
 bounty. If he had submitted to either bondage, he would not 
 have been the man and the poet, whom, in spite of all his 
 faults, and all the calumnies which have been poured upon his 
 name, the world will long admire. He valued not the symbols 
 and the gifts of accidental greatness : — he did not court them. 
 It was the love of fame, and an anticipation of immortality as 
 a poet which was the ruling passion of his heart ; and which, 
 I believe, inspired his loftiest strains. The appropriate ex- 
 pression, therefore, of public opinion in his native country, 
 ought to be such as tends to perpetuate the admiration which 
 his genius obtained from his cotemporaries, and such as ac- 
 cords with the exalted sentiments which he breathed. 
 
 But it is not in barren admiration of the dead alone that 
 your undertaking seems to be conceived. Honour to the 
 memory of Burns is not limited in its operation to an idle 
 pageant over his ashes. Its advantages, in a moral point of 
 view, are unspeakable. Born and educated a Scottish pea- 
 sant, he affords a striking example of what the spirit of man, 
 even in the most unfavourable circumstances, can achieve. 
 Many may be dazzled by his fame, and some misled by his 
 errors ; but a much greater number must be roused, by con- 
 templating his condition in life, and his works, to exertions and 
 to pursuits, which will brighten the glories of our country. In
 
 IN MEMORY OF ROBERT BURNS. XI 
 
 rearing a monument to the memory of Burns, you will rear a 
 monument to the honour of human nature, and to its best and 
 noblest attributes ; and I shall ever reckon it one of the hap- 
 piest circumstances in my life, if the present humble attempt 
 to exhibit a correct likeness of the character of Burns, shall 
 in any degree contribute to the establishment of a foundation, 
 on which the first national monument to poetic genius in Scot- 
 land shall be reared. 
 
 ALEX. PETERKIN. 
 
 Edi? 
 
 Edinburgh, I 
 20th Oct. 1814. J 
 
 b2
 
 A 
 
 REVIEW OF THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 AND OF 
 
 VARIOUS CRITICISMS 
 ON HIS CHARACTER AND WRITINGS. 
 
 VrE do not intend, in the following remarks, either to 
 repeat merely what has been already said by others, or to 
 anticipate the contents of the volumes now presented to 
 the public. Our object is to supply defects where these 
 seem to exist — to correct errors, and to expose misrepre- 
 sentations. To this task, we wish to carry feelings unin- 
 fluenced by any unworthy purposes. We engage in it, 
 we trust, with a temper suited to the object ; and if we 
 venture to applaud or condemn aught which presents it- 
 self for consideration, this shall not be done without exhi- 
 biting the evidence on which our opinions rest. 
 
 It is a remark too trite perhaps to require repetition, that 
 the writings of Robert Burns are, in Scotland, the most 
 popular of any works of fancv, antient or modern, — that
 
 XIV REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 there is scarcely a house in the kingdom which does not 
 contain a copy of his poems, — and that there are few in- 
 dividuals elevated above the clods of the valley, who are 
 not familiar with the productions of his muse. The ten- 
 dency of works so widely circulated, and so highly esteem- 
 ed, is evidently a matter of no trivial moment. But the 
 personal character of the poet has, since his death, been in 
 some measure inseparably blended with that of his writ- 
 ings ; and in attempting to form an accurate estimate of 
 the latter, it is necessary to consider the former, and the 
 influence on public feeling which belongs to their united 
 power. 
 
 Various individuals, who talk and write with authority, 
 have affected to represent the joint tendency of Burns's 
 personal character and writings as morally pernicious. 
 Much unwarrantable assumption, calumny, and drivel- 
 ling fanaticism have been wasted, to stain unworthily the 
 memory of Burns ; while the sweetest flowers in his writ- 
 ings have yielded to the enemies of his fame the venom 
 which issues from their stings. We do not mean to iu- 
 sinuate> that all the shallow moralizings which we have 
 heard and read are on a level, or spring from malignity ; 
 but it is impossible to dissemble our conviction, that a 
 great portion of that debasing passion has been indulged 
 by many at the expence of truth and of Burns. But whe- 
 ther those personages have been animated by correct mo- 
 tives, or the reverse, in the statements which they have 
 rather too rashly hazarded, we think we shall be able, in 
 some very important instances, to show, that those state- 
 ments arc untrue — to strip them of the pure robe which 
 is thrown around them as a disguise — and to expose, in 
 light, the naked deformity of their aspect. We do not
 
 OF ROBERT BUBNS. XV 
 
 dream of asserting that Robert Burns was immaculate 
 and perfect : he was a man, like his censors, and had his 
 failings: but with all his faults he was not a bad man, nor 
 can we silently allow him to be gibbetted to our country- 
 men as (i a blackguard" tarnished with blemishes which 
 his heart and his conduct never knew. We cannot suffer 
 his foibles to be displayed as the vital part of a character, 
 distinguished for many excellencies ; and we aspire to the 
 interesting task of examining, without scruple, the ge- 
 nuine character of Burns and of his writings ; and try- 
 ing, by the test of proof, the moral and literary critiques 
 which have been put forth with a specious and somewhat 
 ostentatious seeming of reverence for religion and virtue. 
 
 Some of the strictures on Burns's Life and Writings, 
 to which we shall advert, have been ascribed to gentle- 
 men of high note among the periodical authors of the day. 
 This matters little. It indeed only serves to rouse a keen- 
 er purpose of correcting their errors, for wiaich we have 
 not the slightest degree of veneration. We know not 
 even by whom they were written, except in the instances 
 where the names of the authors are given. We are con- 
 fident that some of them have been misled by erroneous in- 
 formation ; and are equally confident they will be happy to 
 see evidence of the truth. But those who have shown 
 by their own unceremonious conduct, that they consider 
 the press free to injure, must learn that it is also free to 
 vindicate, if not to avenge. While we regard the attain- 
 ments and the talents of some of those whose remarks 
 (according to common report), we are about to subject to 
 a public scrutiny, with all reasonable respect — while, in- 
 deed, we cherish for some of them a sincere personal re-
 
 XVI REVIEW Of THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 gard, we frankly avow our belief that their unfortunate 
 attempts to stain, will brighten the character of Burns, 
 and that the effects of their hurried and ill-judged lu- 
 cubrations will perish with the day that gave them birth, 
 and ultimately be lost " in the blaze of his fame !" 
 
 We have not, however, ventured on our present under- 
 taking from any love of controversy, or from any Quixotic 
 passion for literary adventures. We hold the adversaries 
 of Burns to be aggressors; misguided, we are inclined 
 to think, and ready, we trust, in charity, to renounce 
 their errors on satisfactory proof, that they have been mis- 
 informed, or have misconstrued the conduct and writings 
 of Burns. But by their public and voluntary assertions and 
 reflections, however, of an injurious tendency, they have 
 thrown down the gauntlet to every Scotchman who takes 
 an interest in the honour of his country, of its literature, 
 and of human nature. We accept the challenge, and will 
 hazard the proof. Nor do we reckon this a very heroical 
 or high achievement : the most " plebeian" mind in the 
 land is competent to a plain matter-of-fact enquiry, which 
 should assuredly not have been so long delayed, had not 
 the obnoxious critiques appeared too insignificant, sepa- 
 rately considered, to merit notice. But from the system 
 of reiterated critical preaching, which has become fa- 
 shionable in all the recent publications about Burns — from 
 all the slang which has been employed by the busy-bodies 
 of the day, remaining uncontradicted and unexposed, we 
 are afraid that future biographers might be misled by 
 longer silence, and adopt declamatory ravings as genuine 
 admitted facts. The most celebrated literary journal of 
 which Britain can boast, and of which, as Scotchmen, we
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XVII 
 
 are proud, began the cry ; all the would- b& moralists in 
 newspapers, magazines, and reviews, have taken it up, and 
 have repeated unauthenticated stories as grave truths : at 
 length these have found a resting-place in large and last- 
 ing volumes. It is time, however, that the torrent of pre- 
 judice should be stemmed ; and that while it is yet in the 
 power of living men who knew Robert Burns, and can 
 give testimony as to the real qualities of his character and 
 conduct, they should come forth to settle the value of ano- 
 nymous statements, to tell the truth, and to vindicate his 
 memory from unqualified dishonour. 
 
 In order to render the following investigation so far 
 entire as to exhibit, in itself, a view of the character of 
 Burns, it will be necessary to give a very general outline 
 of the events of his life, unclogged with any collateral epi- 
 sodes, which are detailed with greater fulness and variety 
 of illustration in Dr Currie's work, and in the biographi- 
 cal sketches which it comprises, by the poet himself, by 
 his brother Gilbert, by Mr Murdoch, and by Professor 
 Stewart. These, indeed, are documents of a character so 
 peculiarly precious and interesting, that it is probable they 
 will go down to future times, even in the diffuse and dis- 
 jointed form which they have assumed under Dr Currie's 
 hand, as the favoured Memoirs of Robert Burns. A short 
 connected narrative, however, drawn from these fragments, 
 seems to be the requisite precursor of the additional facts 
 and illustrations which are now offered to the public, and 
 which will perhaps be blended hereafter with the story of 
 the Scottish Bard. 
 
 Robert Burns, the eldest son cf William Burns, or 
 Burn ess, and Agnes Brown, was born on the 25th of Jar
 
 XV111 REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 nuary 1759 *, in the vicinity of Ayr, and in a clay- walled 
 cottage, inhabited by his father. This cottage was con- 
 structed with his father's hands, on a small patch of land, of 
 which he had taken a perpetual lease for a public garden, 
 while he was in the service of a neighbouring gentleman. 
 In this condition of life did the father of Burns remain 
 during the first six or seven years of the poet's life ; he 
 was indeed " born a very poor man's son." William 
 Burns continued in the service of Mr Ferguson of Doon- 
 holm, as gardener and overseer until the year 1766 ; but 
 lived in his own humble dwelling, of which, and of his 
 small piece of ground, he also retained possession. 
 
 In his sixth year, Robert was sent for a few months to 
 a school at Alloway Miln, which was kept by a Mr Camp- 
 bell. For a period of about two years and a half after 
 May 1765, he was taught by Mr Murdoch, in his father's 
 neighbourhood, to read English, and to write. English 
 grammar, too, formed part of his school exercises ; and he 
 afterwards, in 177'^, was boarded with the same teacher 
 three weeks, i( one of which was spent entirely in the study 
 of English, and the other two chiefly in that of French." 
 When about 13 or 14, he was sent to improve his hand- 
 writing, " week about," with his brother Gilbert, " dur- 
 ing a summer quarter, to the parish school of Dalrymple," 
 
 * Dr Currie (1st edition), says Burns was born on the 29th Ja- 
 nuary: but Dr Irvine in his Lives of the Scots Poets (1810), gives 
 the 25th, on the authority, as he states, of the parish register of 
 Ayr. In " an Account of the Life, Character and Writings of Ro- 
 bert Burns," ascribed to Josiah Walker, Esq. Perth, and published 
 with an edition of the Poems by Mr Morrison, the 25th is given a? 
 the date of his birth.
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XlX 
 
 and " one summer quarter" he attended the parish school 
 of Kirkoswald, to learn surveying." This was all his 
 school education. The whole time he spent at school 
 cannot be computed at much more than three years. Of 
 the manner, However, in which his education was con- 
 ducted, and of the value of the instructions which he re- 
 ceived under his father's roof, an estimate can be formed 
 only by the result : the particulars need not be here anti- 
 cipated. 
 
 At Whitsunday 1766, Mr Burns took the farm of Mount 
 Oliphant from Mr Ferguson. He had no capital, nor 
 could he get his own little property sold to stock his farm ; 
 but his landlord lent him L.100 for this purpose. This 
 sum, though a sufficient proof of Mr Ferguson's confidence 
 in William Burns's honest industry, was totally inadequate 
 to the profitable occupancy of a farm extending to seventy 
 acres of bad land, for which a rent was payable of L.40 
 annually, during the first six years, and L.45 afterwards. 
 This farm, Gilbert Burns says *, is " almost the very 
 poorest soil I know of in a state of cultivation," and " not- 
 withstanding the extraordinary rise in the value of lands 
 in Scotland, it was, after a very considerable sum laid out 
 in improving it by the proprietor, let a few years ago L.5 
 per annum lower than the rent paid for it by my father 
 thirty years ago." The picture which follows is too affect- 
 ing to be touched by the hand of a stranger. 
 
 " My father (continues Gilbert), in consequence of this, 
 soon came into difficulties, which were increased by the 
 loss of several of his cattle by accidents and disease. To 
 
 * Vide Vol. I. p. 69.
 
 XX REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 the buffettings of misfortune, we could only oppose hard 
 labour and the most rigid economy. We lived very spa- 
 ringly. For several years butchers' 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, under these straits and diffi- 
 culties, was very great. To think of our father growing 
 old (for he was now above fifty), broken down with the 
 long continued fatigues of his life, with a wife and five 
 other children, and in a declining state of circumstances ; 
 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 constantly afflict- 
 ed in the evenings with a dull head-ach, which at a future 
 period of his life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the 
 heart, and a threatening of fainting and suffocation in his 
 bed, in the night time. By a stipulation in my father's 
 lease, he had a right to throw it up if he thought proper, 
 at the end of every sixth year. He attempted to fix him- 
 self in a better farm at the end of the first six years, but fail- 
 ing in thai attempt, he continued where he was for six years 
 more. He then took the farm of Lochtee, of 180 acres, 
 at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of 
 
 Tarbolton, of Mr , then a merchant in Ayr, and now 
 
 (179?) a merchant in Liverpool. He removed to this 
 farm ;it Whitsunday 1777, and possessed it only seven
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXI 
 
 years. No writing had ever been made out of the condi- 
 tions of the lease ; a misunderstanding took place respect- 
 ing them ; the subjects in dispute were submitted to arbi- 
 tration, and the decision involved my father's affairs in ruin. 
 He lived to know of this decision, but not to see any exe- 
 cution in consequence of it. He died on the 1 3th of Feb- 
 ruary 1784." 
 
 Previously to the death of his venerable and unfortu- 
 nate father, Burns and his brother Gilbert, with the view 
 of rendering this farm more productive, attempted to 
 raise a little flax ; and an establishment for the sale of it 
 in Irvine was projected. Thither, therefore, Robert went 
 in 1781 to superintend the sales, and to carry on the 
 business of a flax-dresser ; but after a few months resi- 
 dence, the shop was accidentally burnt, and that specu- 
 lation being thus terminated, he returned to Lochlee, and 
 participated in the anguish, and the toil, which his father's 
 successless struggles, poverty, and death, left as the por- 
 tion of his widow and children. 
 
 William Burns's family were now bereaved of his affec- 
 tionate protection, and were indeed without a home in 
 which to shelter their heads. Robert and Gilbert, in antici- 
 pation of adversity, had previously taken the farm of Moss- 
 giel, as an asylum for them all. This was intended to be 
 a joint establishment, in which every member of the family 
 should contribute a proportion of what they could give ; 
 and in calculating the value of their respective contribu- 
 tions, Robert's services were rated as worth seven pounds 
 per annum of wages, — a sum so entirely adequate to all 
 his wants> that his expences never exceeded its scanty 
 amount, although his acquaintance with scenes beyond
 
 XX11 REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 the circle of domestic worth and innocence began to open 
 up to him new and less salutary channels of expenditure. 
 
 During his residence at Mossgiel, he formed an ac- 
 quaintance with Jean Armour, his future wife. This led 
 to an intimacy which was to be regretted, on account of 
 its immediate consequences ; but although the familiarity 
 which ensued was, in any point of view, imprudent, it was 
 characterised, from first to last, by every feature of a guile- 
 less and honourable attachment. It became expedient, 
 however, that a marriage should be declared ; and Burns 
 avowed, by a written document, and by appearing in 
 presence of a magistrate — circumstances sufficient, accord- 
 ing to the law of Scotland — that his intercourse with Miss 
 Armour had been in the privileged and legal, though, for 
 a time, unacknowledged relation of a husband. 
 
 The farm occupied by the family was unprofitable, not- 
 withstanding all their exertions: being destitute of capital, 
 and four bad crops occurring in succession, they were ob- 
 liged to relinquish the lease of Mossgiel. Robert was 
 therefore quite unable at the time to support a wife and 
 family, and having manfully and honestly rescued the re- 
 putation of his wife from reproach, he proposed to leave 
 her under her father's protection until better fortune, which 
 lie expected to shine on him in Jamaica, should enable him 
 to place her in a situation better suited to his wishes ; but 
 her parents expressed such a repugnance to the union, that 
 they induced their daughter to dissolve her connection with 
 Burns, by destroying the evidence of her marriage, and 
 submitting to the inevitable disrepute of such a measure. 
 Burns, in agony and distraction, under such untoward cir- 
 cumstances, was willing to remain at home, and provide as
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XX111 
 
 he best could for his family; but, with a peculiarity of views 
 quite unaccountable, her relatives spurned all connection 
 with a poor man, and even employed legal measures against 
 him for aliment to the fruits of his marriage ; for in the 
 eye of morality and of law, Burns and Jean Armour must 
 be regarded as married at the period to which we allude, 
 although the ceremony was not formally celebrated until 
 more fortunate occurrences had removed the objections of 
 his wife's relations. In this situation, he resolved to per- 
 severe in his Jamaica adventure, and procured the pro- 
 mise of a situation as overseer on an estate belonging to 
 Dr Douglas. But when nothing prevented his departure 
 but want of money to pay the expence of his voyage, he 
 was rescued, by the expedient which he adopted to pro- 
 cure it, from the pestilential life and death of a West In- 
 dian slave driver, and appeared before his country as an 
 author of such uncommon power, as to have rendered 
 the most minute details of his short and eventful life a 
 subject of extraordinary and still undiminished interest. 
 
 Without, however, entering on these, we shall merely 
 state, that in the year 1786, he published, at Kilmarnock, 
 a volume of " Poems, chiefly in the Scottish dialect" — 
 that their excellence was immediately acknowledged by 
 the rapid sale of six hundred copies, and the warm com- 
 mendation of every class of readers, into whose hands 
 they found their way — that he made L.20 of profit on the 
 sale ; and although he had taken leave of his friends, was 
 induced, by this gleam of success, and at the suggestion of 
 Dr Blacklock, to relinquish his plan of going abroad, and 
 came to Edinburgh in November 1 786, for the purpose of 
 publishing another edition of his poems. In Edinburgh he 
 was applauded, caressed, and befriended by the most emi-
 
 XXIV REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 nent characters for rank, learning, or benevolence ; and 
 no similar instance perhaps ever occurred in the history 
 of genius, of a transition so rapid from the very depths of 
 distress and obscurity, into an overwhelming blaze of ad- 
 miration. 
 
 The second edition of his poems was publishedTat Edin- 
 burgh in the year 1787. During his stay, he adorned the 
 circles of literature and fashion in Edinburgh with the 
 native charms of his unaffected and masculine powers of 
 sociality, newly awakened to the world, and displayed the 
 wonders of his genius, more impressively, perhaps, in his 
 conversational eloquence, than even in his poetry. Not 
 to copy details which will be found in other parts of this 
 volume, we shall only glance at the subsequent events in 
 his life, which serve as land-marks in tracing out the li- 
 neaments of his moral and poetic character. 
 
 In February 1788, he settled accounts with his book- 
 seller, and after defraying all the expences, recently in- 
 curred, he found himself worth L.500 Sterling. To his 
 brother Gilbert, the brother of his warmest affections, 
 and the protector of the little family group, he lent 
 L.200, intending- with the remainder to commence a se- 
 parate establishment, and receive Mrs Burns into his own 
 house. He accordingly took a farm ; and at Whitsun- 
 day 1788, entered to EUisland, on the estate of Mr Mil- 
 lar of Dalswinton, about six miles distant from Dumfries. 
 The virtual marriage of Burns had been disguised by the 
 intervention of his wife's relatives, and every proof of it de- 
 stroyed ; but the incorruptible honour of his spirit promp- 
 ted him, when he felt himself able, in a pecuniary sense, 
 Co proclaim, with all legal solemnity, the existence of an
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXV 
 
 union with Mrs Burns, which indeed had all along legally 
 existed. " Her happiness or misery were in my hands 
 (said he), and who could trifle with- such a deposit?" 
 
 In order to eke out the emoluments of his farm, Burns 
 conceived the unhappy design of adding to the pursuits 
 which it required, the income of a revenue officer — a si- 
 tuation which was extremely unfit for him, if we consider 
 his social propensities — the tone of his mind, and the high 
 place which he was destined to fill in the estimation and 
 the literature of his country. He was soon enabled to 
 realize his wishes, and became an excise-officer ; but the 
 constant attention to minute concerns, which alone can 
 render farming lucrative or safe, was not practicable amidst 
 the avocations of his new employment, or the flattering 
 incense which surrounded him in the never-ending in- 
 trusion of curious, and too often dissipated admirers of his 
 genius. He found it expedient ere long to renounce his 
 lease. After possessing it about three years and a half, 
 he left Ellisland, and in the end of the year 1791, remov- 
 ed to the town of Dumfries, trusting solely to his office, 
 and to promotion in the excise for his present support, 
 and the future hopes of his children. This was a disas- 
 trous choice : it placed him in the hands of merciless 
 power — it exposed him to frequent deviations from sober- 
 ness of life — it fastened on his heart the painful alterna- 
 tives of mental degradation which he spurned, or of turn- 
 ing his family adrift " to all the horrors of want." — It af- 
 fected his spirits, his habits, and his health ; and he sunk 
 at length prematurely into the grave under the hoplessness 
 of his prospects, the victim of disappointment and exas- 
 perated feelings. 
 
 VOL. I. r
 
 XXVI REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 The season at which he became exclusively an excise- 
 officer, was the very worst perhaps in which he could have 
 been cast on society in that capacity. The French Re- 
 volution had begun to agitate the moral world; and Burns 
 was not a man who could be unmoved by a commotion so 
 tremendously new in its character. With many of the best 
 and greatest men of the present age, he hailed th^t event as 
 the opening of the prison doors to the captive, and as the 
 triumph of that liberty, which, as a Briton, he had been 
 accustomed to cherish and admire. But the equivocal 
 aspect which it soon assumed, and which, we believe, ex- 
 cited the horror of Burns to its atrocities, naturally pro- 
 duced a jealousy in the British Government, and all the 
 devotees of Ministry, which rendered it dangerous for 
 any man, especially an official man, to express the slightest 
 satisfaction in the limitation of an absolute tyranny. Burns 
 suffered in the intolerance of the times. The under- 
 strappers of faction surrounded him, — an enquiry was 
 made, even into his unguarded language in private society, 
 — his promotion was barred, — his bread was only not 
 broken, — and he was admonished by some silly Board 
 of Excise, " to act, not to think :" — Yes : Will it be be- 
 lieved, Burns was told that he was not to think I 
 
 Burns died at Dumfries, on the 21st day of July 1796, 
 in the thirty-eighth year of his age. Of his conduct and 
 character various accounts have been given. These we 
 shall now examine ; and the statement and examination 
 which we subjoin, will fill up the chasms in our narrative 
 more satisfactorily than any dogmatism and reflections, 
 founded on mere conjectures, which our fancy or folly 
 mitrht have interwoven in the foregoing sketch Burns's 
 excellencies and defects are matters susceptible of proof;
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXV11 
 
 and on which side soever to applause or censure the weight 
 of evidence shall lean, we are quite contented that its in- 
 fluence should preponderate. 
 
 Having thus collected such particulars as are requisite 
 for preparing the readers of the more diffuse memoirs of 
 Burns's Life, to understand the following illustrations of his 
 character, we shall now submit to the public the various 
 lucubrations by biographers and critics, which suggested 
 this review, and subjoin the strictures and evidence which 
 we deem it expedient to offer to the notice of our coun- 
 trymen *. 
 
 In Dr Currie's remarks on the character of Burns, the 
 following statements are to be found : 
 
 Previously to his removal to Dumfries, " Burns, though 
 addicted to excess in social parties, had abstained from 
 the habitual use of strong liquors, and his constitution had 
 not suffered any permanent injury from the irregularities 
 of his conduct. In Dumfries, temptations to the sin that 
 so easily beset him, continually presented themselves; and 
 his irregularities grew by degrees into habits. These temp- 
 tations unhappily occurred during his engagements in the 
 business of his office, as well as during his hours of relaxa- 
 tion ; and though he clearly foresaw the consequence of 
 yielding to them, his appetites and sensations, which could 
 not pervert the dictates of his judgment, finally triumph- 
 ed over the powers of his will. Yet this victory was not 
 obtained without many obstinate struggles, and at times 
 temperance and virtue seemed to have obtained the mas- 
 tery. Besides his engagements in the excise, and the so- 
 
 * See Note in Supplement.
 
 XXV111 REVIEW OP THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ciety into which they led, many circumstances contributed 
 to the melancholy fate of Burns. His great celebrity 
 made him an object of interest and curiosity to strangers, 
 and few persons of cultivated minds passed through Dum- 
 fries without attempting to see our poet, and to enjoy 
 the pleasure of his conversation. As he could not receive 
 them under his oxon humble roof these interviews passed at 
 the inns of the town, and oflen terminated in those ex- 
 cesses which Burns sometimes provoked, and was seldom 
 able to resist. And among the inhabitants of Dumfries 
 and its vicinity, there were never wanting persons to share 
 his social pleasures; to lead or accompany him to the ta- 
 vern ; to partake in the wildest sallies of his wit; to wit- 
 ness the strength and the degradation of his genius *."" 
 
 " Endowed by nature with great sensibility of nerves, 
 Burns was, in his corporeal, as well as in his mental sys- 
 tem, liable to inordinate impressions ; to fever of body 
 as well as of mind. This predisposition to disease, which 
 strict temperance in diet, regular exercise, and sound sleep, 
 might have subdued, habits of a very different nature 
 strengthened and inflamed. Perpetually stimulated by al- 
 cohol in one or other of its, various forms, the inordinate 
 actions of the circulating system became at length ha- 
 bitual ; the process of nutrition was unable to supply the 
 waste, and the powers of life began to fail. Upwards of 
 a year before his death, there was an evident decline in 
 our poet's personal appearance ; and though his appetite 
 continued unimpaired, he was himself sensible that his 
 constitution was sinking. In his moments of thought he 
 reflected with the deepest regret on his fatal progress, clearly 
 
 Vol. I. of this edition, Pp. 199, 200.
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXIX 
 
 foreseeing the goal towards which he was hastening, without 
 the strength of mind necessary to stop, or even to slacken his 
 course. His temper now became more irritable and gloomy : 
 he Jled from himself into society, often of the lowest kind. 
 And in such company, that part of the convivial scene, in 
 which wine increases sensibility and excites benevolence, was 
 hurried over, to reach the succeeding part, over which uncon- 
 troled passion generally presided. He who suffers the pol- 
 lution of inebriation, how shall he escape other pollution ? 
 But let us refrain from the mention of errors over which 
 delicacy and humanity draw the veil *." 
 
 The following passages are quoted from " The Lives of 
 the Scottish Poets," &c. by David Irvine, LL.D. 2 vols. 
 8vo. Edinburgh, 1810: — 
 
 " Till he (Burns) fixed his residence in Dumfries, his 
 irregularities, though by no means unfrequent, had not 
 become inveterately habitual; the temptations, however, 
 to which he was now exposed proved too powerful for 
 his better impressions; after various struggles against the 
 stream of dissipation which was gradually surround- 
 ing him, he at length suffered himself to be rapidly 
 carried along by its fatal current. A large propor- 
 tion of the more genteel, or more idle inhabitants of 
 Dumfries, consists of men connected with the profession 
 of law : and in some of these, as well as in other inha- 
 bitants of the town and its vicinity, Burns found asso- 
 ciates from whom it was not to be expected that he 
 should learn sobriety. The fame of his literary charac- 
 ter also exposed him to the company of every stranger 
 who professed a respect for poetry. As their interviews 
 
 * Vol. I. of this edition, p. 914.
 
 XXX REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 commonly took place in taverns, his familiarity with 
 riotous excess was daily increasing. In the midst of 
 such distractions, it must have been impossible for him to 
 discharge the duties of his office with that regularity 
 which is almost indispensable. , ' > 
 
 In allusion to the French Revolution, it is remarked, 
 that " Burns was one of those who openly rejoiced at the 
 apparent emancipation of so large a proportion of the 
 human species. His feelings were naturally violent ; and 
 the stimulus of intoxication inevitably increased his im- 
 prudence of speech. They who admitted the principles, 
 and applauded the exertions of the French politicians, 
 were generally led to entertain extravagant schemes of pre- 
 mature reformation in the constitution of their native country. 
 The flame of innovation was widely kindled, but its lustre 
 was obscured by a cloud, of smoke. In the administration of 
 the British Government, Burns perceived, or fancied he 
 perceived, multifarious abuses ; nor did he hesitate to declaim 
 with unbridled, freedom concerning the urgent necessity of a 
 radical reformation? 
 
 " Surmises, however, which he, indeed, had not been 
 sufficiently careful to prevent, were ungenerously pro- 
 pagated to his disadvantage ; and the Board of Excise 
 deemed it necessary to appoint a superior officer to in- 
 vestigate his conduct. In an eloquent letter, addressed to 
 one of their number, he exculpated himself with be- 
 coming dignity from the charges which had been pre- 
 ferred against him; and the officer who had been com- 
 missioned to institute a formal inquiry, could, discover no 
 substantial grounds of accusation. Mr Graham of Fin- 
 try, in whom he had always found a steady and zealous 
 friend, was ready on the present occasion to secure hi* 1 *
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXXI 
 
 from the threatened consequences of his imprudence. Of 
 imprudence he was undoubtedly guilty ; and the Board, 
 although they suffered him to retain his present office, 
 sent him an intimation, that his advancement must mm 
 be determined by his future behaviour." 
 
 " In 179.5, he exhibited public proofs of his loyalty ; he 
 enrolled himself among the Dumfries volunteers, and by 
 his poetical effusions, endeavoured to excite them to pa- 
 triotic exertion. Notwithstanding his increasing habits 
 of dissipation, he still devoted some of his more rational 
 hours to the composition of poetry, — but his productions 
 now began to assume a deeper tinge from the altered cha- 
 racter of the author" 
 
 " About this period, he began to present indications of 
 declining health, and_ although his appetite was still un- 
 impaired, he seems to have been aware of the gradual 
 approach of dissolution ; — of the madness of his late ca- 
 reer he was deeply sensible, but was now without the 
 power of retreat. His constitution was deprived of its 
 native energies, and could only be jrreserved from over- 
 whelming languor by the aid of stimulant liquors. In this 
 deplorable state of body, as well as of mind, he was eager 
 to avoid the pangs of solitary refection, and was even in- 
 capable of relishing domestic or rational society. He rush- 
 ed into the company of men whom, in his purer days, he 
 would have despised and shunned ; he degraded his noble 
 faculties to so mean a level, that many of his earlier friends 
 became half ashamed of having contracted such an intimacy. 
 From the shelter of his domestic retreat he was not, 
 however, expelled by the upbraidings of the still affec- 
 tionate object of his youthful attachment; whatever cr-
 
 XXXU REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 rors he might himself be conscious of having commit- 
 ted, the bitterness of remorse was not augmented by her 
 murmurs or complaints. Often did he acknowledge his 
 numerous breaches of the duties of a husband and a father : 
 and her promptitude to forgive his offences was undi- 
 minished by the frequency of their repetition. His pe- 
 nitential declarations were accompanied by promises of 
 amendment ; but the task of reformation being still de- 
 ferred till some future day, his habits gradually became more 
 pernicious? 
 
 " He died in the thirty-eighth year of his age. The 
 
 glaring follies of the man 'were now forgotten, and the pre- 
 mature and melancholy fate of the poet was alone remem- 
 bered? 
 
 The reflections in the Edinburgh Review, which we are 
 about to transcribe, as a delineation of the defects of Burns's 
 moral character, are given entire, and in connection, as 
 they appear in the 13th Vol. of that work, 2d edition, Jan. 
 1809. 
 
 " But the leading vice in Burns's character, and the 
 cardinal deformity indeed of all his productions, was his 
 contempt, or affectation of contempt, for pr-udencc, de- 
 cency, and regularity, and his admiration of thoughtless- 
 ness, oddity, and vehement sensibility ,• — his belief, in short, 
 in the dispensing power of genius and social feeling, in 
 all matters of morality and common se?ise. This is the 
 very slang of the worst German plays, and the lowest of 
 our town-made novels ; nor can any thing be more la- 
 mentable, than that it should have found, a patron in such 
 a man as Burns, and communicated to a great part of his
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXX1U 
 
 productions a character of immorality, at once contempti- 
 ble and. hateful. It is but too true, that men of the 
 highest genius have frequently been hurried, by their 
 passions, into a violation of prudence and dutyj and 
 there is something generous at least, in the apology 
 which their admirers may make for them, on the score 
 of their keener feelings and habitual want of reflection. 
 But this apology, which is quite unsatisfactory in the mouth 
 of another, becomes an insidt and an absurdity, whenever 
 it proceeds from their own. A man may say of a friend 
 that he is a noble-hearted fellow, — too generous to be just, 
 and with too much spirit to be always prudent and re- 
 gular. But he cannot be allowed to say even this of him- 
 self; and still less to represent himself as a hair-brained 
 sentimental soid, constantly earned away by fine fancies 
 and visions of love and philanthropy, and born to con- 
 found and despise the cold-blooded sons of prudence and 
 sobriety. This apology evidently destroys itself ; for it 
 shows that conduct to be the result of deliberate system^ 
 which it affects at the same time to justify as the fruit of 
 mere thoughtlessness and casual impidsc. Such protesta- 
 tions, therefore, will always be treated as they deserve, not 
 only with contempt, but with i?icredulity „• and their mag- 
 nanimous authors set down as determined profligates, who 
 seek to disguise their selfshness> under a name somewhat 
 less revolting. That projligacy is almost always selfishness ; 
 and that the excuse of impetuous feeling can hardly ever 
 be justly pleaded for those who neglect the ordinary duties 
 of life, must be apparent, we think, even to the least re- 
 flecting of those sons of fancy and sorg. 7/ requires no 
 habit of deep thinking, nor any thing more, indeed, than 
 the information of an honest heart, to perceive that At is cruel 
 and base to spend, in vain superfluities, that money which
 
 XXXIV REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 belongs of right to the pale industrious tradesman and his 
 famishing infants; or that it is a vile prostitution of lan- 
 guage to talk of that mail's generosity or goodness of heart, 
 Who sits raving about friendship and philanthropy in a ta- 
 vern, 'while his wife's heart is breaking at her cheerless fire- 
 side, and his children pining in solitary poverty. 
 
 " This pitiful cant of careless feeling and eccentric 
 genius, accordingly, has never found much favour in the 
 eyes of English sense and morality. The most signal 
 effect that ever it produced, was on the muddy brains 
 of some German youth, who left college in a body 
 to rob on the highway, because Schiller had repre- 
 sented the captain of a gang as so very noble a crea- 
 ture. But in this country, we believe, a predilection 
 for that honourable profession must have preceded this 
 admiration of the character. The style we have been speak- 
 ing of, accordingly, is now the heroics only of the hulks 
 and the house of correction ,• and has no chance, we sup- 
 pose, of being greatly admired, except in the farewell 
 speech of a young gentleman preparing for Botany Bay. — 
 It is humiliating to think how deeply Burns has 
 
 FALLEN INTO THIS DEBASING ERROR. He is perpetually 
 
 making a parade of his thoughtlessness, inflammability 
 and imprudence, and talking with much complacency and 
 exultation of the offence he has occasioned, to the sober and 
 correct part of mankind. This odious slang infects almost 
 all his prose, and a very great proportion of his poetry; 
 and is, we are persuaded, the chief, if not the only 
 source of the disgust with which, in spite of his genius, 
 we know that he is* regarded by many very competent and 
 liberal judges. His apology, too, we are willing to be- 
 lieve, i^ to ho found in the original lowness of his si-
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXXV 
 
 liiation, and the slightness of his acqiuiintance with the 
 world. With his talents and "powers of observation, he 
 could not have seen much of the beings who echoed this 
 raving, without feeling for them that distrust and con- 
 tempt which would have made him blush to think that he 
 had ever stretched over them the protecting shield of 
 his genius. 
 
 " Akin to this most lamentable trait of vulgarity, and in- 
 deed, in some measure arising out of it, is that perpetual 
 boast of his cnm independence, which is obtruded upon the 
 readers of Burns in almost every page of his writings. 
 The sentiment itself is noble, and it is often finely ex- 
 pressed; — but a gentleman would only have expressed 
 it when he was insulted or provoked ,• and would never 
 have made it a spontaneous theme to those friends in 
 whose estimation he felt that his honour stood clear. It 
 is mixed up, too, in Burns with too fierce a tone of de- 
 fiance ; and indicates rather the pride of a sturdy pea- 
 sant, than the calm and natural elevation of a generous 
 mind." 
 
 We shall now patiently quote a most memorable instance 
 of brotherly kindness and charity in an English Review *. 
 
 " The extravagance of genius with which this wonderful 
 man was gifted, being in his later and more evil days 
 directed to no fixed or general purpose, was, in the 
 morbid state of his health and feelings, "apt to display 
 itself in hasty sallies of virulent and unmerited severity; 
 sallies often regretted by the Bard himself ; and of which. 
 
 * Quarterly Review. February 180.9, Vol. I. °A eA'-V.o:
 
 XXXvi REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 justice to the living and the dead, alike demanded the 
 suppression." — " Burns was in truth the child of passion 
 and feeling. His character was not simply that of a 
 peasant, exalted into notice by uncommon literary at- 
 tainments, but bore a stamp which must have distin- 
 guished him in the highest as in the lowest situation in 
 life. To ascertain what was his natural temper and 
 disposition, and how far it was altered or modified by 
 the circumstances of birth, education and fortune, might 
 be a subject for a long essay ; but to mark a few distinc- 
 tions is all that can be here expected from us. — We 
 have said that Robert Burns was the child of impulse 
 and feeling. Of the steady principle which cleaves to that 
 which is good, he was unfortunately divested by the violence 
 of those passions which finally wrecked him. It is most 
 affecting to add, that while swimming, struggling, and 
 finally yielding to the torrent, he never lost sight of the 
 beacon which ought to have guided him to land, yet 
 
 NEVER PROFITED BY ITS LIGHT." 
 
 " In general society, Burns often permitted his determi- 
 nation of vindicating his personal dignity to hurry him into 
 unjustifiable resentment of slight or imagined, neglect. He 
 was ever anxious to maintain his post in society, and to 
 extort that deference which was readily paid to him by 
 all from whom it was worth claiming. This ill-judged 
 jealousy of precedence, led him often to place his own 
 pretensions to notice in competition with those of the 
 company, who, he conceived, might found theirs on 
 birth or fortune. On such occasions, it was no easy 
 task to deal with Burns. The power of his language — 
 the vigour of his satire — the severity of illustration with 
 which his fancy instantly supplied him, bore down all
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXXV11 
 
 retort. Neither was it possible to exercise over the poet 
 that restraint which arises from the chance of farther 
 personal consequences. The dignity, the spirit, the in- 
 dignation of Burns, was that of a plebeian — of a high- 
 souled plebeian indeed, of a citizen of Rome or of Athens 
 — but still of a plebeian^ untinged with the slightest shade 
 of that spirit of chivalry, which, since the feudal times, 
 has pervaded the higher ranks of European society. 
 This' must not be imputed to cowardice, for Burns was 
 no coward : But the fewness of his birth, and habits of so- 
 ciety, prevented rules of punctilious delicacy from ma- 
 king any part of his education." — He is elsewhere re- 
 presented as " so poor, as even to be on the very brink 
 of absolute ruin, looking forwards now to the situa- 
 tion of a foot soldier, now to that of a common beggar, 
 as no unnatural consummation of his fortune.'' The 
 reviewer, forsaking generalities, ventures at length to 
 state something like a specific fact : — " A very intimate 
 friend of the poet, from whom he used occasionally to 
 borrow a small sum for a week or two, once ventured to 
 hint, that the punctuality with which the loan was al- 
 ways replaced at the appointed time, was unnecessary and 
 unkind. The consequence of this hint was the interrup- 
 tion of their friendship for some weeks ; the bard dis- 
 daining the very thought of being indebted to a human 
 being one farthing beyond what he could discharge with 
 the most rigid punctuality. It was a less pleasing con- 
 sequence of this high spirit, that Burns was utterly inac- 
 cessible to all friendly advice. To lay before him his 
 errors, or to point out their consequences, was to touch 
 a string that jarred every feeling with him. On such oc- 
 casions, his, like Churchill's was
 
 XXXV111 REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 " The mind, which, starting, heaves the heartfelt groan, 
 " And hates the form she knows to be her own." 
 
 u It is a dreadful truth, that when racked and tortured 
 by the well-meant and warm expostulations of an inti- 
 mate friend, he at length 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 sui- 
 cided 
 
 " The same enthusiastic ardour of disposition swayed 
 Burns in his choice of political tenets, when at a later 
 period, the country was agitated by revolutionary princi- 
 ples. That the poet should, have chose?i the side on which 
 high talents were most likely to procure celebrity — that he, 
 to whom the factitious distinctions of society were always 
 objects of jealousy, should have listened with complacency 
 io the voice of French philosophy, which denounced them 
 as usurpations on the rights of man, was precisely to be ex- 
 pected." 
 
 From the life ascribed to Mr Walker, we now present 
 ample extracts. 
 
 " Though he had already failed of success as a farmer, 
 he took refuge from the disquiet of indecision in the project 
 of taking another farm; a project which shewed him to be 
 little aware of the change which the last eighteen months 
 had wrought upon his character. There is ground to 
 suspect, that even formerly he had not been sufficiently 
 regular and steady in his agricultural pursuits, and had
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. XXXIX 
 
 allowed them to be too easily interrupted by poetical, 
 amatory, or convivial avocations." 
 
 " After becoming the idol of the fashionable topers of 
 Edinburgh and Dumfries-shire, the challenges to exhibit 
 his Bacchanalian prowess grew so frequent, that practice 
 at last degenerated into habit." 
 
 " On subjects of this nature (politics), Burns does not 
 seem to have arranged his notions with much deliberation 
 or correctness. He surrendered his mind to one leading 
 idea, by which many collateral and qualifying considera- 
 tions were excluded. He was likewise disposed, from con- 
 stitutional temper, from education, and from the accidents 
 of life, to a jealousy of power, and a keen hostility against 
 every system which enabled birth and opulence to intercept 
 those rewards which he conceived to belong to genius and 
 virtue. He had, therefore, I suspect, without taking prin- 
 ciples rigidly into view, a secret wish for the mortification 
 of those who were in the exercise of authority at the moment, 
 and a tendency to cheer the party, whatever it might be, by 
 which they were opposed."" 
 
 " He lost all sense of danger, and had in public uttered 
 sentiments which were thought the more alarming and 
 infectious, as they would receive currency from the celebrity 
 of his name, and force from the energy of his expression. 
 His dependent situation being known, information was 
 given to the Board of Excise, who instituted an enquiry 
 into his conduct, during which his mind was harassed 
 with agitation and suspence. The report was less unfa- 
 vourable than had been expected, and Mr Graham taking 
 care, by his powerful arguments, that justice alone, without
 
 Xl REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 any mixture of prejudice, should prevail among his judges, 
 Burns, though rebuked, escaped dismission, but his protec- 
 tor was obliged to compound for this issue, by forbearing to 
 press his removal to a better office? 
 
 " Burns, as has been already remarked, was instigated 
 by an emulation, and an impatience of being outshone, 
 unworthy of his discriminating understanding ; and more 
 intent on measuring the degree, than the value of the exer- 
 tion. This unfortunate dread of inferiority, shewed itself 
 in companies where he could indulge his natural propen- 
 sities without restraint ; and not content with easily dis- 
 tancing every competitor in wit, he would also strain his 
 faculties for a degrading pre-eminence in colloquial liber- 
 tinism. 
 
 " As he was daily in society, and not without enemies, 
 his conduct quickly became known, and many respectable 
 persons, who, on his settlement in Dumfries-shire, had 
 shewn themselves willing to cultivate his acquaintance, and 
 to support him with their countenance, were gradually 
 obliged to abridge their attentions. In their presence he 
 probably constrained himself to correctness, yet they would 
 naturally resent the practical avowal implied in his pre- 
 ference of other company, that he estimated theirs at an 
 inferior rate. In a town like Dumfries, however, after de- 
 ducting the sober and self-respecting part of the society, 
 enough can still be found, and that, too, neither uninte- 
 resting nor unfashionable, by a man who has no dread of 
 dissipation or impurity. In company of this description, 
 Burns continued welcome to the last, but towards the close 
 of his life, even this was not enough ; and it is to be sus- 
 pected, that his aversion from domestic privacy, and his
 
 GF ROBERT BURNS. xli 
 
 graving for convivial tumult, drove him sometimes to asso- 
 ciates, who disgraced him no less by the sordidness of 
 their condition, than by the laxity of their characters." 
 
 " Soured by disappointment, and stung with occasional 
 remorse, impatient of finding little to interest him at home, 
 and rendered inconstant from returns of his hypochon- 
 driacal ailment, multiplied by his irregular life, he saw the 
 difficulty of keeping terms with the world, and abandoned 
 the attempt in a rash and regardless despair." 
 
 " Circumstances having, at that time*, led me to Scot- 
 land, after an absence of eight years, during which my in- 
 tercourse with Burns had been almost suspended, I felt 
 myself strongly prompted to visit him. For this purpose, 
 I went to Dumfries, and called upon him early in the fore- 
 noon. I found him in a small house of one storey. He was 
 sitting on a window-seat reading, with the doors open, and 
 the family arrangements going on in his presence, and 
 altogether without that appearance of snugness and seclu- 
 sion which a student requires. After conversing with him 
 for some time, he proposed a walk, and promised to conduct 
 me through some of his favourite haunts. We accord- 
 ingly quitted the town, and wandered a considerable way 
 up the beautiful banks of the Nith. Here he gave me an 
 account of his latest productions, and repeated some sati- 
 rical ballads which he had composed, to favour one of the 
 candidates at the last borough election. These I thought 
 inferior to his other pieces, though they had some lines in 
 which vigour compensated for coarseness. He repeated 
 also his fragment of an Ode to Liberty, with marked and 
 ... i I . > . , . . ..... i . — — 
 
 * November, 1795. 
 J
 
 Xlii REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 peculiar energy, and shewed a disposition which, however, 
 was easily repressed, to throw out political remarks, of the 
 same nature with those for which he had been reprehended. 
 On finishing our walk, he passed some time with me at the 
 inn, and I left him early in the evening, to make another 
 visit at some distance from Dumfries." 
 
 " On the second morning after, I returned with a friend, 
 who was acquainted with the poet, and we found him 
 ready to pass a part of the day with us at the inn. On this 
 occasion I did not think him quite so interesting as he had 
 appeared at his outset. 1 ' 
 
 " When it began to grow late, he shewed no disposition 
 to retire, but called for fresh supplies of liquor, with a free- 
 dom which might be excusable, as we were in an inn, and no 
 condition had been distinctly made, though it might easily 
 have been inferred, had the inference been welcome, that he 
 was to consider himself as our guest ; nor was it till he saw us 
 worn out, that he departed, about three in the morning, 
 with a reluctance which probably proceeded less from being 
 deprived of our company, than from being confined to his 
 own. Upon the whole, I found this last interview not 
 quite so gratifying a3 I had expected; although I discovered 
 in his conduct no errcns which I had not seen in men who stand 
 high in the favour of society, or siifficient to account for the 
 mysterious insinuations which I heard against his character. 
 He, on this occasion, drank freely without being intoxi- 
 cated, a circumstance from which I concluded, not only 
 that his constitution was still unbroken, but that he was not 
 addicted to solitary cordials ; for if he had tasted liquor in 
 the morning, he must have easily yielded to the excess of 
 the evening. 1 '
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. xliii 
 
 " If he easily yielded to the seductions of licentious in- 
 temperance, it was, in some measure, owing to the incor- 
 rect and partial views which his understanding had adopt- 
 ed. When an enthusiastic mind is not cautious to guard 
 against prejudice in comparing moral qualities ; when it 
 limits its praise to certain favourite virtues, it is in danger 
 of letting these serve to open a way for the introduction of 
 certain favourite vices. 1 ' 
 
 " This view of the character of Burns may be collected 
 from his writings, which abound with the highest enco- 
 miums on warmth of heart to man and woman, while they 
 sometimes appear to confound, in the same execrations, 
 sobriety, caution, and religious decency, with churlishness, 
 avarice, and imposture. He makes frequent confessions 
 of his faults, but they are always faults deducible from the 
 qualities which he so vehemently applauds ; and on some 
 occasions, we may suspect him of a desire to confess him- 
 self into a measure oi forgiveness, rising nearly to appro- 
 bation. From these remarks, it is meant to infer, that 
 though Burns, without doubt, was chiefly led astray by 
 impetuous passions, yet, in his ideas of duty, he had not all 
 the exactness and comprehension of a systematic moralist." 
 
 " To the same defect in perceiving the relative value of 
 different virtues, we may impute his constant tendency to 
 extol and expatiate on some which he was conscious of 
 possessing. The praises of a stubborn and inflexible in- 
 dependence, and the assertion of his own personal claim 
 to this exalted quality, are repeated in his writings with a 
 frequency which is injudicious. Laborious endeavours to 
 establish a certain opinion respecting ourselves, seem to 
 imply a conviction that it requires establishment ; as the
 
 Xliv REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 quality for which we are most distinguished, is rarely that 
 which we are most eager to gain the character of posses- 
 sing. Respecting endowments of which we are thoroughly 
 conscious, the mind is at rest, and therefore seldom reflects 
 on them ; while those whose existence is more equivocal, 
 and which we are naturally jealous of being questioned, 
 are seldom absent from our thoughts. " Pope's scorn of 
 " the great," says Johnson, is repeated too often to be real : 
 " no man thinks much of that which he despises." On 
 this principle, we might be warranted in suspecting, that the 
 independence of Burns was less perfect than he wishes it to 
 be supposed, and that his dread of incurring obligations, 
 proceeded partly from the necessity under which he found 
 himself, of supporting a character to which his claims had been 
 so numerous and so decisive. I am rather disposed, however, 
 to give full credit to his own representations, and to impute 
 their boastful style to his want of that refinement of man- 
 ners which prohibits egotism ; to his constant jealousy of 
 the superior rank of his correspondents, and his desire to 
 remind them of the respect which he was determined to 
 exact ; and perhaps, more than all, to his overweening 
 preference of certain virtues on which he had fixed, as 
 sitfficient in themselves, thoilgh the rest were neglected, to give 
 dignity to man" 
 
 " When his contemplations had, by any circumstance, 
 been turned to the nobler and more general truths of theo»- 
 logy, for to such alone his remarks are confined, he feels 
 them with ardour, and expresses them with sublimity ; yet, 
 when the paroxysm is past, he is so unsparing in his ridi- 
 cule of certain local fashions of religion, that we cannot 
 avoid suspecting his reverence for the substance. In the 
 same manner, when he employs his mind in givi?ig rides for
 
 ©F ROBERT BURNS. xlv 
 
 moral and prudential conduct, no man is a sounder philoso- 
 pher. But when he quits his pen, he quits his precepts, and 
 lends to their violation the same enthusiasm under which 
 they were composed." 
 
 The short question, after all these highly-wrought repre- 
 sentations of the habits and fate of Burns, is, whether they 
 be true ? The short and decisive answer, which we do not 
 hesitate to give, is, that not one of them is correct, either 
 in the qualities which they have absolutely and without 
 qualification ascribed to him, or in the degrees of moral 
 demerit, which have been affixed to his character in the 
 quotations now given. In thus peremptorily challenging 
 the fidelity of these fanciful exhibitions, let us not be 
 misunderstood. We do not mean to say that Burns has 
 been malevolently or designedly misrepresented by all the 
 writers in question ; that he had not some lamentable de- 
 fects in his character — that he had not errors of conduct 
 over which his greatest friends and admirers must ever 
 mourn — that hejbore not something like a resemblance, in 
 some points, to the biographical pictures which have been 
 given of him : but that his defects were of the precise hind 
 assumed, — that his errors were to the extent affirmed — that 
 the caricatures which we have been contemplating, are 
 genuine likenesses of him, we distinctly deny : they have 
 no closer resemblance to Burns than a monkey has to a 
 man, or than the most worthless have to the worthiest of 
 our species. It is not an absolute exemption from all the 
 frailties of our common nature to which any individual 
 that exists or ever existed can be justly allowed to lay 
 claim ; the relative attributes of character are to be mea- 
 sured by the kind and the degree of excellence and de- 
 lect which are unequivocally presented to consideration.
 
 Xlvi REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 And every motive of prudence and of charity requires ri- 
 gorous and exact discrimination between the different 
 shades of error in human conduct, when we are forming 
 ah estimate not of our own, but of our neighbour's aberra- 
 tions from the paths of duty. Above all, we are never at 
 liberty, in a state of society, where numberless motives 
 prompt and facilitate the circulation of scandal, to take 
 the whispers of gossips, the distorted and magnified stories 
 of vulgar report, or the tales of malice, of party-spirit, and 
 of revenge for injuries, real or supposed, as good moral 
 evidence, or decisive of the character of an ordinary and 
 insignificant acquaintance, much less of men who are 
 an honour to their country. These principles, however, 
 seem to have been disregarded altogether by many in 
 judging of Burns : — he has been condemned without evi- 
 dence — contrary to evidence — and by the perversion of 
 such evidence as really existed : over his grave, a kind of 
 holy, but unhallowed shout has been heard, 
 
 " Here shall thy triumph, genius, cease." 
 
 Of the various delineations of Burns' s character which 
 have been given to the public, that by Dr Currie is exe- 
 cuted on the whole with uncommon fidelity, circumspec- 
 tion and delicacy ; and if we cannot accede to the justice 
 of all that he has written, we feel the most sincere respect 
 for the motives by which he seems to have been guided, 
 and readily ascribe the few errors he has committed, to 
 the circumstances under which he formed his opinion. 
 But it is an opinion only which he has given, and not his 
 testimony to a fact within his own knowledge, when he 
 represents Burns towards the close of his life as perpetually 
 and habitually under the influence of alcohol, in one or
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. xlvii 
 
 other of its forms, and liable to all the moral irregulari- 
 ties which such a state of existence implies. This is too 
 broadly stated. Dr Currie, it will be recollected, had not 
 an opportunity of knowing, by personal observation, any 
 thing of the general tenor of Burns's behaviour. We know 
 not that he ever saw him more than once in his life — that he 
 had more than a single interview with him *, or, that he had 
 any evidence before him sufficient to warrant such a state- 
 ment. Of Burns's early life his proofs, as published, are 
 abundant and satisfactory ; but of the latter part there are 
 none of a similar description. From what private informa- 
 tion Dr Currie framed his statement that Burns wa& perpetu- 
 ally inflamed with liquor, and in the practice of such vices as 
 humanity and delicacy veil from description, we know not. 
 But we have authority to state, that Dr Currie's MS. was 
 not shewn to the brother or friends of Burns at Dumfries 
 previously to publication, so as to afford them an oppor- 
 tunity of correcting so fatal an error. And with every 
 reverence for the candour and decorum of the worthy bio- 
 grapher, we are inclined to think he should either have 
 been more specific, or altogether silent. One part of the 
 picture leaves busy and well stored imaginations to fill up 
 the void which he shuts out from actual vision, with the 
 most hideous images of depravity ; and thus we are as 
 effectually led to conclusions of an abhorrent nature, as 
 if an explicit and well established case of utter and un- 
 minjiled vice had been made out. Fortunatelv, however, 
 we are not constrained to adopt the suggestions of fancy; 
 for as that part of the statement which regards perpetual 
 drunkenness, is known to be quite erroneous, we are war- 
 
 * See Dedication, Vol. I.
 
 xlviii REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ranted to infer, that the more revolting fiction connected 
 with and arising chiefly from it, is nearly all a dream. 
 That Burns was very frequently in company is most true, 
 —that he was often in festive company, addicted, accord- 
 ing to the taste of those times, even in the most respectable 
 and elevated spheres of society, to hard drinking, is also 
 true ; and that he was not always, when under the influence 
 of convivial feelings, so circumspect and demure as a pu- 
 ritan, is most cheerfully admitted; but after all this is 
 granted, it is far short of the conduct of a daily and ha- 
 bitual drunkard, " perpetually" under the dominion of 
 wine, and every degrading and ungovernable passion. — It 
 may well be said of Burns's irregularities, that they were 
 generally, 
 
 " Things light or lovely in their acted time, 
 But now, to stern reflection, each a crime." 
 
 That even Dr Currie's friendly statement is greatly over- 
 charged, we have the satisfaction of producing direct and ex- 
 plicit evidence*, which not only invalidates that statement, 
 but must put such allegations and inuendos completely to 
 rest, until some persons equally respectable as those who now 
 give their testimony, and state their means of knowledge, 
 shall come forward and put their names to reports of what 
 they saw with their eyes, and heard with their ears ; — not 
 merely to repeat the tittle-tattle hearsay of a foul-breathed 
 mob. When charges of immoral conduct are distinctly 
 stated and fairly proved against Burns, we shall be ready 
 to yield our belief, and our reprobation of the evil ; but 
 
 * Vide Supplement to this Review.
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. xllX 
 
 until we see something entitled to the name of evidence* 
 we cannot allow our scepticism to be shaken. 
 
 The truth is, that the convivial excesses or other errors 
 of Robert Burns, were neither greater nor more numer- 
 ous than those which we every day see in the conduct of 
 men who stand high in the estimation of society ;— of some 
 men, who, like Burns, have, in their peculiar spheres, con- 
 ferred splendid gifts of genius on their country, and whose 
 names are breathed in every voice, with pride and enthu- 
 siasm, as the benefactors of society. Are their errors offi- 
 ciously dragged from the tomb, or emblazoned amidst the 
 trophies of victory without universal reprobation ? All 
 we ask is the same measure of justice and of mercy for 
 Burns. The cause of morality is never truly served by 
 hunting for and exhibiting the faults of a splendid cha- 
 racter ; for they are generally found combined with qua- 
 lities, which it is impossible not to love or admire : it were 
 better to bury them in oblivion. If their errors are ex- 
 hibited, however, let them be fairly stated and establish- 
 ed ; and no one will conceive himself bound to imitate or 
 admire what is odious, although he may yield his admi- 
 ration to excellence. No rank, genius, or greatness in 
 any character, can sanctify or alter the nature of vice, or 
 protect it from its merited condemnation ; nor is any man 
 so foolish as to pretend that the faults of another can jus- 
 tify his own moral delinquencies It is all a pretext to 
 disguise the basest passions, when we are told that it is 
 necessary to blast Robert Burns's name — because, for- 
 sooth, he was occasionally addicted to pleasures which are 
 too prevalent in the world. Nor can we view the avidity 
 with which scandalous stories have been sought and cir- 
 culated about him, as very creditable to the manliness
 
 I REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 or spirit of the times. We have seen the greatest men of 
 this age guilty of all that has been even imputed to Burns ; 
 yet the eye of enquiry is shut, and the voice of censure is 
 unheard. We have seen undisguised vices enthroned in 
 power, without one countervailing virtue, — in comparison 
 with which, the blemishes of Burns were like a glowing twi- 
 light to utter darkness : We have seen warriors and states- 
 men, and men of patrician rank ; we have seen even the pre- 
 sidents of bible societies — the committee-men of prayer and 
 missionary associations — and an innumerable herd of those 
 who have something to give or to say, indulging without re- 
 buke from our writing moralists, in all the practices which 
 have been imputed to Burns, and to a much greater extent; 
 yet, instead of clamour, we have heard nothing burst from 
 respectful silence, except adulation. But Burns was a poor 
 ploughman, — a humble excise-officer. His hand had not 
 the distribution of wealth and of honour : his tongue is now 
 mute, and cannot, as when he lived, awe the boldest as- 
 sailants of his fame. And, therefore, the feelings of his 
 surviving friends and relations, are to be lacerated by the 
 publication of defamatory libels, which, had he been in life, 
 would have entitled him to seek redress in a court of jus- 
 tice. To rake up the faults, we repeat, of any great man, 
 we consider of doubtful utility ; but to do so when his 
 head is laid low, is an action equally destitute of useful- 
 ness, of courage, and of generosity. Dr Currie might have 
 spared the statement to which we allude, without any de- 
 viation from that integrity by which a biographer should 
 be guided; but havinsr made it, the measure 'of its truth is 
 a legitimate subject of investigation. Combined, indeed, 
 with the rest of Dr Currie 1 s observations, and the many 
 well authenticated facts of Burns 1 * life, it is not calculated, 
 perhaps, to produce, on any charitable mind, a very harsh
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. ll 
 
 impression, but it has been fixed on by the reptiles whom 
 Burns's satire stung, as a concession suitable to their 
 malign tempers, — and has been embodied in the prejudices 
 of the learned and the vulgar so strongly, that nothing will 
 cure the evil but a radical application of facts to the as- 
 sumptions of Dr Currie. 
 
 The Doctor insinuates, that Burns associated with com- 
 pany of the lowest kind. The terms employed are rela- 
 tive. Nothing can be more arbitrary in construction than 
 the phrase " low company." There is a kind of pedantry 
 in all ranks and professions, and in every town and pro- 
 vince, which induces persons of circumscribed habits to 
 regard all beyond the little circle of their own movement, 
 or under the mark of a title, as low. Burns had his own 
 opinions on the subject. He paid very little regard to dis- 
 tinctions merely adventitious, and possessing himself no 
 factitious claim to rank in society, above the level of a 
 peasant, or the humblest order of revenue-officers, he 
 mav well be forgiven for looking to the standard of 
 merit in all ranks — to talent and worth — as the only 
 rule for guiding him in the choice of his friends and 
 companions. In his estimate he was, no doubt, some- 
 times wrong : and in the keenness to observe character, 
 very unworthy personages must often have intruded them- 
 selves on his society, — men who were base enough to 
 seduce the masculine energies of his mind and body into 
 occasional excess, and then to proclaim the triumphs of 
 their baseness. He was exposed inevitably, by the humble- 
 ness of his occupation, to daily intercourse with persons 
 whose habits of life and pursuits were of the most sordid 
 description ; and every one situated as lie was, must ne- 
 cessarily be obliged, in a greater or less degree, to mingle
 
 Iti REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 familiarly and professionally with the very lowest classes 
 of society. But the daily, chosen, and cherished associates 
 of Burns, even ** on evil days, though fallen and evil 
 tongues," were not such as can justly be termed low, if 
 respectability of character and attainments in the middle 
 ranks of life entitle men to hold up their heads in society, 
 and claim an exemption from the reproach of abject low- 
 ness. The friends of Robert Burns — those who cherished 
 him in his original obscurity — those who rejoiced in his 
 fame, and who were attached to him by stronger in- 
 fluences than the fumes of a drunken revel, were the 
 steady and unaltered friends and associates of Burns till 
 the day of his death. They forsook him not — but clung 
 to him with undiminished regard in all the vicissitudes of 
 his fortune : They have not yet forgotten him. 
 
 Although we have thus freely, and perhaps some may 
 think, sharply animadverted on Dr Currie's exceptionable 
 remarks, we put the present edition of his work into the 
 hands of the public as an interesting collection of the works 
 of Burns, exhibiting, with exceptions, in as far as Dr Currie 
 is concerned, a mind discriminating, elevated, and benevo- 
 lent, and a tone of feeling which awakens sympathy with 
 the author and his subject. If we have written a sen- 
 tence that can be construed into a greater degree of disre- 
 spect for Dr Currie's character and labours, than was 
 necessary to explain the truth, we shall have exceed- 
 ed our object, and violated our intentions. 
 
 It is unnecessary to say a great deal about Dr Irvine's 
 statements. lie docs not seem to have sought or obtained 
 any information beyond what he found in Dr Currie's 
 work. His. Life of Burns is to be regarded merely as a
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. liii 
 
 specimen of the consequences of such statements as those of 
 Dr Currie being permitted, from false delicacy, to stand 
 uncorrected. The fictions and the facts are both copied; 
 and, as uniformly happens, in the repetition of any thing 
 marvellous, all the faults vaguely ascribed to Burns by 
 Dr Currie are exaggerated by Dr Irving. We find it 
 stated accordingly, that his irregularities, after he resided 
 in Dumfries, " became unalterably habitual ,-" and as a 
 theoretical deduction, which we know to be inconsistent 
 with fact, we are told, that " it must have been impossible 
 for him to discharge the duties of his office with that re- 
 gularity which is almost indispensable." We find Dr 
 Currie's notice of the circumstances which barred the pro- 
 motion of Burns in the excise, put in rather a new light. 
 Burns is involved in the general accusation of having, 
 with the early admirers of the French Revolution in this 
 country, entertained " extravagant schemes of premature 
 reformation in the constitution of their native country" — 
 of having declaimed c; with unbridled freedom concerning 
 the urgent necessity of a radical reformation ;" and yet 
 we are assured, as a matter of fact, that " the officer who 
 had been commissioned to institute a formal enquiry could 
 discover no substantial grounds of accusation. 11 These 
 statements we need not attempt to reconcile. But we must 
 contradict the asseverations, that Burns was ever in such 
 a horrible state, that he " could only be preserved from 
 overwhelming languor by the aid of stimulant liquors — 
 that he was eager to avoid the pangs of solitary reflection, 
 and was even incapable of relishing domestic or rational 
 society — or that he degraded his noble faculties to so mean 
 a level, that many of his earlier friends became half asham- 
 ed of having contracted such an intimac}'. 11 We have no 
 evidence, that he was doomed, in the bitterness of remorse.
 
 liv REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 to acknowledge numerous breaches of the duties of a 
 husband and a father. The hand of disease, and the 
 gnawings of disappointment, pressed heavily on the body 
 and mind of Burns towards the close of his life ; and there 
 is no doubt, that even then he imprudently allowed him- 
 self to be seduced into company and hard drinking; but 
 that he ever sought refuge from physical languor or soli- 
 tary reflection in the " bane and antidote 1 ' of stimulating 
 liquors, apart from social enjoyment (as this statement clear- 
 ly implies), is utterly without foundation in truth. It was 
 not the love of stimulant liquors — it was society which mis- 
 led Burns into any wanderings. On this subject we 
 have the most unquestionable testimony. That " he was 
 incapable of relishing domestic or rational society," — is 
 equally an error in fact ; for until within a few days of his 
 death, when disease overpowered his mind, no man re- 
 lished or more truly adorned domestic and rational so- 
 ciety. His domestic life, if not the most splendid in 
 the world's eye, was unruffled: For though extremely 
 limited in the means of life, frugality and good temper 
 at home peculiarly endeared his conjugal enjoyments; and 
 we have the best testimony, the testimony of Mrs Burns, 
 that she never heard a harsh word from her husband, and 
 never saw a frown upon his brow. — Nor was he ever 
 brought so low as to be incapable of enjoying rational 
 society. For proof to the contrary, we need only refer to 
 Mrs Dunlop's letter*, to Mr Walker's statement, and to 
 the various documents in the Supplement. Who the 
 " earlier friends were that found it expedient to be half- 
 ashamed" of his acquaintance we cannot tell; but it is 
 
 * Vide Correspondence, Vol. II.
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lv* 
 
 probable they are now altogether ashamed to give their 
 names to such an avowal. This, however, we can say, that 
 his earliest were his best and his latest friends ; and that it 
 would have been well for Burns, if he had shaken offsuch 
 friends as could insinuate themselves into his confidence, 
 and then betray it by exaggerating the effusions of his gay 
 and unguarded moments. Of the " numerous breaches 
 of the duties of a husband and a father," which Burns is 
 represented as acknowledging, we have been unable to 
 obtain the slightest information. Every man who has 
 such duties to perform, if he be candid and ingenuous, 
 must in the course of his life have occasion to confess that 
 he has not done every duty ; and we will not aver that 
 Burns had not his share of confessions, but we can assert, 
 without the fear of contradiction, that no man had less 
 cause of self reproach for unkindness to his wife and 
 children than Robert Burns. That their interest, that his 
 own interest, as connected with their worldly prosperity, 
 was not a matter on which all his thoughts were bent, 
 and to which all his exertions were devoted, is certainly 
 true, and we regret that he was not perhaps a little more 
 like the men of the world around him in this respect. 
 But no man was or could be more affectionately attentive 
 to every conjugal and parental duty, which he had the 
 power of performing. Upon this subject we refer with 
 much satisfaction to the testimony of a gentleman who pos- 
 sessed and deserved to possess the friendship of Burns in 
 those days, when he is exhibited as grovelling perpetually 
 in the most brutal scenes of life, — whose opportunities of 
 knowing the truth were ample, and whose evidence de- 
 rives peculiar value from the purity and respectability of 
 his own character.
 
 Ivi REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 Dr Irvine remarks, on his notice of the death of Burns,, 
 " that the glaring follies of the man were now forgotten, 
 and the premature and melancholy fate of the poet was 
 alone remembered." Had this been the case, we should 
 not now have been employed in removing the glare which 
 has been thrown around his follies, nor, in the ungrateful 
 task of examining with a rigour, which is, perhaps, unavoid- 
 able, the blunders of his biographers. To offer any apo- 
 logy for criticising a published book is neither necessary . 
 nor in our contemplation ; but we may be permitted to 
 say, that we have no motive and no feeling of personal 
 unkindness, and that we know and respect the learning 
 which Dr Irvine has displayed in various illustrations of 
 Scottish literature. 
 
 We now approach the Edinburgh Review, — the most 
 tremendous battery which has been erected on " the pon- 
 derous tomes of Dr Currie 1 ' against the moral fame of 
 Burns. We shall, nevertheless, venture among its fire, 
 which seems false, and do not utterly despair of shaking, 
 though we cannot hope, on this point, to raze its founda- 
 tions. We do not affect to consider this review as either 
 too high or too low for notice : it is entitled to a respectful 
 and gentlemanlike approach, but not to our criticism in a 
 state of prostration. Its speciousness is adapted to pro- 
 duce the most unfavourable impressions of Burns ; but 
 the high talent and principle it displays, merit our at- 
 tempt to disabuse its author. 
 
 The article indeed, from which we have given an ex- 
 tract, afforded us pleasure and pain when we first read it ; 
 and though years have since elapsed, we still experience a 
 mixed emotion in the re-perusal. There is a felicity in
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lvij 
 
 some of the criticisms, and a moral eloquence which cap- 
 tivated and commands our sincere assent, even though it 
 is blended with assumptions and errors in reference to 
 " the Scottish rustic, 11 which have always extorted from 
 us sorrow, and something like indignation. In the very 
 first sentence of the critique, the reviewer speaks sneer- 
 ingly of Burns as a poetical prodigy, on a level with 
 Stephen Duck, and Thomas Dermody : men, the glim- 
 merings of whose genius are extinct. Assuredly there 
 never was a more unhappy, or a more ungentle similitude. 
 Perhaps we misunderstand the meaning of the critic. 
 
 But we must speak to the main charge of the reviewer— 
 that " the leading vice in Burns's character, and the cardinal 
 deformity indeed of all his productions, was his contempt, 
 or affectation of contempt for prudence, decency, and re- 
 gularity, and his admiration of thoughtlessness, oddity, 
 and vehement sensibility — his belief, in short, in the dispen- 
 sing power qf genius and social feeling, in all matters of mo- 
 rality and common smse."-— Now this proposition is just as 
 easily denied as affirmed; and as we do deny it, evidence is 
 the only means of extricating the assertor from a dilemma. — 
 And what is the reviewers evidence ? — broad assertion, il- 
 lustrated by declamations which have no more application 
 to Burns than to the reviewer. — Let us see whether the 
 tenor of Burns's life and all his productions tend to sup- 
 port or to overthrow the reviewer's averment. 
 
 If we take the events of Burns's life and his actions as 
 the best means of discovering whether or not he held mere 
 genius and social feeling to be clothed with a dispensing 
 power in all matters of morality and common sense, we 
 shall be led to a conclusion very different indeed from the 
 
 vol. I. e
 
 ivili REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 reviewer's position. Burns was conscious that he poss< 
 eel genius — and if he had not, the unanimous voice of his 
 countrymen must have convinced him. He also possessed 
 social feeling ; but is there any action of his life which 
 betrays a grave and deliberate opinion or an affectation of 
 it, that such endowments and propensities exempted him 
 from the discharge of any duty, or justified his departure 
 from rectitude in any important matters of morality and 
 common sense ? Not one that we can recollect. It is the 
 practical opinions, as exemplified in conduct, by which we 
 are to judge of every man's principles of action ; and 
 although he used the Ucentia vatum in talking and 
 writing freely about the minor breaches of decorum, 
 we never find him resorting to any sophisticated slang 
 about feelings, When the more important parts of actual 
 duty are concerned. While only a boy, at a time of life 
 when some of our high-bred youths have scarcely escaped 
 from the nursery, Robert Burns was doing the work of 
 a man, and assisting his father and brother, with all 
 the devotedness of generous affection^ in the labours of 
 the field, and in supporting a virtuous family. Nor 
 was this a transient fit of animal kindness : during the 
 whole of his father's life he continued, until 25 years of 
 age, in almost utter seclusion from society, struggling on 
 in his " toils obscure" with the most meagre food for sus- 
 tenance, and borne down not merely by premature 
 bodily labour, but by the unspeakable anguish of con- 
 templating a beloved father sinking into the grave in 
 penury and broken-hearted *. Was such conduct the 
 slang of the worst German plays? and tlie lowest town-made 
 
 look not for virtuous deeds., 
 
 In history's arena, where the prize,
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS : li^ 
 
 ttovels ? Was this generosity without justice? Was this a 
 deliberate system of determined profligacy and selfishness, 
 or the fruit of mere thoughtlessness and casual impulse? 
 Was this the pitiful cant of careless feeling and eccentric 
 genius, fitted for the hulks and the house of correction, or 
 was it conduct corresponding to the farewell speech of a 
 Botany Bay convict ? Much common sense has often been 
 sacrificed to the turning of a period, and the plainest 
 facts have been generally overlooked in striving to give 
 colouring to a doubtful cause ; really we cannot entirely 
 acquit the reviewer of a determined purpose of shutting 
 his eyes to every fact in the life of Burns, when he indited 
 his tirade against the barren and unfruitful sentimentality 
 of the circulating library. It is quite out of place, though 
 very good, no doubt, if it had been properly applied ; but 
 on what point does all this touch Burns ? 
 
 Even after his father's death, Burns most religiously 
 discharged, to the utmost of his ability, all the duties of a 
 son and of a brother, of a husband and a father; and in his 
 professional and public capacities, as a faithful servant of the 
 Crown, and an honest man, his name is without a stain. If, 
 like other men, he was occasionally the victim of " those 
 ills that flesh is heir to,' 1 it is quite impossible, by any war- 
 rantable construction of any of his actions, to say that he 
 
 Of fame or power prompts to heroic acts ; 
 Peruse the lives themselves, of men obscure: 
 There charity that robs itself to give, 
 There fortitude in sickness nursed by want, 
 There courage that expects no tongue to praise, — 
 There virtue lurks, like purest gold, deep hid, 
 With no alloy of selfish motive mixed. — Grahame."
 
 lx REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 O 
 
 considered mere poetical genius, and love of company, as 
 
 a sanction for injustice or immorality in any of its forms. 
 Of the leading vice, as it is called, in Burns's character, 
 we know not where to find a shadow of evidence. He ne- 
 ver spent in vain superfluities, as is stated by unavoidable 
 implication, ** that money which belongs in right to the 
 pale industrious tradesman and his famishing infants"— 
 he never vaunted of his generosity and goodness of heart, 
 and sate " raving about friendship and philanthropy in a 
 tavern, while his wife's heart was breaking at her cheerless 
 fireside, and his children pining in solitary poverty." 
 
 But the " cardinal deformity of all his productions is, 
 it seems, akin to the " leading vice of his character — a 
 style which, " in the eyes of English sense and morality, 
 is only adapted to the " honourable profession" of a high- 
 wayman, — which constitutes " the heroics only of the 
 hulks and the house of correction," — and which has " no 
 chance of being admired, except in the farewell speech 
 of a young gentleman preparing for Botany Bay." Lest 
 the reader should think the critic had diverged into a 
 region totally unconnected with Burns, and should also wan- 
 der in the same path, he is told, to prevent the possibility 
 of any mistake, that " it is Jiumiliating to think how deep- 
 ly Burns has fallen into this debasing error. 1 ' Burns, it is 
 averred, " is perpetually making a parade of his thought- 
 lessness, inflammability, and imprudence, and talking 
 With much complacency and exultation of the offence he 
 has occasioned to the sober and correct part of man- 
 kind." The only commentary which all this needs, is 
 simply, that the statement, thus made without limitation, 
 is absolutely erroneous. It is quite impossible for any 
 man at all conversant with Burns's writings to make
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lxi 
 
 such a charge :-jp-we defy any man, except by miscon- 
 struction, to torture all, or almost any of his composi- 
 tions, in prose or in verse, into such miserable trash as is 
 thus described. Some of the more venial peccadillos of 
 animal life, Burns, it must be allowed, views with too 
 much lenity, if he finds in the sinner any redeeming qua- 
 lities of good-heartedness : nor will we defend either the 
 habits or language which are occasionally graced with the 
 witchery of his genius. But setting a few of these baga- 
 telles aside, the characteristic qualities of Burns's poetry 
 and letters are as completely different from those which 
 have now, for thejlrst time, been discovered in them, as it 
 is possible for the imagination of man to conceive. The 
 poetry of Burns, and his letters, which reveal all the work- 
 ings of his heart, and his fancy, bear the strong stamp of 
 consistency with sound common sense, and sound common 
 feeling, if by these we are to understand a sense evinced 
 in the faithful discharge of what is due to our relations — 
 our friends — to society, and to ourselves. Neglect, sys- 
 tematic neglect of the ordinary duties of life, under the 
 specious but hollow pretext of spirit and genius, and so 
 forth, never, except in manifest jest and intended balder- 
 dash, found in him a defender or an example.— And 
 although he was apt to view with abundant toleration the 
 frailties in others, from which no man can altogether claim 
 an exemption, he is, in a striking degree, the adversary of 
 false sentiment, of all kinds of slang, hypocrisy, and dis- 
 simulation, in every possible shape, when these pollute 
 the realities of life: he has also painted, in the most capti- 
 vating aspect, every amiable and manly virtue : and it is 
 impossible to open a page of his works, and not discover 
 something which either delights the imagination, or tends 
 to the honour of pure and rational morality. To defend
 
 Ixii REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 Burns's writings now-a-days, would indexed be as idle as* 
 in the true spirit of knight-errantry, to fight wiih a wind- 
 mill. His poems have triumphed over criticism : — they 
 need no defence : we only appeal to them. We do not> 
 however, defend the publishers of all his writings. 
 
 But he is accused of another " lamentable trait of 
 vulgarity" — " a perpetual boast of his own independence, 
 which is obtruded upon the readers of Burns in almost 
 every page of his writings. 1 " This is a form of expression 
 which we recollect to have heard a reverend divine employ, 
 when apologizing for a little looseness in his statements — 
 it is " speaking wide."" We have read many pages of 
 Burns's writings, and do not recollect any instance in 
 which he made his own independence " a spontaneous 
 theme to those friends hi whose estimation he felt that his 
 honour stood clear," without being prompted to the utter- 
 ance of his feelings by something in the circumstances or 
 subject with which his expressions were connected. We 
 very often indeed find him in his poetry, and in his let- 
 ters, expressing an ardent admiration of an independent 
 spirit ; but it is uniformly, if we be not much mistaken, 
 in consequence of the subject being thrown in his way. 
 Should it, however, in any instance be found spontaneous- 
 ly brought forward, it is not a thing to be greatly wonder- 
 ed at, if a feeling, which undoubtedly animated his whole 
 heart, and characterised his whole conduct, should, in his 
 very peculiar circumstances, escape from him on occasions 
 when it was not strictly necessary. The reviewer says, 
 with great truth, that a gentleman only talks of his inde- 
 pendence when insulted or provoked : it was only on such 
 occasions, or on occasions when his jealous eye saw a ten- 
 dencv to under-rate him, that Burns did so; but with-
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lxill 
 
 out wasting words on this topic, we take our leave of 
 the Edinburgh Review, with offering an advice to the Critic 
 (whoever he be,) in all meekness and lowliness of spirit, that 
 he will read the whole, and not merely turn over some 
 of the leaves of Burns's Works, or glance at a few of the 
 poet's lyrical compositions. There is in the Works of 
 Robert Burns an inexhaustible store of delight to every 
 man who does not read for the exclusive purpose of find- 
 ing fault, and displaying his own acumen and fine writing. 
 
 We are now under the necessity of treating with as 
 little ceremony as may be, an English critic who has 
 audaciously crossed the Tweed, and, like the border- 
 ers of old, committed depredations on our best trea- 
 sures. A writer, in the London Quarterly Review, 
 with the caustic disposition evinced by our Edinburgh 
 critics (for whom, after all* we have a clanish regard), 
 and with its own peculiar heaviness, has gone the very 
 greatest lengths in every kind of misrepresentation, 
 with respect to Robert Burns. And if the spirit of chi- 
 valry, an emanation of which we have caught from their 
 review of Cromek's Reljques, did not mingle itself with 
 the gall necessarily in our pen, we should assuredlv write 
 down one hard word, and apply it to the gentleman who 
 has attempted, poorly attempted, to trample on the grave 
 of our national poet. We must therefore adopt a cir- 
 cumlocution to express our meaning — the " few distinc- 
 tions," as they are called, which we have copied from the 
 Quarterly Review with respect to Burns, are devoid of 
 truth in fact. . Never, indeed, have we seen a more au- 
 dacious and incredible Jiction than the assertions that 
 Burns was totally divested of the principle which cleaves 
 to that which is good, and that though he never lost sight
 
 lxiv 
 
 REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 of the beacon which ought to have guided him, yet he 
 never profited by its light : that is, in plain English, that 
 Burns was utterly destitute of every moral principle, and 
 that his life was one unvaried scene of vices or crimes — 
 that he never even did one good action in the whole 
 course of it ! Such is the plain and unequivocal import 
 of the metaphorical prattle about wreck and torrents, 
 and swimming and beacons, in which this abominable 
 falsehood is clothed — it is quite impossible to give it ano- 
 ther name so as to distinguish suitably its character. It 
 were mere drivelling to soften our language. We do not 
 desire to give a fine edge to satire; our sole object is to 
 assert truth. 
 
 The only other proposition in this precious criticism, 
 which bears the aspect of a fact really injurious to Burns's 
 memory, is denominated a " dreadful truth," that Burns, 
 when a friend was offering him well-meant and warm ex- 
 postulation, attempted to destroy that friend by plunging 
 a sword into his breast ; and, in the next instant, he was 
 with difficulty withheld from suicide ! What atonement 
 can any man make for publishing so foul a calumny as 
 this ? What apology can a professed guardian of litera- 
 ture and morals, a self-constituted censor of immorality, 
 offer to an insulted public, for going out of the book under 
 his review, for manufacturing to his own taste, and then 
 gravely printing and publishing a story which he either 
 knew, or ought to have known, is, by exaggeration, cruel 
 untruth ? What kind of a head must he possess who could 
 hazard his credibility, and the reputation of the work with 
 which he was connected, by asserting what he can never 
 prove ? What kind of heart must he have who could wring 
 the hearts of the widow and the fatherless, by such false
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lxv 
 
 revolting pictures of a tender husband and an affectionate 
 parent, whose fame and honour were all the earthly treasures 
 which he left them ? — Shame, shame ! Is this criticism ? 
 It is a libel which deserves the pillory ; and if the author 
 of it were known, which fortunately for him is not the 
 case, he would doubtless fill that space in public opinion, 
 which a good man would not desire to occupy. 
 
 We have ascertained by actual enquiry at the gentle- 
 man alluded to in this story, how much of it is fact, and 
 how much embellishment. The charge is, that Burns 
 made an attempt to plunge a sword cane into the body 
 of his friend, and was 'with difficulty prevented after- 
 wards from killing himself. To attempt, in the ordinary 
 acceptation of our language, imports a full purpose in the 
 agent of accomplishing some design, followed forth by an 
 act, which his own will alone does not check, but which, 
 if baffled, is counteracted by some external force : and if 
 this be a correct view of the expression, we are warrant- 
 ed to deny flatly, that Burns attempted to plunge a sword 
 into the body of his friend, or to destroy himself. That 
 friend, 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. " In my parlour at 
 Ilyedale, 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 Jibre of his frame, dreuo 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,
 
 Ixvi REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 as an attempt by Burns to murder a friend, and to com- 
 mit suicide, from which " he was with difficulty with- 
 held !" Sq 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 1 ' one 
 afternoon, (perhaps a little " glorious 1 ' too, according to 
 Tarn o^hanter), he, in his own house, thought fit to give 
 Burns a lecture on temperance in all things ; in the course 
 of which, he acknowledges, that he " might have spoken dag- 
 gers"- — and that Burns, in a moment of irritation, perhaps 
 of justly offended pride, merely drew the sword (which, 
 like every other excise-officer, he wore at all times profes- 
 sionally in a staff,) in order, as a soldier would touch his 
 sword, to repel indignity. But by Mr Syme's own tes- 
 timony, Burns only drew the sword from the cane : no- 
 thing is said of an attempt to stab; but on the contrary, 
 Mr Syiuc declares expressly that a mock-solemn exclama- 
 tion,, pretty characteristic we suspect of the whole affair, 
 wound up die catastrophe of this tragical scene. Really it 
 is a foolish piece of business to magnify such an incident 
 into a " dreadful truth, 1 ' illustrative of the " untamed and 
 plebeian 11 spirit of Burns. We cannot help regretting that 
 Mr Syme should unguardedly have communicated such 
 an anecdote to any of his friends, considering that this 
 ebullition of momentary irritation was followed, as he 
 himself states, by a friendship more ardent than ever be- 
 twixt 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 pas-
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lxvli 
 
 sion, excited by acknowledged provocation, and followed 
 by nothing but drawing or brandishing a weapon acci- 
 dentally in his hand, and an immediate and strong con- 
 viction 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 
 habitually carried the concealed stiletto of an assassin : 
 The reviewer should have been much more on his guard. 
 We think we could pierce him on an unguarded and vulner- 
 able side, — but we scorn the combat with a man in a mask. 
 What has become of his chivalry ? 
 
 The other " distinctions" of this redoubted review 
 provoke only derision. It is really quite amusing to 
 see the critic mistake the merely jocular rhapsodies- 
 of Burns for " absolute rant" — and give an example 
 of professed bombast, as a proof that he was desirous 
 of " shining, and blazing, and thundering."" The cri- 
 tic's sagacity too, is quite marvellous, in discovering the 
 poet's " opinion of his own temperament," from certain 
 rhetorical flourishes, and particularly from his having, in 
 absolute jest, said he envied the condition of a wild horse 
 in the deserts of Asia — and an oyster ! Like other fabulists, 
 the quarterly reviewer must have his moral — and having 
 prefigured the poor poet as a horse, which acknowledg- 
 ed not adversity as the tamer of the human breast, and 
 knew not " the golden * curb which discretion hangs upon 
 passion'' 1 — having, moreover, assumed, that this horse-oys- 
 
 * What does the critic mean by a golden curb ?
 
 lxviii REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ter bard, ** believed that there could be no pleasurable 
 existence between the extremes of licentious phrenzy and 
 torpid sensuality 1 ' — he closes a very poetical series of re- 
 marks, with an oracular conclusion, " that if pride and 
 ambition were capable of being taught, they might hence 
 learn, that a well regulated mind and controlled passions 
 are to be prized above all the glow of imagination, and all 
 the splendour of genius I 1 ' — This is very glowing and very 
 splendid, no doubt : but really there is too much of " the 
 spirit of chivalry 11 for common place and " vulgar" taste. 
 The British public would have infinitely preferred honest 
 truth and charity, to that chivalry which insults a dead 
 man, whose living touch would have withered the hand 
 that is lifted up in impotence to hurt, over the wreck of 
 his manly frame. 
 
 Sick as we are of the nauseating inventions of the Quar- 
 terly Review, we cannot pass over the observations ap- 
 plied to the " plebeian" spirit of Burns — as if it had been 
 something inferior to " that spirit of chivalry which since 
 the feudal times has pervaded the higher ranks of Euro- 
 pean society." This is a conceit of the reviewer's own, 
 adopted it would seem for no other purpose than to vent 
 a sarcasm against Burns and the humbler ranks- of the 
 community : the epithet " plebeian" is repeated with an 
 air of self-gratulation not unworthy of some silly lord. 
 Diversities of rank — political and hereditary honours, are 
 the unavoidable results of a well regulated state of society ; 
 and we are ever ready to give honour to whom honour is 
 due; but we have no notion of tolerating a supercilious as- 
 sumption of lordliness in an anonymous reviewer, who per- 
 haps has no claim whatever to public notice, which is not 
 founded solely on qualities altogether personal. Nor can
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lxiX 
 
 we ever reckon that condition of life ignoble, which could 
 nurture, in our " land of brown heath, 1 ' the high soul, 
 the manly, sublime, and truly British spirit of Robert 
 Burns. — If the reviewer means to say that Burns had not 
 the manners of a courtier, or the flippancy of a Parisian 
 petit maitre, we will not dispute the position ; but if he 
 means to insinuate, that he was destitute of that purest 
 remnant of feudal manners, the " grace of life," which 
 springs from an union of habitual self-possession and be- 
 nevolence in society, and which constitutes true politeness 
 and honest urbanity, we will tell him that no man had it 
 in a more eminent degree than Burns. The ladies are 
 on this subject no bad judges ; they are unanimous against 
 the reviewer — and the testimony, indeed, of all who ever 
 came within the reach of his social influence, is, that it was 
 something like sorcery. But really for this reviewer to 
 talk of chivalry, and to write such ungentlemanly stuff as 
 we have been noticing, is like an old border bandit speak- 
 ing of honesty. 
 
 This unknown personage represents Burns as ever so 
 poor " as to be on the very brink of absolute ruin — look- 
 ing forward now to the situation of a foot soldier, now to 
 that of a common beggar, as no unnatural consummation 
 of his evil fortune. v Such a statement is really ludicrous. 
 It is a construction of facts and of passages in the poet's 
 letters, akin to the sublime notion that Burns had fixed 
 upon the devil as the model of his own character. But we 
 will not fatigue the reader of these notes with farther ani- 
 madversion on the errors of this blundering scribbler, who 
 seems to have looked to payment by the sheet as his reward 
 for this effusion of malevolence. Before taking our leave, 
 however, we may only deny (as is necessary, of course, when
 
 1XX REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 the " extravagance of genius, 1 ' by which this critic is dis- 
 tinguished, ever touches or adorns a fact), that Burns was 
 either a political partizan, or listened with complacency 
 to what has been termed French philosophy — if any de- 
 finite meaning can be affixed to these expressions. Burns 
 was of too sturdy a temper to be a partizan : he was des- 
 tined to take a lead in any thing to which his soul was de- 
 voted : and though he submitted to make his bread as an 
 inferior officer of excise, he never yielded to the meanness 
 of abetting miserable political clubs by his orations, or of 
 composing bad songs to stimulate their prejudices and 
 passions, when it was thought requisite to create and 
 strengthen principles by the force of alcohol. The transient 
 meaning given to " French philosophy," is now unintel- 
 ligible, since the howl of liberty and equality ceased to 
 alarm. Nothing can be more contrary to fact, or incon- 
 sistent with various averments, that Burns was the mere 
 organ of feeling, than the assertion that he had imbibed 
 what was universally understood at the time, as the true 
 character of notions, termed by some Frenchmen and their 
 adversaries, philosophy — a brutal dereliction of every senti- 
 ment and affection native to the heart of Burns. That 
 in his private sentiments, and in his ordinary intercourse 
 with society, he favoured the French Revolution, in so far 
 as it promised to lead to that blessed consummation which 
 we have lived to behold — a limited monarchy on the ruins 
 of an absolute despotism, is quite true : but it is about as 
 logical to infer from thence, that he wished to overturn the 
 limited monarchy and established liberty of his native 
 country, as to conclude that he was an habitual drunkard, 
 because he sometimes took a cheerful glass with his friends. 
 Whenever truth is forsaken, there are no bounds to ab- 
 surdity, and the critic before us has given an ample mea-
 
 >ii ROBERT BURNS. lxxi 
 
 sure. But we leave him to his fate — not without some 
 pity blended in our resentments. 
 
 Of the " Life 1 attributed to Mr Walker of Perth, 
 we really wish we could speak in terms of approba- 
 tion : But we cannot in the present instance in- 
 dulge our personal feelings at the expence of Robert 
 Burns. His representation of Burns's life and character 
 is inconsistent with itself. It is constructed on what ap- 
 pears to us an erroneous notion of biography : it contains 
 statements of fact which must derive all their credibility 
 from the individual testimony of the narrator; and yet 
 that individual is to the public a nonentity — for the pub- 
 lication is anonymous. It contains, instead of facts, and 
 evidence, and reflections drawn from and warranted by 
 these, a great deal of conjecture and assumption, and 
 split-hair philosophising about possibilities, of very little 
 moment in themselves, and as foreign to the life and 
 character of Burns, as of Bonaparte. It represents Burns in 
 one page, as in fact a very good man, and damns him, by 
 hypothesis, in the next : — Altogether it seems to have been, 
 written with sickly fastidiousness of taste, and in terror, lest 
 on any topic the author should have got out of order. Too 
 much is sacrificed to a false public appetite for sermonising 
 and scandal ; and when we see the moral part of Burns fall- 
 ing, as it were, under the daggers of literary patriots: 
 when we see a friend among the number, we can imagine 
 that we hear the parting spirit of the Bard utter the last 
 and deep reproach of Ccesar, 
 
 We need not go beyond the passages we have quoted for 
 proof of our general objections to this specimen of biogra- 
 phy. There is scarcely a page in which we do notstumble'.
 
 IxXli REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 on a proposition coupled with such phrases, as " there is 
 ground to suspect" — " I suspect" — and " it is to be suspect- 
 ed." And it is very curious, that in almost every case, all 
 these suspicions are at once injurious to Burns, and con- 
 trary to notorious facts. No better illustration can be given 
 of this unsatisfactory style of biography, than the " suspi- 
 cion''' which is excited against the unspotted worth of Wil- 
 liam Burns, the poet's father. We are instructed by a 
 philosophical reverie, that the misfortunes of that worthy 
 man must probably have arisen from some radical defect in 
 his own character or conduct, since uniform mischance, 
 it is assumed, always implies as much ! How silly and 
 cruel are such insinuations ? God knows, there are many 
 pressed down in adversity for life, without the slightest 
 cause existing in their conduct or personal characters. 
 We have known individuals possessing every quality that 
 we can conceive of human worth, destined, like William 
 Burns, to drink deeply in the cup of affliction — to struggle 
 through life with poverty and disappointment and sorrow; 
 and to descend, like him, into the grave with few other con- 
 solations than the prospects beyond it. The cause of Wil- 
 liam Burns's uniform misfortune is very obvious to an or- 
 dinary observer : He had not money : that was his de- 
 fect. And the want of capital alone fettered him to all 
 the disasters which he experienced in his affectionate anx- 
 iety to keep his family around him in their tender years. 
 There is no occasion for a refinement in speculation, when 
 a fact stands manifestly in view sufficient to account for 
 occurrences. We will not notice all the may-be sentences 
 of which we disapprove, and to which we could only give 
 a contradiction ; nor shall we swell these remarks, by se- 
 lect! n<r the inconsistencies which are involved in the 
 views of the biographer; but there is one part of his
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. lxxiil 
 
 own conduct which we cannot overlook, which we notice 
 with regret, and which many will reprobate in strong- 
 er terms than we are inclined to employ : We allude to 
 the visit which the biographer paid to Burns a few months 
 before his death ; and whatever the memory of Burns may 
 suffer from the account given of that visit, the biographer, 
 whoever he be, must suffer infinitely more in public opi- 
 nion. 
 
 The biographer tells the public, that after a separation 
 of eight years, he went to Dumfries, on purpose to pay a 
 visit to his old friend Burns, only a few months before 
 the death of Burns ; that the first of two days, which on this 
 occasion they spent together, was nearly all consumed in a 
 manner indicative of entire correctness in the poet's con- 
 duct, and distinguished by no peculiarity, except that he 
 '* shewed a disposition, which, however, was easily repress- 
 ed, (being overawed, no doubt), to throw out political re- 
 marks of the same nature with those for which he had 
 been reprehended.'' 1 The day following, however, he is 
 described as " ready" to attend the biographer and a 
 friend to the inn, where " he called for fresh supplies of 
 liquor,' 11 for which, he being their invited guest, his 
 companions were of course to pay : — and the narrator 
 adds, ' ; nor was it till he saw us worn out, that he de- 
 parted about three in the morning, with a reluctance which 
 probably proceeded less from being deprived of our com- 
 pany, than from being conjincd to his own /" Really this is 
 the very shabbiest business recorded in any of the biogra- 
 phical garrulities we have ever seen. We never could have 
 dreamt that any man, accustomed to the courtesies of de- 
 cent society, would have violated the rules of hospitality 
 and friendship, so egregiously, as to invite a friend to his 
 
 VOL. I. /
 
 lxXlV REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 table ; for it is the same thing whether that be in a pri- 
 rate house or a tavern ; and then publish to the world a 
 narration of the quantities of food and drink of which he 
 may chuse to make use. If there be any thing in the 
 scene described obnoxious to real spirit, it is all on one 
 side. Why brand as meanness the warmth and frank in- 
 genuousness of Burns's kindness on meeting with an old 
 acquaintance, by insinuating ihat he drank freely, because 
 he was not to pay a few paltry shillings, which he did not 
 value ? Why dare to say that he left the social board re- 
 luctantly, because he was " probably 11 less delighted with 
 his companions than apprehensive of being confined to his 
 own solitary reflections ? What grounds — what tempta- 
 tion can warrant a supposition so violent and so repug- 
 nant to all the probabilities of the case ? And what mo- 
 tives can justify such pitiful gossipping? We gladly turn 
 from this vile thing — this unmatched outrage upon cha- 
 rity and friendship, and call to remembrance the "writings 
 of Burns, and the spirit by which they are characterised. 
 
 It is not our intention to say much on the subject of 
 Burns's Works, farther than to affirm, that they are emi- 
 nently friendly to good morals. A proposition, so decid- 
 edly in the face of numerous assertions to the contrary, 
 requires a little explanation ; and, in giving it, we shall 
 not go over the beaten path, by indulging in high flown 
 panegyrics on his genius. The man that cannot discern 
 the excellencies of Burns's poetry is far beyond the reach 
 of our poor abilities to point them out — and perhaps be- 
 yond the consciousness of any thing except mere animal 
 existence. 
 
 The writings of Burns may be considered in two points
 
 OF ROBERT BURNS. 1XXV 
 
 of view: either as indicative of his real personal character, 
 and therefore possessing an influence over society on the 
 score of example — or as having a tendency in their intrin- 
 sic qualities to affect the morals of the community in which 
 they circulate. If they are regarded in the first of these 
 lights, we ought to consider strictly, whether, even with all 
 their blemishes, as published since his death, they afford con- 
 clusive evidence, with respect to his character. The writ- 
 ings of no man afford such evidence. It is quite a com- 
 mon-place fact, that authors, like other men, are very ar- 
 tificial animals — that they are not always what they seem 
 in their writings ; and that the force of any presumptions 
 arising as to personal qualities, from the mere complexion 
 of their compositions, whether published or not, must be 
 modified by the circumstances under which these exist. 
 A man may divest himself of all sincerity, and write a 
 book or paper in discordance with his real sentiments. 
 Another may, in a moment of elevation, or thoughtlessness, 
 or confidence, write a letter to an intimate friend, either in 
 jest or under casual and passing emotions, not accordant 
 with the ordinary tenor of his feelings and opinions; and 
 therefore, any inferences as to personal character, deduced 
 from writings of any description, must be drawn"with great 
 limitations. Many of Burns's compositions were written 
 in such circumstances as to render it impossible to learn 
 any thing very decisive from them concerning his moral 
 feelings — lor opposite conclusions may easily be drawn 
 from different parts of his works. To assume dogmati- 
 cally any positions on the subject is absurd ; and to assert 
 that he was irreligious or vicious, or that he must afford 
 a pernicious example, because he satirised some of the 
 fanatical clergy, and wrote private letters to his confi- 
 dential friends, in which there are occasional deviations 
 
 /2
 
 IXXVI REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 from the circumspection observed in the works that he 
 published, is by no means a legitimate mode of induction. 
 The indications of character disclosed in the public and 
 private writings of Burns, to the effect of operating as an 
 example, are so equivocal, therefore, as to afford no satis- 
 factory proof, without a collateral view of his life. 
 
 • The obvious, the consolatory, and we think the irre- 
 sistible conclusion to be deduced from the remarks and 
 proof, which we now take the liberty of submitting to the 
 public, is, that Burns has been cruelly wronged. It 
 matters little, whether this evil has arisen from credulity, 
 misinformation, or malicious purpose. It is fit that the 
 error should be corrected, — not merely because it is fair 
 that the dead as well as the living should have justice in 
 every individual instance, but because the general interests 
 of society and literature are outraged, if calumny is permit- 
 ted, in such a case, to circulate in triumphant dogmatism. 
 By calumny we mean injurious accusation without proof. 
 And if ever calumny of the most dastardly kind poisoned 
 public opinion, it has been in the case of Burns. It is 
 not enough to say, that he frequently indulged in convi- 
 vial propensities, and therefore was an habitual debauchee, 
 and every way abominable as a man ; it is absolute imbe- 
 cility, savouring of the tabernacle, to say, that because he 
 satirised and painted hypocrisy truly, he was a blasphe- 
 mer, and a profligate, as an author : and no man shall 
 b permitted to assert, without evidence in support of his 
 all 'gat ion, that Burns was a worthless wretch, if there 
 be" one untrammelled press in Scotland. Some of the 
 rigid hj righteous tremble at the mere sound of praise 
 to his genius, and seem to think that because he had the 
 failings of humanity, there should be no monument to his
 
 JIEVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS lxXVU 
 
 #iemory. It is not to his failings that a monument can be 
 consecrated by any rational being ; but to his transcend- 
 ant genius as the Poet of Nature; for no one who can 
 discover excellence, and distinguish it from the dross of 
 mortality in his own frame, can overlook the high pre- 
 eminence of Burns in all the faculties and feelings which 
 raise man from the dust into the temple of fame. To the 
 broad, the general and unqualified accusations which have 
 been brought against him, we offer a valid defence, that 
 there is no proof: we also give exculpatory evidence of 
 the most satisfying nature, and we retire from public 
 notice, with a perfect conviction, that as Burns has been 
 fried he will be acquitted by his country.
 
 SUPPLEMENT 
 
 REVIEW OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 The writer of the foregoing review, before he agreed 
 to undertake the task pointed out to him, deemed it ex- 
 pedient to ascertain, by direct communication with Mr 
 Gilbert Burns, whether or not an examination of the in- 
 congruous descriptions which had been given of his 
 brother by biographers and critics, would meet with his 
 approbation. He intimated also the intentions of the 
 Proprietors of this re-print of Dr Currie's original publi- 
 cation, to connect such an examination with a new edition 
 of that work, as the most effectual way of putting the 
 public fully in possession of the explanations, requisite for 
 counteracting the erroneous statements which had been 
 circulated with respect to the Poet's character, and re- 
 quested his countenance to the projected undertaking, 
 in as far as might be compatible with justice towards 
 the original Publishers. Mr Gilbert Burns, with a cor- 
 rectness suitable to his upright character, intimated his 
 aversion to do any thing which could in reality, or even in
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. lxxix 
 
 appearance, be prejudicial or offensive to those respectable 
 booksellers ; and accordingly the Proprietors of the present 
 impression have neither sought nor obtained any contri- 
 bution from him, which can be construed into a partici- 
 pation with them in the present undertaking. The sub- 
 joined letter must therefore be considered merely as a 
 personal communication to the writer of the prefixed re- 
 view, importing no more than it distinctly and candidly ex- 
 presses. The writer of the review also gives his own re- 
 marks, and the evidence on which they rest, to the Pu- 
 blishers, without taking any concern about the mode of pu- 
 blication which they have chosen to adopt. He is happy, 
 however, to state that his humble attempt to exhibit the 
 true character of Robert Burns has been kindly approved 
 by Mr Gilbert Burns, and that the proof sheets have 
 been all submitted to his perusal before being printed off. 
 
 The review was written chiefly from information orally 
 given, by individuals of Robert Burns's acquaintance, or 
 was suggested by the perusal of the published writings 
 animadverted on. For the satisfaction of the public, how- 
 ever, it was deemed proper to obtain an account of the 
 latter years of the Poet's life, from gentlemen of the most 
 respectable character, some of whom were eye-witnesses of 
 his conduct, daily : and every gentleman applied to, has 
 readily and handsomely contributed the information which 
 it was in his power to give. The value of their communi- 
 cations will be justly appreciated by the public; for it will 
 now be manifest to every man whose mind is at all open 
 to conviction, how deeply and cruelly the conduct and 
 character of Burns have been misrepresented and vilified, 
 first by party- spirit, and the tribe of gossipping story-tell- 
 ers, then by biographers, and lastly, by the reviewers,
 
 1XXX SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 LETTER FROM MR GILBERT BURNS. 
 
 Grant's Braes, 29th September 1814. 
 Sir, 
 
 Your letter of the 15th August reached me in due 
 course, informing me of some booksellers in Edinburgh having 
 the intention of publishing a re-print of Dr Currie's first edi- 
 tion of the Life and Writings of my Brother, and that you had 
 undertaken to write some remarks to accompany it, in vindi- 
 cation of my Brother's fame as a poet, and character as a man, 
 from the aspersions and misrepresentations thrown upon both 
 from various quarters, particularly by the reviewers of the 
 unfortunate reliques gleaned by Mr Cromek. To the publi- 
 cation I can have no personal objection, but should not wish 
 to countenance it if I thought Messrs Cadell and Davies 
 would justly consider it any encroachment on their right, as 
 I was very much satisfied with the conduct of these gentlemen 
 toward my Brother's family. 
 
 That the world should be set right in regard to the misre- 
 presentations above alluded to, especially such as regard my 
 brother's moral character, you will readily believe I ardently 
 wish. Though personally unacquainted with you, yet from 
 the account I have heard of you from some of my friends who 
 are of your acquaintance, and from knowing that you enjoyed 
 the intimacy of my much esteemed and lamented acquaintance 
 the author of the " Sabbath," I am satisfied the task you have 
 undertaken is in good hands. 
 
 When any publication appears in the world which has an 
 immoral tendency, it is no doubt the legitimate province of 
 the reviewer to warn the public against its tendency ; but
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. lxXXi 
 
 even in that case, I do not see what right he has to attack 
 private character, not involved in the works which authors 
 themselves publish, and I am not a little surprised to see men 
 of talents and literary taste, rake up the failings (real or im- 
 puted) of the dead, and lacerate the feelings of surviving 
 friends, by presenting an overcharged picture'of those failings 
 to the world, and giving currency to every malicious report, 
 founded or unfounded. No person can regret more than I do 
 the tendency of some of my Brother's writings to represent ir- 
 regularity of conduct as a consequence of genius, and sobriety 
 the effect of dulness ; but surely more has been said on that 
 subject than the fact warrants : and it ought to be remember- 
 ed that the greatest part of his writings, having that tendency, 
 were not published b;j himself, nor intended Jbr publication. 
 But it may likewise be observed, and every attentive reader 
 of Burns's Works, must have observed, that he frequently 
 presents a caricature of his feelings, and even of his failings — a 
 kind of mock-heroic account of himself and his opinions, 
 which he never supposed could be taken literally. I dare say 
 it never entered into his head, for instance, that when he was 
 speaking in that manner of Milton's Satan, any one should 
 gravely suppose that was the model on which he wished to 
 form his own character. Yet on such rants, which the author 
 evidently intends should be considered a mere play of 
 imagination, joined to some abstract reasoning of the critic, 
 many of the heavy accusations brought against the Poet for 
 bad taste and worse morals, rest. But even where he war 
 really faulty in such representations, it surely required but a 
 moderate portion of that charity which thinketh no evil — of 
 that fraternal feeling, which I should have expected every 
 person of talents and literary taste would have felt for my poor 
 unfortunate brother, to consider them the arguments of a man 
 galled by the honest reproaches of his own mind for occa- 
 sional deviations from the path of virtue, mustered up as a 
 palliation (dictated by feelings natural to us all,) rather th^ra
 
 IXXXll SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 the effusions of determined profligacy, as they have been most 
 erroneously supposed. That this conclusion was false, I think 
 must appear, independent of other testimony, from the whole 
 events of his life, which have been laid before the public 
 more undisguisedly, than perhaps the life of any other indi- 
 vidual has ever been. 
 
 Dr Currie, knowing the events of the later years of my 
 brother's life only from the reports which had been propagat- 
 ed, and thinking it necessary, lest the candour of his work 
 should be called in question, to state the substance of these re- 
 ports, has given a very exaggerated view of the failings of my 
 brother's life at that period, which is certainly to be regretted ; 
 but as the Doctor's work was not submitted to me in manuscript, 
 nor, as far as I know, to any of my brother's friends at Dum- 
 fries, I had it not in my power to set him right in that par- 
 ticular : and considering the excellence of the Doctor's work 
 upon the whole, and how much we owed him, for that stupen- 
 dous exertion of his benevolence, I never took any notice to him 
 of my disapprobation, or of the inconsistency of this part of 
 his work. But I will not farther anticipate what must have 
 occurred to yourself, and which you will be able to point out 
 with more effect than I can. I am, Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 GILBERT BURNS. 
 
 To Mr Alex. Peterkin, 1 
 Edinburgh. J
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. Ixxxiil" 
 
 No II. 
 
 LETTER FROM MR JAMES GRAY, 
 
 FORMERLY IN DUMFRIES, NOW ONE OF THE MASTERS OF THK 
 HIGH SCHOQL, EDINBURGH. 
 
 Edinburgh, 2Sth September 1814. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I am happy to learn that you are engaged in a 
 vindication of the character of Burns, from the calumnies con- 
 tained in some of our most popular literary journals. The 
 fate of this great man has been singularly hard ; during the 
 greater part of his life, he was doomed to struggle with ad- 
 verse fortune, and no friendly hand was stretched forth to 
 shield him from the storm that at last overwhelmed him. It 
 seemed even to have been the object of a jealous and illiberal 
 policy to accelerate his ruin. His enemies have ascribed to 
 him vices foreign to his nature ; have exaggerated his failings, 
 and have not even had the justice to relieve the deep shades 
 of imputed depravity, by a single ray of virtue. In their 
 portraits there is none of that disposition of light and shade, in 
 which nature delights. They resemble the works of the cari- 
 cature painter, in which every beauty is concealed, and every 
 deformity overcharged, rather than the correct likeness of the 
 honest artist, studious of the fidelity of his representation. The 
 truth is, that not one of the periodical writers who have thought 
 fit to pronounce judgment in so decisive a tone, on the moral 
 conduct of the Poet, had the means of forming a fair estimate 
 of his character. They had heard certain reports injurious to 
 his reputation, and they received them without examination 
 as established facts. It is besides to be lamented, that the most 
 respectable of his biographers has in some cases suffered him- 
 self to be misled by the slanderous tales of malice or party 
 spirit.
 
 lxXXiv SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 Every lover of genius, and 'every friend of the family of Burns, 
 ought to feel grateful to Dr Currie for the generous manner in 
 which he came forward to rescue the widow and orphans from 
 absolute want ; for it deserves to be recorded to his honour, 
 that bv his gratuitous exertions, they were put in posses- 
 sion of nearly twelve hundred pounds. Great judgment and 
 talent are displayed in the execution of the work. The post- 
 humous poetry does equal credit to the taste of the biogra- 
 pher, and the genius of the Poet ; and the letters are so ju- 
 diciously selected, as at once to illustrate his life and character. 
 I am, therefore, reluctantly compelled by justice to an injured 
 name, to animadvert on the passage *, which you have sub- 
 mitted to my consideration. I love Dr Currie, but I love the 
 fame of Burns more ; and no authority, how respectable soever, 
 shall deter me from a bold declaration of the truth. 
 
 The poet of the Cotter's Saturday Night, who felt all the 
 charms of the humble piety and virtue, which he has so de- 
 lightfully sung, is here charged with vices which would reduce 
 him to a level with the most degraded of his species. " He 
 is a habitual drunkard — he spends his time in society of the 
 lowest kind — he is the sport of uncontrolled passions — he is; 
 polluted by contamination, over which delicacy and humanity 
 draw a veil." On each of these charges, 1 shall hazard a few* 
 remarks ; and as I knew him during that period of his life, em- 
 phatically denominated his evil days, / am enabled to speak 
 from my ovon observation. It is not my intention to extenuate 
 his errors, because they were combined with genius ; on that 
 account, they are only the more dangerous, because the more 
 seductive, and deserve the more severe reprehension ; but I 
 shall likewise claim, that nothing may be set down in malice 
 against him. 
 
 * Vol. I. p. 214.
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. IxXXV 
 
 But to proceed ; he was not a habitual drunkard. Of this 
 assertion, many proofs might be adduced. A few shall suffice. 
 To the period of his last illness, he discharged all the duties of 
 his station with a most scrupulous exactness. In a situation that 
 requires constant and minute attention, he never neglected the 
 call of duty. We have the testimony of his superior, that he 
 was a faithful and correct officer, equally attentive to the 
 interests of Government, and liberal to the fair trader. Not 
 many days passed during his stay in Dumfries, in which he did 
 not compose some piece of poetry, or some song, destined 
 to delight the imagination, and soften the heart for ages to 
 ionic. It was during the last years of his life that he erected 
 the most lasting monument of his genius, by composing those 
 numberless lyrical effusions that enrich Mr Thomson's col- 
 lection ; which, for simplicity, pathos, truth to nature, and 
 a fine adaptation to the heart-stirring melodies of our native 
 land, are unrivalled in any language. It came under my own 
 view professionally, that he superintended the education of his 
 children with a degree of care that I have never seen surpass- 
 ed by any parent in any rank of life whatever. In the bosom 
 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 Shake- 
 spear to Gray, or storing his mind with examples of heroic 
 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 drunken- 
 ::cs* ? 
 
 It is not, however, denied that he sometimes mingled with 
 society unworthy of him. He was of a social and convivial 
 nature. He was courted by all classes of men for the fascinating 
 powers of his conversation, but over his social scene uncon- 
 trolled passion never presided. Over the social bowl, his wit
 
 IxXXvi SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 flashed for hour- together, penetrating whatever it struck, like 
 the fire from heaven; but even in the hour of thoughtless gaiety 
 and merriment, 1 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 amusing by its 
 wild originality, and grotesque, yet natural combinations, but 
 never, within my observation, disgusting by its grossness. 
 
 In his morning hoars, I never saw him like one suffering from 
 the etfects of last night's intemperance. He appeared then 
 clear and unclouded. He was the eloquent advocate of hu- 
 manity, justice, and political freedom. From his paintings, 
 virtue appeared more lovely, and piety assumed a more celestial 
 mien. While his 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 interesting and delightful. I may likewise 
 add, Sir, that to the very end of his life, reading was his fa- 
 vourite amusement. I have never known any man so inti- 
 mately acquainted with the elegant English authors. 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 ('otter's Saturday 
 Night. I would again ask, is all this consistent with the idea 
 that he was a man " perpetually stimulated by alcohol ?" 
 
 The truth is, that Burns was seldom intoxicated. The drunk- 
 ard soon becomes besotted, and is shunned even by the con- 
 vivial. Had he been so, he could not have long continued 
 the idol of every party. It will, however, be freely confessed, 
 that the hour of enjoyment was often prolonged beyond the 
 limit marked by prudence ; but what man will venture to af«
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. IxXXV'ii 
 
 firm, 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 friends, many 
 of the most respectable inhabitants of Dumfries and the vici- 
 nity. Several of those were attached to him by ties that the 
 hand of calumny, busy as it was, could never snap asunder. 
 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 characters in this country, and not a 
 few females, eminent 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 retain for his memory that af- 
 fectionate veneration which virtue alone inspires. 
 
 It would have been less cruel, and not more unjust, had 
 Dr Currie torn away the veil which " delicacy and huma- 
 nity" draw over the failings of the poet ; for no exposure of 
 facts, of what moral turpitude soever, could have inflicted a 
 more deadly wound on his character, than this insinuation. 
 
 The strictures of the biographer of the Scottish poets, are 
 little more than a repetition and expansion of the passage just 
 considered. I should therefore pass them over without fur- 
 ther notice, did they not contain an allusion to the political 
 opinions of the poet, on which the Edinburgh Reviewer has 
 chosen to be silent altogether, and the English Reviewer has 
 touched but slightly.
 
 IxxXVlii SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 Burns was one of those who hailed with delight the dawn 
 of the French revolution, as about to shed in its beams, free- 
 dom, peace and happiness over a large portion of the earth. 
 He was enthusiastically fond of liberty, and a lover of the popular 
 part of our constitution. Yet he saw and admired the just 
 and delicate proportions of the political fabric ; and nothing 
 could be farther from his aim, than to level with the dust the 
 venerable pile reared by the labours and the wisdom of ages. 
 That provision of the constitution, however, by which it is 
 made to contain a self-correcting principle, obtained no 
 inconsiderable share of his admiration : He was therefore a zea- 
 lous advocate of constitutional reform. 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 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 what- 
 ever. Though limited to an income which any other man would 
 have considered poverty, he refused L.50 a-year. offered to 
 him for a weekly article, by the proprietors of an opposition 
 paper. Two reasons, equally honourable to him, induced him 
 to reject this proposal. His independent spirit spurned the idea 
 of becoming the hireling of a party ; and whatever may have 
 been his opinion of the men and measures that then prevailed, 
 he did not think it right to fetter the operations of that Go- 
 vernment by which he was employed. 
 
 Yet, Sir, in the face of those known facts, there were in- 
 dividuals from whom he experienced the most cruel political 
 persecution. These men, in violation of all the laws of jus- 
 tice, humanity and candour, construed every stroke of humour, 
 every word uttered in the heat of debate, or the moment of 
 enthusiasm, that did not correspond with their notions of po~
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. IXXXIX 
 
 litical orthodoxy, into hostility to the existing order of things. 
 To their eternal infamy, they gave that information which 
 brought upon the poet the thunders of the Board of Excise, 
 when he was told that it was for him to act not to think, and 
 which nearly wrested the crust of bread from the lips of his 
 wife and children. It may likewise be observed, that from the 
 same source, many of these calumnies flowed, which have 
 since been echoed from the Forth to the Ganges, with such 
 malevolent delight. 
 
 The reflections in the Edinburgh Review come next to 
 be considered, and I shall freely tell you, the first time I 
 read this article, had I not been informed in the title that it 
 referred to Burns, (at least as far as character is concerned,) I 
 should never have made the discovery myself. — But the Re- 
 viewer shall speak for himself: I refer to the passage you have 
 quoted. 
 
 The most ingenious reasoning, with all the decorations of 
 beautiful composition, are but as dust in the balance when un- 
 supported by fact. It happens here, as in a former case, that 
 facts are not only wanting to prop the hypothesis, but there 
 are known facts, from which conclusions must be drawn dia- 
 metrically opposite. The whole passage, as applied to Burns, 
 is a calumny, and if it does not apply to him, why is it here at 
 all ? " He never spent in vain superfluities, the money that be- 
 longed in right to the pale industrious tradesman, and his fa- 
 mishing infants. He never raved about friendship and philan- 
 thropy in a tavern, while his wife's heart was breaking, and 
 his children pining in cheerless poverty." 
 
 Though his annual income was not above L.75, yet, by a 
 rigid economy, the offspring of that spirit of independence, 
 which regulated every action of his life — and which not even po- 
 verty could quell, — he so managed this pittance, as decently to 
 
 VOL. T. £
 
 XC SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 support his family, without incurring debt, and even to have 
 something to spare for the purposes of charity. His ear was 
 never shut against the cry of poverty and distress, and he was 
 known frequently to bestow on the children of affliction, sums 
 much larger than might have been expected, from considera- 
 tions due to his own narrow finances. It is a singular fact, 
 that at his death, the whole amount of his debts was not twen- 
 ty pounds : of this, only a few pounds were for house accounts ; 
 all the rest was for volunteer uniform. I have the authority of 
 Mrs Burns herself for stating, that to her and to her children 
 he was uniformly kind, cheerful, and attentive ; that he was an 
 affectionate husband, and a fond father ; that he never ad- 
 dressed her in the tone of displeasure, and that, in her pre- 
 sence, his brow was never clouded by a frown. 
 
 Why couple the name of Burns with the " heroics of the 
 hulks and Botany Bay ?" The Reviewer surely does not mean 
 to rank him with those degraded wretches, in whose bosoms 
 every spark of humanity has become extinct, and who, by 
 every species of contamination, have effaced from their souls 
 the very impress of a divine origin. If he does not mean this, 
 what does he mean ? Does a great part of the productions 
 of Burns bear a character of immorality at once hateful and 
 contemptible ? This is really too much ! In support of this 
 extraordinary assertion, some passage might have been quot- 
 ed ; for surely an allegation so new to the readers of Burns 
 required proof. 
 
 It is singular, that since the publication of the iteview un- 
 der consideration, not one writer has arisen, who has had the 
 courage to stem the torrent of obloquy poured on Burns, by a 
 simple statement of facts. A lady, whose genius has been ac- 
 knowledged by the voice of her country, has offered to the 
 world an apology for his faiiings, written with her usual elo-
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. XC1 
 
 quence, and in the spirit of that candour for which she is dis- 
 tinguished ; but even she seems to admit statements, which, if 
 true, must condemn him. Of the rest, not one has even by 
 accident stumbled into the path of truth. Yet it is likely, had 
 he been still alive to defend himself, these men would have 
 been silent. They must have known, that he was an enemy not 
 to be provoked ; that he could wield the weapons of ridicule 
 with as much skill, and launch the thunderbolt of destruction 
 with as certain an aim as any of themselves I am, 
 
 Dear Sir, with esteem, 
 
 Your faithful friend, 
 
 JAMES GRAY. 
 
 To Mr PfiTERIMS,
 
 XC11 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 No. III. 
 LETTER FROM ALEXANDER FINDLATER, ESQ. 
 
 COLLECTOR OF EXCISE IN GLASGOW*. 
 
 Glasgow, 10th Oct. 1814 
 Silt, 
 
 I entirely agree with you in opinion, on the various 
 accounts which have been given to the world of the life of 
 Robert Burns ; and can have no hesitation in expressing pub- 
 licly my sentiments on his official conduct, at least, and perhaps 
 in other respects, as far as may appear necessary for the deve- 
 lopement of truth. Amongst his biographers, Dr Currie, of 
 course, takes the lead, and the severity of his strictures, or, 
 to borrow the words of the " Poet," his " iron-justice," is 
 much to be regretted, as his " Life" has become a kind of 
 text-book for succeeding commentators, who have, by the aid 
 of their own fancies, amplified, exaggerated, and filled up the 
 outlines he has sketched, and in truth left in such a state as 
 to provoke an exercise of that description. 
 
 It is painful to trace all that has been written on this sub- 
 ject by Dr Carrie's successors, who seem to have consider- 
 
 * It cannot be impertinent to mention, that this gentleman stands 
 so high in the confidence of the Board of Excise, as to hold the high- 
 est office which it is in their power to bestow. If the strength of 
 evidence usually consists in its weight, rather than the number of 
 witnesses, we cannot err much in asserting, that Mr Findlater's tes- 
 timony is, without any exception, the very best, perhaps, that exists, 
 with respect to the general tenor of Burns's conduct, during the whole 
 time that he was an officer of Excise.
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. XClll 
 
 ed the history of the Poet as a thing like Ulysses' bow, on 
 which each was at liberty to try his strength ; and some, in 
 order to out-do their competitors, have strained every nerve 
 to throw all kinds of obloquy on his memory. His convivial 
 habits, his wit and humour, his social talents, and his inde- 
 pendent spirit, have been perverted into constant and habi- 
 tual drunkenness, impiety, neglect of his professional duty, 
 and of his family, and in short, almost every human vice : He 
 has been branded with cowardice, accused of attempting mur- 
 der, and even suicide ; and all this without a shadow of proof — 
 Proh Pador ! Is there nothing of tenderness due to the memory 
 of so transcendent a genius, who has so often delighted even his 
 libellers with the felicities of his song, and the charms of his 
 wit and humour ? And is no regard to be had to the feelings 
 of those near and dear relatives he has left behind ; or are 
 his ashes never to " hope repose f — My indignation has un- 
 warily led me astray from the point to which I meant to have 
 confined myself, and to which I will now recur, and briefly 
 state what I have to say on this subject. 
 
 My connection with Robert Burns commenced immediately 
 after his admission into the Excise, and continued to the hour 
 of his death. In all that time, the superintendance of his be- 
 haviour, as an officer of the revenue, was a branch of my es- 
 pecial 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 former capa- 
 city, so far from its being " impossible for him to discharge 
 the duties of his office with that regularity which is almost 
 indispensable," as is palpably assumed by one of his biogra- 
 phers, and insinuated not very obscurely even by Dr Currie, 
 he was exemplary in his attention as an Excise officer ; 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
 
 XC1V SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 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 affair; and a» 
 the gentleman is known to be an illicit dealer, and particularly 
 as this is the single instance of the least shadow of careless- 
 ness or impropriety in my conduct as an officer, I shall be 
 peculiarly unfortunate if my character shall fall a sacrifice to 
 the dark manoeuvres of a smuggler."' — This of itself 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 de- 
 partment 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. About this period I advised 
 him to relinquish business altogether, which he complied with ; 
 but it distrest him a good deal, as he was thereby liable to 
 suffer a diminution of salary, and he wrote to Commissioner 
 Graham, in the hope that that gentleman's influence would get 
 his full pay continued during his illness, which I have no doubt 
 it would have done, if he had recovered. In the mean time, 
 Mr Graham wrote him a letter, exhibiting a solid proof of his 
 generosity and friendship : but alas! the Poet was by this time 
 too far gone towards that " undiscovered country, from 
 whose bourne no traveller returns," — and could not acknow- 
 ledge it. 
 
 Having stated Burns's unremitting attention to business, which 
 certainly was not compatible with perpetual intoxication ; it 
 follows, of course, that this latter charge must fall to the 
 ground: and I will further avow, that I never saw him, which 
 was very frequently while he lived at Ellisland, and still more 
 so, almost every day, after he removed to Dumfries, but in 
 hours of business he was quite himself, and capable of dis- 
 charging: the duties of his office : nor was he ever known to
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. XCV 
 
 drink by himself, or seen to indulge in the use of liquor in 
 a forenoon, as the statement, that he was perpetually under its 
 stimulus, unequivocally implies. 
 
 To attempt the refutation of the various other calumnies 
 with which his memory has been assailed, some of which are 
 <60 absurd, as hardly to merit any attention, does not fall in my 
 way, though I hope they will be suitably taken notice of; but 
 permit me to add, that 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 lie became 
 an Excise officer, and I never beheld any thing like the 
 gross enormities with which he is now charged : That when 
 set down in an evening with a few friends whom he liked, he 
 was apt to prolong the social hour beyond the bounds which 
 prudence would dictate, is unquestionable ; but in his family, I 
 will venture to say, he was never seen otherwise than attentive 
 and affectionate to a high degree. Upon the whole, it is 
 much to be lamented there has been so much broad, unqua- 
 lified assertion as has been displayed in Burns's history ; the 
 virulence indeed with which his memory has been treated, is 
 hardly to be paralleled in the annals of literature. Wishing 
 every success to the laudable attempt of rescuing it from the 
 indiscriminate abuse which has been heaped upon it, 
 
 I remain, Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient servant, 
 
 A. FINDLATER. 
 
 To Mr Alkx. Pbtkrkin, ) 
 Edinburgh. f
 
 XCV1 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 LETTER FROM MR GEORGE THOMSON. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Edinburhg, October, 181*. 
 In answer to your enquiry respecting Mr Cromek, I have 
 to acquaint you, that he called on me, professing, what he 
 really seemed to feel, an enthusiastic admiration of th» works 
 of Burns ; and after telling me that Mr Roscoe meant to 
 have introduced him to me, asked me for" a scrap of the poet's 
 hand-writing, to keep as a relique. This I gave him. After 
 visiting me several times, he mentioned his intention of mak- 
 ing a pilgrimage to the birth-place, and the grave of Burns, 
 which he did ; and upon his return informed me, that he had 
 obtained a number of unpublished letters and verses from dif- 
 ferent friends of the poet ; that he thought of giving them to 
 the public, and asked me to shew him the MS. correspondence 
 between the poet and myself; thinking it likely, he said, that 
 Dr Currie might have omitted many things deserving of pu- 
 blication, which he, Mr Cromek would wish to give in his in- 
 tended volume. I, of course, declined any such communication, 
 telling him, that it was my fixed purpose, never to part with 
 a single paragraph which Dr Currie had thought fit to with- 
 hold. Mr Cromek was much displeased and disappointed, and 
 took occasion, in stronger terms than I thought warrantable, 
 to contrast my refusal, with the confidence and liberality be- 
 stowed on him by other correspondents and friends cf the 
 poet, who, in general, he said, approved highly of his project.
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY, LETTERS. XCV11 
 
 This gave me a fair opportunity of stating to Mr Cromek, that I 
 dissented from those friends, if he were to have the power of 
 deciding on the letters and fragments to be laid before the pu- 
 blic ; and that I never could be convinced that such a project 
 was justifiable, or the credit of the poet safe, unless the whole 
 of the manuscripts solicited and obtained by him, should be put 
 into the hands of Gilbert Burns, the brother and natural guardi- 
 an of the poet's tame ; and whose sound judgment and purity 
 of character, were the sure and proper pledges, that nothing 
 would be suffered to meet the public eye, injurious to the poet, 
 or to the feelings of individuals. To Mr Cromek, however, this 
 was wholly unpalatable. I then submitted to him, whether his 
 right to publish those manuscripts for his own behoof, might 
 not be questionable, and whether they did not legally belong 
 to the poet's family, or to Messrs Cadell and Davies ; and in 
 any event, since profit seemed plainly to be an object to him, 
 I requested him to consider whether that would not be increas- 
 ed, by getting Gilbert Burns to become the editor of the vo- 
 lume ? In reply, he maintained his own right to what he had 
 procured by his own diligence, and told me that Gilbert Burns, 
 however respectable, not being much a man of the world, it 
 was quite unlikely that they ever should agree as to the pieces 
 proper for publication ; and therefore, that he would take upon 
 himself the task of editor. 
 
 I understand that he called soon after upon Gilbert Burns, 
 but what passed between them as to the manuscripts he had 
 raked together, I know not. I am sure that Gilbert will can- 
 didly tell you, if you ask him. 
 
 I have often thought it a cruel and flagrant injustice to the 
 memory of our great Bard, by his Reviewers, that in their 
 strictures on the sentiments to be found in some of his letters, 
 they make not the least allowance for the letters being all 
 posthumous I Is an author to be held strictly accountable at
 
 XCV111 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS. 
 
 the bar of the public, for his careless private letters, published 
 after he is dead, by third persons, for the sake of profit ? Yet, 
 in the merciless remarks of the Reviewers, upon the senti- 
 ments and conduct of Bums, they hqye most uncandidly and 
 unfairly confounded the posthumous and unauthorised col- 
 lections of letters and fragments, with the authentic works of 
 the Poet, published under his own eye ! It is lamentable to 
 think how hardly he has been treated. 
 
 I remain, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 GEORGE THOMSON. 
 
 Mr Peterkin.
 
 TO 
 
 CAPTAIN GRAHAM MOORE, 
 
 OF THE ItOYAL NAVY. 
 
 When you were stationed on our coast, about 
 twelve years ago, you first recommended to my 
 particular notice the poems of the Ayrshire plough- 
 man, whose works, published for the benefit of his 
 widow and children, I now present to you. In a 
 distant region of the world, whither the service 
 of your country has carried you, you will, I know, 
 receive with kindness this proof of my regard ; 
 not perhaps without some surprise on finding that 
 I have been engaged in editing these volumes, nor 
 without some curiosity to know how I was quali- 
 fied for such an undertaking. These points I will 
 briefly explain. 
 
 Having occasion to make an excursion to the 
 * county of Dumfries, in the summer of 1792, I had
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 there an opportunity of seeing and conversing 
 with Burns. It has been my fortune to know some 
 men of high reputation in literature, as well as in 
 public life ; but never to meet any one who, in 
 the course of a single interview, communicated to 
 me so strong an impression of the force and ver- 
 satility of his talents. After this I read the poems 
 then published with greater interest and attention, 
 and with a full conviction that, extraordinary as 
 they are, they afford but an inadequate proof of 
 the powers of their unfortunate author. 
 
 Four years afterwards, Burns terminated his ca- 
 reer. Among those whom the charms of his genius 
 had attached to him, was one with whom I have 
 been bound in the ties of friendship from early life 
 — Mr John Syme, of Ryedale. This gentleman, 
 after the death of Burns, promoted with the ut- 
 most zeal a subscription for the support of the 
 widow and children, to which their relief from im- 
 mediate distress is to be ascribed ; and, in con- 
 junction with other friends of this virtuous and 
 destitute family, he projected the publication of
 
 DEDICATION. CI 
 
 these volumes for their benefit, by which the re- 
 turn of want might be prevented, or prolonged. 
 
 To this last undertaking an editor and biogra- 
 pher was wanting, and Mr Syme's modesty oppos- 
 ed a barrier to his assuming an office, for which 
 he was in other respects peculiarly qualified. On 
 this subject he consulted me ; and with the hope 
 of surmounting his objections, I offered him my 
 assistance, but in vain. Endeavours were used 
 to procure an editor in other quarters, without 
 effect. The task was beset with considerable dif- 
 ficulties, and men of established reputation natu- 
 rally declined an undertaking, to the performance 
 of which, it was scarcely to be hoped, that general 
 approbation could be obtained by any exertion of 
 judgment or temper. 
 
 To such an office, my place of residence, my 
 accustomed studies, and my occcupations, were 
 certainly little suited ; but the partiality of Mr 
 Syme thought me in other respects not unqualified; 
 and his solicitations, joned to those of our excel- 
 lent friend and relation, Mrs Dunlop, and of other
 
 Cll DEDICATION. 
 
 friends of the family of the poet, I have not been 
 able to resist. To remove difficulties which would 
 otherwise have been insurmountable, Mr Syme 
 and Mr Gilbert Burns made a journey to Liver- 
 pool, where they explained and arranged the ma- 
 nuscripts, and selected such as seemed worthy of 
 the press. From this visit I derived a degree of 
 pleasure which has compensated much of my la- 
 bour. I had the satisfaction of renewing my per- 
 sonal intercourse with a much valued friend, and 
 of forming an acquaintance with a man, closely 
 allied to Burns in talents as well as in blood, in 
 whose future fortunes the friends of virtue will 
 not, I trust, be uninterested. 
 
 The publication of these volumes has been 
 delayed by obstacles which these gentlemen 
 could neither remove nor foresee, and which it 
 would be tedious to enumerate. At length the 
 task is finished. If the part which I have taken 
 shall serve the interests of the family, and re- 
 ceive the approbation of good men, I shall have 
 my recompense. The errors into which I have 
 fallen are not, 1 hope, very important, and they
 
 DEDICATION. Clil 
 
 will be easily accounted for by those who know 
 the circumstances under which this undertaking 
 has been performed. Generous minds Mill re- 
 ceive the posthumous works of Burns with can- 
 dour, and even partiality, as the remains of an 
 unfortunate man of genius, published for the 
 benefit of his family — as the stay of the widow 
 and the hope of the fatherless. 
 
 To secure the suffrages of such minds, all 
 topics are omitted in the writings, and avoided 
 in the life of Burns, that have a tendency to 
 awake the animosity of party. In perusing the 
 following volumes no offence will be received, 
 except by those to whom even the natural erect 
 aspect of genius is offensive ; characters that 
 will scarcely be found among those who are 
 educated to the profession of arms. Such men 
 do not court situations of danger, or tread in the 
 paths of glory. They will not be found in your 
 service, which, in our own days, emulates on ano- 
 ther element the superior fame of the Mace- 
 donian phalanx, or of the lloman legion, and 
 which has lately made the shores of Europe and
 
 CIV DEDICATION. 
 
 of Africa resound with the shouts of victoiy, from 
 the Texel 
 the Nile ! 
 
 the Texel to the Tagus, and from the Tagus to 
 
 The works of Burns will be received favour- 
 ably by one who stands in the foremost rank of this 
 noble service, and who deserves his station. On 
 the land or on the sea, I know no man more capa- 
 ble of judging of the character, or of the writings 
 of this orginal genius. Homer, and Shakespeare, 
 and Ossian, cannot always occupy your leisure. 
 These volumes may sometimes engage your at- 
 tention, while the steady breezes of the tropics 
 swell your sails, and in another quarter of the earth 
 charm you with the strains of nature, or awake in 
 your memory the scenes of your early days. Suffer 
 me to hope that they may sometimes recal to 
 your mind the friend who addresses you, and who 
 bids you — most affectionately — adieu ! 
 
 J. CURRIE. 
 
 Liverpool, 1st Mai/, 1800. 
 
 LIFE
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 y 
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 X hough the dialect, in which many of the hap- 
 piest efTu&lons of Robert Burns are composed, be 
 peculiar to Scotland, yet his reputation has ex- 
 tended itself beyond the limits of that country, 
 and his poetry has been admired as the offspring 
 of original genius, by persons of taste in every 
 part of the sister islands. The interest excited 
 by his early death, and the distress of his infant 
 family, has been felt in a remarkable manner 
 wherever his writings have been known : and these 
 posthumous volumes, which give to the world his 
 Works complete, and which, it is hoped, may raise 
 his Widow and Children from penury, are printed 
 VOL. i. b
 
 2 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 and published in England. It seems proper, there- 
 fore, to write the memoirs of his life, not with the 
 view of their being read by Scotchmen only, but 
 also by natives of England, and of other countries 
 where the English language is spoken or under- 
 stood. 
 
 Robert Burns was, in reality, what he has been 
 represented to be, a Scottish peasant. To render 
 the incidents of his humble story generally intel- 
 ligible, it seems, therefore, advisable to prefix some 
 observations on the character and situation of the 
 order to which he belonged — a class of men dis- 
 tinguished by many peculiarities : by this means 
 we shall form a more correct notion of the ad- 
 vantages with which he started, and of the obsta- 
 cles which he surmounted. A few observations 
 on the Scottish peasantry will not, perhaps, be 
 found unworthy of attention in other respects : 
 and the subject is, in a great measure, new. Scot- 
 land has produced persons of high distinction in 
 every branch of philosophy and literature ; and her 
 history, while a separate and independent nation, 
 has been successfully explored. But the present 
 character of the people was not then formed ; the 
 nation then presented features similar to those 
 which the feudal system and the Catholic religion 
 had diffused over Europe, modified, indeed, by 
 the peculiar nature of her territory and climate.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 3 
 
 The Reformation, by which such important changes 
 were produced on the national character, was speedi- 
 ly followed by the Accession of the Scottish mo- 
 narchs to the English throne; and the period which 
 elapsed from that Accession to the Union has been 
 rendered memorable, chiefly by those bloody con- 
 vulsions in which both divisions of the island were 
 involved, and which, in a considerable degree, con- 
 cealed from the eye of the historian the domestic 
 history of the people, and the gradual variations 
 in their condition and manners. Since the Union, 
 Scotland, though the seat of two unsuccessful 
 attempt's to restore the House of Stuart to the 
 throne, has enjoyed a comparative tranquillity ; 
 and it is since this period that the present cha- 
 racter of her peasantry has been in a great mea- 
 sure formed, though the political causes affect- 
 ing it are to be traced to the previous acts of her 
 separate legislature. 
 
 A slight acquaintance with the peasantry of 
 Scotland will serve to convince an unprejudiced 
 observer, that they possess a degree of intelli- 
 gence not generally found among the same class 
 of men in the other countries of Europe. In the 
 very humblest condition of the Scottish pea- 
 sants, every one can read, and most persons are 
 more or less skilled in writing and arithmetic ; 
 mid, under the disguise of their uncouth appear' 
 
 B 2
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 ance, and of their peculiar manners and dialect, a 
 stranger will discover that they possess a curiosi- 
 ty, and have obtained a degree of information, cor- 
 responding to these acquirements. 
 
 These advantages they owe to the legal provi- 
 sion made by the parliament of Scotland in 1646, 
 for the establishment of a school in every parish 
 throughout the kingdom, for the express purpose 
 of educating the poor : a law which may chal- 
 lenge comparison with any act of legislation to be 
 found in the records of history, whether we con- 
 sider the wisdom of the ends in view, thd simpli- 
 city of the means employed, or the provisions 
 made to render these means effectual to their pur- 
 pose. This excellent statute was repealed on the 
 accession of Charles II. in 1660, together with all 
 the other laws passed during the commonwealth, 
 as not being sanctioned by the royal assent. It 
 slept during the reigns of Charles and James, but 
 was re-enacted precisely in the same terms, by 
 the Scottish parliament, after the Revolution in 
 1 696 ; and this is the last provision on the sub- 
 ject. Its effects on the national character may be 
 considered to have commenced about the period of 
 the Union ; and doubtless it co-operated with the 
 peace and security arising from that happy event, 
 in producing the extraordinary change in favour 
 of industry and good morals, which the character
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 5 
 
 of the common people of Scotland has since un- 
 dergone*. 
 
 The church-establishment of Scotland happily 
 coincides with the institution just mentioned, 
 which may be called its school-establishment. 
 The clergyman, being every where resident in 
 his particular parish, becomes the natural patron 
 and superintendent of the parish-school, and is 
 enabled in various ways to promote the comfort 
 of the teacher, and the proficiency of the scho- 
 lars. The teacher himself is often a candidate 
 for holy orders, who, during the long course of 
 study and probation required in the Scottish 
 church, renders the time which can be spared 
 from his professional studies, useful to others as 
 well as to himself, by assuming the respectable cha- 
 racter of a schoolmaster. It is common for the 
 established schools, even in the country parishes 
 of Scotland, to enjoy the means of classical in- 
 struction ; and many of the farmers, and some 
 even of the cottagers, submit to much privation, 
 that they may obtain, for one of their sons at 
 least, the precarious advantage of a learned edu- 
 cation. The difficulty to be surmounted arises, 
 indeed, notTrom the* expence of instructing their 
 children, but from the charge of supporting them. 
 In the country parish-schools, the English lan- 
 
 * See Appendix, No. I, Note A.
 
 b PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 guage, writing, and accounts, are generally taught 
 at the rate of six shillings, and Latin at the rate 
 of ten or twelve shillings, per annum. In the 
 towns the prices, are somewhat higher. 
 
 It would be improper in this place to inquire mi- 
 nutely into the degree of instruction received at 
 these seminaries, or to attempt any precise estimate 
 of its effects, either on the individuals who are the 
 subjects of this instruction, or on the community 
 to which they belong. That it is on the whole fa- 
 vourable to industry and morals, though doubtless 
 with some individual exceptions, seems to be prov- 
 ed by the most striking and decisive experience ; 
 and it is equally clear, that it is the cause of that 
 spirit of emigration and of adventure so prevalent 
 among the Scotch. Knowledge has, by Lord Ve- 
 rulam, been denominated power ; by others it has, 
 with less propriety, been denominated virtue or 
 happiness : we may with confidence consider it 
 as motion. A human being, in proportion as he 
 is informed, has his wishes enlarged, as well as 
 the means of gratifying those wishes. He may 
 be considered as taking within the sphere of 
 his vision a larger portion of the globe on which 
 we tread, and spying advantage at a greater 
 distance on its surface. His desires or ambi- 
 tion, once excited, are stimulated by his ima- 
 gination ; and distant and uncertain objects, 
 giving freer scope to the operation of this fa-
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 7 
 
 culty, often acquire, in the mind of the youth- 
 ful adventurer, an attraction from their very 
 distance and uncertainty. If, therefore, a 
 greater degree of instruction be given to the 
 peasantry of a country comparatively poor, in 
 the neighbourhood of other countries rich in 
 natural and acquired advantages ; and if the 
 barriers be removed that kept them separate ; 
 emigration from the former to the latter will 
 take place to a certain extent, by laws nearly 
 as uniform as those by which heat diffuses it- 
 self among surrounding bodies, or water finds 
 its level when left to its natural course. By the 
 articles of the Union, the barrier was broken 
 down which divided the two British nations, 
 and knowledge and poverty poured the adven- 
 turous natives of the north over the fertile 
 plains of England, and more especially, over 
 the colonies which she had settled in the east 
 and in the west. The stream of population 
 continues to flow from the north to the south ; 
 for the causes that originally impelled it, conti- 
 nue to operate ; and the richer country is con- 
 stantly invigorated by the accession of an in- 
 formed and hardy race of men, educated in po- 
 verty, and prepared for hardship and danger, 
 patient of labour, and prodigal of life *. 
 
 * Sec Appendix, No. I, Note B.
 
 8 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 The preachers of the Reformation in Scotland 
 were disciples of Calvin, and brought with them 
 the temper as well as the tenets of that celebrated 
 heresiarch. The presbyterian form of worship 
 and of church government was endeared to the 
 people, from its being established by themselves. 
 It was endeared to them, also, by the struggle 
 it had to maintain with the Catholic and the 
 Protestant episcopal churches, over both of 
 which, after a hundred years of fierce, and some- 
 times bloody contention, it finally triumphed, re- 
 ceiving the countenance of government, and the 
 sanction of law. During this long period of con- 
 tention and of suffering, the temper of the people 
 became more and more obstinate and bigotted ; 
 and the nation received that deep tinge of fana- 
 ticism, which coloured their public transactions as 
 well as their private virtues, and of which evident 
 traces may be found in our own times. When 
 the public schools were established, the instruc- 
 tion communicated in them partook of the reli- 
 gious character of the people. The Catechism 
 of the Westminster Divines was the universal 
 school-book, and was put into the hands of the 
 young peasant as soon as he had acquired a 
 knowledge of his alphabet ; and his first exer- 
 cise in the art of reading introduced him to the 
 most mysterious doctrines of the Christian faith. 
 This practice is continued in our own times.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 9 
 
 After the Assembly's Catechism, the Proverbs of 
 Solomon, and the New and Old Testament, fol- 
 low in regular succession ; and the scholar departs, 
 gifted with the knowledge of the sacred writings, 
 and receiving their doctrines according to the in- 
 terpretation of the Westminster Confession of Faith. 
 Thus, with the instruction of infancy in the schools 
 of Scotland, are blended the dogmas of the national 
 church ; and hence the first and most constant ex- 
 ercise of ingenuity among the peasantry of Scot- 
 land, is displayed in religious disputation. With 
 a strong attachment to the national creed, is con- 
 joined a bigotted preference of certain forms of 
 worship ; the source of which would be often al- 
 together obscure, if we did not recollect that the 
 ceremonies of the Scottish Church were framed in 
 direct opposition, in every point, to those of the 
 Church of Rome. 
 
 The eccentricities of conduct, and singularities 
 of opinion and manners, which characterized the 
 English sectaries in the last century, afforded a 
 subject for the comic muse of Butler, whose pic- 
 tures lose their interest, since their archetypes are 
 lost. Some of the peculiarities common among 
 the more rigid disciples of Calvinism in Scotland, 
 in the present times, have given scope to the ridi- 
 cule of Burns, whose humour is equal to Butler's, 
 and whose drawings from living manners are sin*
 
 10 PREFATORY REMARKS, 
 
 gularly expressive and exact. Unfortunately the 
 correctness of his taste did not always correspond 
 with the strength of his genius ; and hence some 
 of the most exquisite of his comic productions are 
 rendered unfit for the light *. 
 
 The information and the religious education 
 of the peasantry of Scotland, promote sedate- 
 ness of conduct, and habits of thought and re- 
 flection. — These good qualities are not counter- 
 acted by the establishment of poor laws, which, 
 while they reflect credit on the benevolence, de- 
 tract from the wisdom of the English legisla- 
 ture. To make a legal provision for the inevi- 
 table distresses of the poor, who by age or dis- 
 ease are rendered incapable of labour, may in- 
 deed seem an indispensable duty of society ; and 
 if, in the execution of a plan for this purpose, 
 a distinction could be introduced, so as to ex- 
 clude from its benefits those whose sufferings 
 are produced by idleness or profligacy, such an 
 institution would perhaps be as rational as hu- 
 mane. But to lay a general tax on property for 
 the support of poverty, from whatever cause pro- 
 ceeding, is a measure full of danger. It must 
 operate in a considerable degree as a bounty 
 
 * Holy Willie's Prayer, Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his 
 Dastard Child, Epistle to J. Gowdie, the Holy Tulzie, &c.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 11 
 
 on idleness, and a duty on industry. It takes 
 away from vice and indolence the prospect of 
 their most dreaded consequences, and from virtue 
 and industry their peculiar sanctions. In many 
 cases it must render the rise in the price of la- 
 bour, not a blessing, but a curse to the labourer ; 
 who, if there be an excess in what he earns be- 
 yond his immediate necessities, may be expected 
 to devote this excess to his present gratification ; 
 trusting to the provision made by law for his own 
 and his family's support, should disease suspend, 
 or death terminate his labours- Happily in Scot- 
 land, the same legislature which established a 
 system of instruction for the poor, resisted the 
 introduction of a legal provision for the support 
 of poverty ; what they granted on the one hand, 
 and what they refused on'the other, was equally fa- 
 vourable to industry and good morals ; and hence 
 it will not appear surprising, if the Scottish pea- 
 santry have a more than usual share of prudence 
 and reflection, if they approach nearer than per- 
 sons of their order usually do, to the definition 
 of a man, that of " a being that looks before 
 and after." These observations must indeed 
 be taken with many exceptions : the favourable 
 operation of the causes just mentioned is coun- 
 teracted by others of an opposite tendency ; and 
 the subject, if fully examined, would lead to 
 discussions of ijrreat extent.
 
 12 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 When the Reformation was established in Scot- 
 land, instrumental music was banished from the 
 churches, as savouring too much of " profane 
 minstrelsy.'* Instead of being regulated by an 
 instrument, the voices of the congregation are led 
 and directed by a person under the name of a 
 precentor j and the people are all expected to 
 join in the tune which he chooses for the psalm 
 which is to be sung. Church-music is therefore 
 a part of the education of the peasantry of Scot- 
 land, in which they are usually instructed in the 
 long winter nights by the parish schoolmaster, 
 who is generally the precentor, or by itinerant 
 teachers more celebrated for their powers of 
 voice. This branch of education had, in the last 
 reign, fallen into some neglect, but was revived 
 about thirty or forty years ago, when the music 
 itself was reformed and improved. The Scot- 
 tish system of psalmody is however radically bad. 
 Destitute of taste or harmony, it forms a strik- 
 ing contrast with the delicacy and pathos of the 
 profane airs. Our poet, it will be found, was 
 taught church-music, in which, however, he made 
 little proficiency. 
 
 That dancing should also be very generally 
 a part of the education of the Scottish pea- 
 santry, will surprise those who have only seen 
 this description of men j and still more those
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 13 
 
 who reflect on the rigid spirit of Calvinism with 
 which the nation is so deeply affected, and to 
 which this recreation is so strongly abhorrent. 
 The winter is also the season when they acquire 
 dancing, and indeed almost all their other in- 
 struction. They are taught to dance by per- 
 sons generally of their own number, many of 
 whom work at daily labour during the summer 
 months. The school is usually a barn, and the 
 arena for the performers is generally a clay floor. 
 The dome is lighted by candles stuck in one 
 end of a cloven stick, the other end of which is 
 thrust into the wall. Reels, strathspeys, coun- 
 try-dances, and hornpipes, are here practised. 
 The jig, so much in favour among the English 
 peasantry, has no place among them. The at- 
 tachment of the people of ^Scotland of every 
 rank, and particularly of the peasantry, to this 
 amusement, is very great. After the labours of 
 the day are over, young men and women walk 
 many miles, in the cold and dreary night of win- 
 ter, to these country dancing-schools ; and the 
 instant that the violin sounds a Scottish air, fa- 
 tigue seems to vanish, the toil-bent rustic be- 
 comes erect, his features brighten with sympa- 
 thy ; every nerve seems to thrill with sensation, 
 and every artery to vibrate with life. These rus- 
 tic performers are indeed less to be admired for 
 grace, than for agility and animation, and their
 
 14 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 accurate observance of time. Their modes of 
 dancing, as well as their tunes, are common to 
 every rank in Scotland, and are now generally 
 known. In our own day they have penetrated 
 into England, and have established themselves 
 even in the circle of Royalty. In another gene- 
 ration they will be naturalized in every part of the 
 island. 
 
 The prevalence of this taste, or rather passion 
 for dancing, among a people so deeply tinctured 
 with the spirit and doctrines of Calvin, is one 
 of those contradictions which the philosophic 
 observer so often finds in national character and 
 manners. It is probably to be ascribed to the 
 Scottish music, which, throughout all its varie- 
 ties, is so full of sensibility, and which, in its 
 livelier strains, awakes those vivid emotions that 
 find in dancing their natural solace and relief. 
 
 This triumph of the music of Scotland over 
 the spirit of the established religion, has not, 
 however, been obtained without long-continued 
 and obstinate struggles. The numerous sectaries 
 who dissent from the establishment on account of 
 the relaxation which they perceive, or think they 
 perceive* in the Church, from her original doc- 
 trines and discipline, universally condemn the prac- 
 tice of dancing, and the schools where it is taught ;
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 15 
 
 and the more elderly and serious part of the people, 
 of every persuasion, tolerate rather than approve 
 these meetings of the young of both sexes, where 
 dancing is practised to their spirit-stirring music, 
 where care is dispelled, toil is forgotten, and pru- 
 dence itself is sometimes lulled to sleep. 
 
 The Reformation, which proved fatal to the 
 rise of the other fine arts in Scotland, probably 
 impeded, but could not obstruct, the progress 
 of its music ; a circumstance that will convince 
 the impartial inquirer, that this music not only 
 existed previously to that a?ra, but had taken a 
 firm hold of the nation ; thus affording a proof 
 of its antiquity, stronger than any produced by 
 the researches of our antiquaries. 
 
 The impression which the Scottish music has 
 made on the people, is deepened by its union with 
 the national songs, of which various collections 
 of unequal merit are before the public. These 
 songs, like those of other nations, are many of 
 them humorous, but they chiefly treat of love, 
 war, and drinking. Love is the subject of the 
 greater proportion. Without displaying the higher 
 powers of the imagination, they exhibit a perfect 
 knowledge of the human heart, and breathe a spi- 
 rit of affection, and sometimes of delicate and ro- 
 mantic tenderness, not to be surpassed in modern 
 
 2
 
 16 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 poetry, and which the more polished strains of 
 antiquity have seldom possessed. 
 
 The origin of this amatory character in the 
 rustic muse of Scotland, or of the greater num- 
 ber of these love-songs themselves, it would be 
 difficult to trace ; they have accumulated in the 
 silent lapse of time, and it is now perhaps im- 
 possible to give an arrangement of them in the 
 order of their date, valuable as such a record of 
 taste and manners would be. Their present in- 
 fluence on the character of the nation is, how- 
 ever, great and striking. To them we must at- 
 tribute, in a great measure, the romantic passion 
 which so often characterizes the attachments of 
 the humblest of the- people of Scotland, to a 
 degree, that if we mistake not, is seldom found 
 in the same rank of society in other countries. 
 The pictures of love and happiness exhibited in 
 their rural songs, are 'early impressed on the mind 
 of the peasant, and are rendered more attrac- 
 tive from the music with which they are united. 
 They associate themselves with his own youthful 
 emotions ; they elevate the object as well as the 
 nature of his attachment ; and give to the im- 
 pressions of sense the beautiful colours of imagi- 
 nation. Hence in the course of his passion, a 
 Scottish peasant often exerts a spirit of adventure, 
 of which a Spanish cavalier need not be ashamed.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 17 
 
 After the labours of the day are over, he sets out 
 for the habitation of his mistress, perhaps at many 
 miles distance, regardless of the length or the 
 dreariness of the way. He approaches her in se- 
 cresy, under the disguise of night. A signal at 
 the door or window, perhaps agreed on, and un- 
 derstood by none but her, gives information of his 
 arrival ; and sometimes it is repeated again and 
 again, before the capricious fair one will obey the 
 summons. But if she favours his addresses, she 
 escapes unobserved, and receives the vows of her 
 lover under the gloom of twilight, or the deeper 
 shade of night. I titer views of this kind are the 
 subjects of many of the Scottish songs, some of the 
 most beautiful of which Burns has imitated or im- 
 proved. In the art which they celebrate he was 
 perfectly skilled ; he knew and had practised all 
 its mysteries. Intercourse of this sort is indeed 
 universal even in the humblest condition of man 
 in every region of the earth. But it is not unna- 
 tural to suppose that it may exist in a greater de- 
 gree, and in a more romantic form, among the 
 peasantry of a country who are supposed to be 
 more than commonly instructed ; who find in their 
 rural songs expressions for their youthful emo- 
 tions ; and in whom the embers of passion are con- 
 tinually fanned by the breathings of a music full 
 of tenderness and sensibility. The direct in- 
 fluence of physical causes on the attachment be- 
 vol. r. e
 
 18 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 tween the sexes is comparatively small, but it is 
 modified by moral causes beyond any other affec- 
 tion of the mind. Of these, music and poetry are 
 the chief. Among the snows of Lapland, and 
 under the burning sun of Angola, the savage is 
 seen hastening to his mistress, and every where he 
 beguiles the weariness of his journey with poetry 
 and song *. 
 
 In appreciating the happiness and virtue of a 
 community, there is perhaps no single criterion on 
 which so much dependence may be placed, as the 
 state of the intercourse between the sexes. Where 
 this displays ardour of attachment, accompanied 
 by purity of conduct, the character and the in- 
 fluence of women rise in society, our imperfect na- 
 ture mounts in the scale of moral excellence, and, 
 from the source of this single affection, a stream 
 of felicity descends, which branches into a thou- 
 sand rivulets that enrich and adorn the field of life. 
 JVhere the attachment between the sexes sinks 
 into an appetite, the heritage of our species is com- 
 paratively poor, and man approaches the condition 
 of the brutes that perish. " If we could with safe- 
 
 * The North-American Indians, among whom the attach- 
 ment between the sexes is said to be weak, and love, in the 
 purer sense of the word, unknown, seem nearly unacquaint- 
 ed with the charms of poetry and music. See Weld's Tour.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 19 
 
 ty indulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal 
 lived and that Ossian sung *," Scotland, judging 
 from this criterion, might be considered as ranking 
 high in happiness and virtue in very remote ages. 
 To appreciate her situation by the same criterion 
 in our own times, would be a delicate and a diffi- 
 cult undertaking. After considering the probable 
 influence of her popular songs and her national 
 music, and examining how far the effects to be ex- 
 pected from these are supported by facts, the in- 
 quirer would also have to examine the influence of 
 other causes, and particularly of her civil and ec- 
 clesiastical institutions, by which the character, 
 and even the manners of a people, though silently 
 and slowly, are often powerfully controlled. In 
 the point of view in which we are considering the 
 subject, the ecclesiastical establishments of Scot- 
 land may be supposed peculiarly favourable to 
 purity of conduct. The dissoluteness of manners 
 among the Catholic clergy, which preceded, and in 
 some measure produced the reformation, led to 
 an extraordinary strictness on the part of the re- 
 formers, and especially in that particular in which 
 the licentiousness of the clergy had been carried 
 to its greatest height — the intercourse between 
 the sexes. On this point, as on all others con- 
 
 * Gibbon.
 
 20 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 nected with austerity of manners, the disciples of 
 Calvin assumed a greater severity than those of 
 the Protestant episcopal church. The punish- 
 ment of illicit connexion between the sexes was, 
 throughout all Europe, a province which the clergy 
 assumed to themselves ; and the church of Scot- 
 land, which at the reformation renounced so many 
 powers and privileges, at that period took this 
 crime under her more especial jurisdiction *. — 
 Where pregnancy takes place without marriage, 
 the condition of the female causes the discovery, 
 and it is on her, therefore, in the first instance, 
 that the clergy and elders of the church exercise 
 their zeal. After examination before the kirk- 
 session touching the circumstances of her guilt, 
 she must endure a public penance, and sustain 
 a public rebuke from the pulpit, for three Sabbaths 
 successively, in the face of the congregation to 
 which she belongs, and thus have her weakness 
 exposed, and her shame blazoned. The sentence 
 is the same with respect to the male ; but how 
 much lighter the punishment ! It is well known 
 that this dreadful law, worthy of the iron minds 
 of Calvin and of Knox, has often led to conse- 
 quences, at the very mention of which human na- 
 ture recoils. 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 1. Note C.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 21 
 
 While the punishment of incontinence prescrib- 
 ed by the institutions of Scotland, is severe, the 
 culprits have an obvious method of avoiding it, 
 afforded them by the law respecting marriage, the 
 validity of which requires neither the ceremonies 
 of the church, nor any other ceremonies, but 
 simply the deliberate acknowledgment of each 
 other as husband and wife, made by the parties 
 before witnesses, or in any other way that gives 
 legal evidence of such an acknowledgment having 
 taken place. And as the parties themselves fix 
 the date of their marriage, an opportunity is thus 
 given to avoid the punishment, and repair the 
 consequences of illicit gratification. Such a degree 
 of laxity respecting so serious a contract might 
 produce much confusion in the descent of proper- 
 ty, without a still farther indulgence ; but the law 
 of Scotland legitimating all children born before 
 wedlock, on the subsequent marriage of their pa- 
 rents, renders the actual date of the marriage itself 
 of little consequence*. Marriages contracted in 
 Scotland without the ceremonies of the church 
 are considered as irregular, and the parties usually 
 submit to a rebuke for their conduct, in the face of 
 their respective congregations, which is not, how- 
 ever, necessary to render the marriage valid. 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 1. Note D.
 
 22 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 Burns, whose marriage, it will appear, was irregu- 
 lar, does not seem to have undergone this part of 
 the discipline of the church. 
 
 Thus, though the institutions of Scotland are in 
 many particulars favourable to a conduct among 
 the peasantry founded on foresight and reflection, 
 on the subject of marriage the reverse of this is 
 true. Irregular marriages, it may be naturally 
 supposed, are often improvident ones, in whatever 
 rank of society they occur. The children of 
 such marriages, poorly endowed by their parents, 
 find a certain degree of instruction of easy acqui- 
 sition ; but the comforts of life, and the gratifica- 
 tions of ambition, they find of more difficult at- 
 tainment in their native soil ; and thus the mar- 
 riage laws of Scotland conspire with other circum- 
 stances, to produce that habit of emigration, and 
 spirit of adventure, for which the people are so 
 remarkable. 
 
 The manners and appearance of the Scottish 
 peasantry do not bespeak to a stranger the degree 
 of their cultivation. In their own country, their 
 industry is inferior to that of the same description 
 of men in the southern division of the island. In- 
 dustry and the useful arts reached Scotland later 
 than England ; and though their advance has been 
 rapid there, the effects produced are as yet far in-
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 23 
 
 ferior, both in reality and in appearance. The 
 Scottish farmers have in general neither the opu- 
 lence nor the comforts of those of England — nei- 
 ther vest the same capital in the soil, nor receive 
 from it the same return. Their clothing, their 
 food, and their habitations, are almost every where 
 inferior*. Their appearance in these respects cor- 
 responds with the appearance of their country ; 
 and under the operation of patient industry, both 
 are improving. Industry and the useful arts came 
 later into Scotland than into England, because the 
 security of property came later. With causes of 
 internal agitation and warfare, similar to those 
 which occurred to the more southern nation, the 
 people of Scotland were exposed to more immi- 
 nent hazards, and more extensive and destructive 
 spoliation, from external war. Occupied in the 
 maintenance of their independence against their 
 more powerful neighbours, to this were neces- 
 sarily sacrificed the arts of peace, and at certain 
 periods, the flower of their population. And 
 when the union of the crowns produced a secu- 
 rity from national wars with England, for the 
 
 * These remarks are confined to the class of farmers ; the 
 same corresponding inferiority will not be found in the condi- 
 tion of the cottagers and labourers, at least in the article of 
 food, as those who examine this subject impartially will soon 
 discover.
 
 24 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 century succeeding, the civil wars common to 
 both divisions of the island, and the dependence, 
 perhaps the necessary dependence of the Scottish 
 councils on those of the more powerful kingdom, 
 counteracted this advantage. Even the union 
 of the British nations was not, from obvious 
 causes, immediately followed by all the benefits 
 which it was ultimately destined to produce. At 
 length, however, these benefits are distinctly felt, 
 and generally acknowledged. Property is secure ; 
 manufactures and commerce increasing, and agri- 
 culture is rapidly improving in Scotland. As 
 yet, indeed, the farmers are not, in general, en- 
 abled to make improvements out of their own 
 capitals, as in England ; but the landholders, who 
 have seen and felt the advantages resulting from 
 them, contribute towards them with a liberal hand. 
 Hence property, as well as population, is accumu- 
 lating rapidly on the Scottish soil ; and the nation, 
 enjoying a great part of the blessings of English- 
 men, and retaining several of their own happy in- 
 stitutions, might be considered, if confidence 
 could be placed in human foresight, to be as yet 
 only in an early stage of their progress. Yet there 
 are obstructions in their way. To the cultivation of 
 the soil are opposed the extent and the strictness 
 of the entails ; to the improvement of the people, 
 the rapidly increasing use of spirituous liquors, 
 a detestable practice, which includes in its con-
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 25 
 
 sequences almost every evil, physical and moral*. 
 The peculiarly social disposition of the Scottish 
 peasantry exposes them to this practice. This 
 disposition, which is fostered by their national 
 songs and music, is perhaps characteristic of the 
 nation at large. Though the source of many 
 pleasures, it counteracts by its consequences the 
 effects of their patience, industry, and frugality, 
 both at home and abroad, of which those especi- 
 ally who have witnessed the progress of Scotsmen 
 in other countries, must have known many strik- 
 ing instances. 
 
 Since the Union, the manners and language of 
 the people of Scotland have no longer a standard 
 among themselves, but are tried by the standard 
 of the nation to which they are united.: — Though 
 their habits art far from being flexible, yet it is 
 evident that their manners and dialect are under- 
 going a rapid change. Even the farmers of the 
 present day appear to have less of the peculiarities 
 
 * The amount of the duty on spirits distilled in Scotland 
 is now upwards of L.250,000 annually. In 1777? it did not 
 reach L.8,000. The rate of the duty has indeed been raised, but, 
 making every allowance, the increase of consumption must be 
 enormous. This is independent of the duty on malt, &c, malt- 
 liquor, imported spirits, and wine.
 
 26 PREFATORY REMARK5. 
 
 of their country in their speech, than the men of 
 letters of the last generation. Burns, who never 
 left the island, nor penetrated farther into Eng- 
 land than Carlisle on the one hand, or Newcastle 
 on the other, had less of the Scottish dialect than 
 Hume, who lived for many years in the best so- 
 ciety of England and France ; or perhaps than 
 Robertson, who wrote the English language in a 
 style of such purity ; and if he had been in other 
 respects fitted to take a lead in the British House 
 of Commons, his pronunciation would neither 
 have fettered his eloquence, nor deprived it of its 
 due effect. 
 
 A striking particular in the character of the 
 Scottish peasantry, is one which it is hoped will 
 not be lost — the strength of their domestic at- 
 tachments. The privations to which many pa- 
 rents submit for the good of their children, and 
 particularly to obtain for them instruction, which 
 they consider as the chief good-, has already been 
 noticed. If their children live and prosper, they 
 have their certain reward, not merely as witness- 
 ing, but as sharing of their prosperity. Even in 
 the humblest ranks of the peasantry, the earnings 
 of the children may generally be considered as at 
 the disposal of their parents ; perhaps in no coun- 
 try is so large a portion of the wages of labour ap- 
 plied to the support and comfort of those whose
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 27 
 
 days of labour are past. A similar strength of 
 attachment extends through all the domestic re- 
 lations. 
 
 Our poet partook largely of this amiable cha- 
 racteristic of his humble compeers ; he was also 
 strongly tinctured with another striking feature 
 which belongs to them, — a partiality for his native 
 country, of which many proofs may be found in 
 his writings. This, it must be confessed, is a very 
 strong and general sentiment among the natives 
 of Scotland, differing however in its character, ac- 
 cording to the character of the different minds in 
 which it is found; in some appearing a selfish 
 prejudice, in others, a generous affection. 
 
 An attachment to the land of their birth is, in- 
 deed, common to all men. It is found among the 
 inhabitants of every region of the earth, from the 
 arctic to the antarctic circle, in all the vast variety 
 of climate, of surface, and of civilization. To an- 
 alyze this general sentiment, to trace it through 
 the mazes of association up to the primary affec- 
 tion in which it has its source, would neither be a 
 difficult nor an unpleasing labour. On the first 
 consideration of the subject, we should perhaps 
 expect to find this attachment strong in propor- 
 tion to the physical advantages of the soil ; but 
 inquiry, far from confirming this supposition, seems
 
 28 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 rather to lead to an opposite conclusion — In those 
 fertile regions where beneficent nature yields al- 
 most spontaneously whatever is necessary to hu- 
 man wants, patriotism, as well as every other ge- 
 nerous sentiment, seems weak and languid. In 
 countries less richly endowed, where the comforts, 
 and even necessaries of life, must be purchased by 
 patient toil, the affections of the mind, as well as 
 the faculties of the understanding, improve under 
 exertion, and patriotism flourishes amidst its kin- 
 dred virtues. Where it is necessary to combine for 
 mutual defence, as well as for the supply of com- 
 mon wants, mutual good will springs from mutual 
 difficulties and labours, the social affections un- 
 fold themselves, and extend from the men with 
 whom we live, to the soil in which we tread. It 
 will perhaps be found, indeed, that our affections 
 cannot be originally called forth, but by objects 
 capable, or supposed capable, of feeling our sen- 
 timents, and of returning them; but when once 
 excited, they are strengthened by exercise — they 
 are expanded by the powers of imagination, and 
 seize more especially on those inanimate parts 
 of creation, which form the theatre on which we 
 have first felt the alternations of joy and sorrow, 
 and first tasted the sweets of sympathy and regard. 
 If this reasoning be just, the love of our coun- 
 try, although modified, and even extinguished in 
 individuals by the chances and changes of life,
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 29 
 
 may be presumed, in our general reasonings, to be 
 strong among a people, in proportion to their so- 
 cial, and more especially to their domestic affec- 
 tions. In free governments it is found more ac- 
 tive than in despotic ones, because, as the indivi- 
 dual becomes of more consequence in the commu- 
 nity, the community becomes of more consequence 
 to him ; in small states it is generally more active 
 than in large ones, for the same reason, and also 
 because the independence of a small community 
 being maintained with difficulty, and frequently 
 endangered, sentiments of patriotism are more 
 frequently excited. In mountainous countries it 
 is generally found more active than in plains, be- 
 cause there the necessities of life often require a 
 closer union of the inhabitants ; and more especi- 
 ally because in such countries, though less popu- 
 lous than plains, the inhabitants, instead of being 
 scattered equally over the whole, are usually di- 
 vided into small communities on the sides of their 
 separate vallies, and on the banks of their respec- 
 tive streams ; situations well calculated to call 
 forth and to concentrate the social affections a- 
 midst scenery that acts most powerfully on the 
 sight, and makes a lasting impression on the me- 
 mory. It may also be remarked, that mountain- 
 ous countries are often peculiarly calculated to 
 nourish sentiments of national pride and indepen- 
 dence, from the influence of history on the affec-
 
 30 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 tions of the mind. In such countries, from their 
 natural strength, inferior nations have maintained 
 their independence against their more powerful 
 neighbours, and valour, in all ages, has made its 
 most successful efforts against oppression. Such 
 countries present the fields of battle, where the 
 tide of invasion was rolled back, and where the 
 ashes of those rest, who have died in defence of 
 their nation ! 
 
 The operation of the various causes we have 
 mentioned is doubtless more general and more 
 permanent, where the scenery of a country, the 
 peculiar manners of its inhabitants, and the mar- 
 tial achievements of their ancestors are embodied 
 in national songs, and united to national music. 
 By this combination, the ties that attach men to 
 the land of their birth are multiplied and strength- 
 ened ; and the images of infancy, strongly asso- 
 ciating with the generous affections, resist the in- 
 fluence of time, and of new impressions ; they of- 
 ten survive in countries far distant, and amidst far 
 different scenes, to the latest periods of life, to 
 sooth the heart with the pleasures of memory, 
 when those of hope die away. 
 
 If this reasoning be just, it will explain to us 
 why, among the natives of Scotland, even of cul- 
 tivated minds, we so generally find a partial at-
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 31 
 
 tachment to the land of their birth, and why this 
 is so strongly discoverable in the writings of Burns, 
 who joined to the higher powers of the understand- 
 ing the most ardent affections. Let not men of 
 reflection think it a superfluous labour to trace the 
 rise and progress of a character like his. Born in 
 the condition of a peasant, he rose by the force 
 of his mind into distinction and influence, and in 
 his works has exhibited what are so rarely found, 
 the charms of original genius. With a deep in- 
 sight into the human heart, his poetry exhibits 
 high powers of imagination — it displays, and as it 
 were embalms, the peculiar manners of his coun- 
 try ; and it may be considered as a monument, 
 not to his own name only, but to the expiring ge- 
 nius of an ancient and once independent nation. 
 In relating the incidents of his life, candour will 
 prevent us from dwelling invidiously on those faults 
 and failings which justice forbids us to conceal ; 
 we will tread lightly over his yet warm ashes, and 
 respect the laurels that shelter his untimely grave.
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Robert Burns was, as is well known, the son 
 of a farmer in Ayrshire, and afterwards him- 
 self a farmer there ; but, having been unsuccess- 
 ful, he was about to emigrate to Jamaica. He had 
 previously, however, attracted some notice by his 
 poetical talents in the vicinity where he lived; and 
 having published a small volume of his poems at 
 Kilmarnock, this drew upon him more general at- 
 tention. In consequence of the encouragement 
 he received, he repaired to Edinburgh, and there 
 published, by subscription, an improved and en- 
 larged edition of his poems, which met with ex- 
 traordinary success. By the profits arising from 
 the sale of this edition, he was enabled to enter on 
 a farm in Dumfries-shire ; and having married a 
 vol. t. T>
 
 34 THE LIFE OF 
 
 person to whom lie had been long attached, he re- 
 tired to devote the remainder of his life to agri- 
 culture. He was again, however, unsuccessful ; 
 and, abandoning his farm, he removed into the 
 town of Dumfries, where he filled an inferior of- 
 fice in the excise, and where he terminated his 
 life in July, 1796, in his thirty-eighth year. 
 
 The strength and originality of his genius pro- 
 cured him the notice of many persons distinguish- 
 ed in the republic of letters, and, among others, 
 that of Dr Moore, well known for his Views of So- 
 ciety and Manners on the Continent of Europe, for 
 his Zeluco, and various other works. To this 
 gentleman our poet addressed a letter, after his 
 first visit to Edinburgh, giving a history of his life, 
 up to the period of his writing. In a composition 
 never intended to see the light, elegance, or per- 
 fect correctness of composition will not be expect- 
 ed. These, however, will be compensated by the 
 opportunity of seeing our poet, as he gives the in- 
 cidents of his life, unfold the peculiarities of his 
 character with all the careless vigour and open- 
 sincerity of his mind.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 35 
 
 Mauchline, 2d August 178?. 
 "Sir, 
 
 " For some months past I have been ram- 
 bling over the country ; but I am now confined 
 with some lingering complaints, originating, as I 
 take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a 
 little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have taken 
 a whim to give you a history of myself. My name 
 has made some little noise in this country ; you 
 have done me the honour to interest yourself very 
 warmly in my behalf; and I think a faithful ac- 
 count of what character of a man I am, and how 
 I came by that character, may perhaps amuse you 
 in an idle moment, I will give you an honest nar- 
 rative ; though I know it will be often at my own 
 expence ; — for I assure you, Sir, I have, like '"So- 
 lomon, whose character, except in the trifling af- 
 fair of wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble, — I 
 have, I say, like him, turned my eyes to behold 
 madness and folly, and like him, too, frequently 
 shaken hands with their intoxicating friendship. 
 * * * After you have perused these pages, 
 should you think them trifling and impertinent, I 
 only beg leave to tell you, that the poor author 
 wrote them under some twitching qualms of con* 
 
 d 2
 
 36 THE LIFE OF 
 
 science, arising from a suspicion that he was do- 
 ing what he ought not to do ; a predicament he 
 has more than once been in before. 
 
 " I have not the most distant pretensions to as- 
 sume that character which the pye-coated guardi- 
 ans of escutcheons call a Gentleman. When at 
 Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in the 
 Herald's Office ; and, looking through that gra- 
 nary of honours, I there found almost every name 
 in the kingdom ; but for me, 
 
 " My ancient but ignoble blood 
 Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood." 
 
 Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c. quite disowned me. 
 
 " My father was of the north of Scotland, the 
 son of a farmer, and was thrown by early misfor- 
 tunes on the world at large ; where, after many 
 years wanderings and sojournings, he picked up 
 a pretty large quantity of observation and experi- 
 ence, to which I am indebted for most of my little 
 pretensions to wisdom. — I have met with few who 
 understood men, their manners 9 and their ways, equal 
 to him; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and head- 
 long, ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 3" 
 
 circumstances ; consequently I was born a very poor 
 man's son. For the first six or seven years of my 
 life, my father was gardener to a worthy gentle- 
 man of small estate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. 
 Had he continued in that station, I must have 
 marched off to be one of the little underlings a- 
 bout a farm-house ; but it was his dearest wish 
 and prayer to have it in his power to keep his 
 children under his own eye till they could discern 
 between good and evil ; so, with the assistance of 
 his generous master, my father ventured on a 
 small farm on his estate. At those years I was 
 by no means a favourite with any body. I was a 
 good deal noted for a retentive memory, a stub- 
 born sturdy something in my disposition, and an 
 enthusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, be- 
 cause I was then but a child. Though it cost the 
 schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excel- 
 lent English scholar j and by the time I was ten 
 or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substan- 
 tives, 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 ig- 
 norance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I 
 suppose, the largest collection in the country of 
 tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, 
 brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, 
 elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, can-
 
 3$ THE LIFE OF 
 
 traips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and 
 other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds 
 of poetry ; but had so strong an effect on my ima- 
 gination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal 
 rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out -in 
 suspicious 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 recollect taking pleasure in, was The Vision of 
 Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, 
 How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! I particular- 
 ly 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 Masson's 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 The 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 bag-pipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a 
 soldier ; while the story of Wallace poured a 
 Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 39 
 
 along there till the flood-gates of life shut in eter- 
 nal rest. 
 
 " Polemical divinity about this time was put- 
 ting the country half-mad ; and I, ambitious of 
 shining in conversation parties on Sundays, be- 
 tween sermons, at funerals, &c. used, a few years 
 afterwards, to puzzle Calvinism with so much 
 heat and indiscft*io*i, that I raised a hue and cry 
 of heresy against me, which has not ceased to 
 this hour. 
 
 " My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to 
 me. My social disposition, when not checked by 
 some modifications of spirited pride, was, like our 
 catechism-definition of infinitude, without bounds or 
 limits. I formed several connexions with other 
 younkers who possessed superior advantages, the 
 youngling actors, who were busy in the rehearsal 
 of parts in which they were shortly to appear on 
 the stage of life, where, alas ! I was destined to 
 drudge behind the scenes. It is not commonly at 
 this green age that our young gentry have a just 
 sense of the immense distance between them and 
 their ragged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes 
 into the world, to give the young great man 
 that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard for the 
 poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the mechanics 
 and peasantry around him, who were perhaps
 
 4(9 THE LIFE OF 
 
 born in the same village. My young superiors 
 never insulted the clouterly appearance of my 
 plough-boy carcase, 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 observations ; 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 occasionally went off for the East or West 
 Indies, was often to me a sore affliction -, but I 
 was soon called to more serious evils. My father's 
 generous master died ; the farm proved a ruinous 
 bargain ; and, to clench the misfortune, we fell 
 into the hands of a factor, who sat for the picture 
 I have drawn of one in my Tale of Twa Dogs. 
 My father was advanced in life when he married ; 
 I was the eldest of seven children ; and he, worn 
 out by early hardships, was unfit for labour. My 
 father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily 
 broken. There was a freedom in his lease in 
 two years more ; and, to weather these two 
 years, we retrenched our expences. We lived 
 very poorly : I was a dexterous ploughman, for 
 my age ; and the next eldest to me was a bro- 
 ther (Gilbert), who could drive the plough very 
 well, and help me to thrash the corn. A novel- 
 writer might perhaps have viewed these scenes
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 41 
 
 with some satisfaction ; but so did not I ; my in- 
 dignation yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 
 
 factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to 
 set us all in tears. 
 
 " 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, sweet, sonsie 
 lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly to her- 
 self, initiated me in that delicious passion, which, 
 in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse pru- 
 dence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be 
 the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here 
 below ! How she caught the contagion, I can- 
 not tell : you medical people talk much of infec- 
 tion 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 behind with her, when returning in the 
 evening from our labours ; why the tones of her 
 voice made my heart-strings thrill like an iEolian
 
 42 THE LIFE OP 
 
 harp ; and particularly 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 sweetly ; and it was her fa- 
 vourite reel, to which I attempted giving an em- 
 bodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presump- 
 tuous 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, excepting that he 
 could smear sheep, and cast peats, his father living 
 in the moor-lands, he had no more scholar-craft 
 thy myself*. 
 
 " Thus with me began love and poetry ; which 
 at times have been my only, and till within the 
 last twelve month's, have been my highest enjoy- 
 ment. My father struggled on till he reached 
 the freedom in his lease, when he entered on a 
 larger farm, about ten miles farther in the country. 
 The nature of the bargain he made was such as 
 to throw a little ready money into his hands 
 at the commencement of his lease ; otherwise the 
 
 * See Appendix, No. II. Note A.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 43 
 
 affair would have been impracticable. For four 
 years we lived comfortably here ; but a difference 
 commencing between him and his landlord as to 
 terms, after three years tossing and whirling in 
 the vortex of litigation, my father was just saved 
 from the horrors of a jail by a consumption, 
 which, after two years promises, kindly stepped 
 in, and carried him away, to where the wicked cease 
 from troubling, and where the weary are at rest. 
 
 " It is during the time that we lived on this 
 farm that my little story is most eventful. I was, 
 at the beginning of this period, perhaps the most 
 ungainly, awkward boy in the parish — no solitaire 
 was less acquainted with the ways of the world. 
 What J knew of ancient story was gathered from 
 Salmon's and Guthrie's geographical grammars ; 
 and the ideas I had formed of modern manners, 
 of literature, and criticism, I got from the Specta- 
 tor. These, with Pope's Works, some plays of 
 Shakespeare, Tidl arid Dickson, on Agriculture, 
 The Pantheon, Locke's Essay on the Human 
 Understanding, Stackhouse's History of the Bible, 
 Justice's British Gardener's Directory, Bayle's 
 Lectures, Allan Ramsay's Works, Taylor's Scrip- 
 ture Doctrine of Original Sin, A Select Collection 
 of English Songs, and Her'vey's Meditations, had 
 formed the whole of my reading. The collection 
 of songs was my vade mecum. I pored over them
 
 44 THE LIFE OF 
 
 driving my cart, or walking to labour, song by 
 song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the true 
 tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. I 
 am convinced I owe to this practice much of my 
 critic craft, such as it is. 
 
 " In my seventeenth year, to give my man- 
 ners a brush, I went to a country dancing-school. 
 — -My father had an unaccountable antipathy 
 against these meetings ; and my going was, what 
 to this moment I repent, in opposition to his 
 wishes. My father, as I said before, was subject 
 to strong passions ; from that instance of diso* 
 bediencc in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, 
 which I believe was die cause of the dissipation 
 which marked my succeeding years. I say dis- 
 sipation, comparatively 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 piety and virtue kept 
 me for several years afterwards within the line 
 of innocence. The great misfortune of my life 
 was to want an aim. I had felt early some stir- 
 rings of ambition, but they were the blind grop- 
 ings of Homer's Cyclops round the walls of his 
 cave. I saw my father's situation entailed on me 
 perpetual labour. The only two openings by which
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 45 
 
 I could enter the temple of Fortune, was the gate 
 of niggardly economy, or the path of little chi- 
 caning bargain-making. The first is so contract- 
 ed an aperture, I never could squeeze myself in- 
 to it ; — the last I always hated — there was conta- 
 mination 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 observation and remark ; a constitutional 
 melancholy or hypochondriasis that made me fly 
 solitude ; add to these incentives to social life, 
 my reputation 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 won- 
 der 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 a 
 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 va- 
 rious, 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 de- 
 fiance ; and as I never cared farther for my la- 
 bours than while I was in actual exercise, I spent
 
 46 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the evenings in the way after my own heart. A 
 country lad seldom carries on a love adventure 
 without an assisting confidant. 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. — The 
 very goose-feather in my hand seems to know in- 
 stinctively the well-worn path of my imagination, 
 the favourite theme of my song ; and is with dif- 
 ficulty restrained from giving you a couple of pa- 
 ragraphs on the love-adventures of my compeers, 
 the humble inmates of the farm-house and cotiage; 
 but the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, 
 baptize these things by the name of Follies. To 
 the sons and daughters of labour and poverty, 
 they are matters of the most serious nature ; to 
 them, the ardent hope, the stolen interview, the 
 tender farewell, are the greatest and most delici- 
 ous parts of their enjoyments. 
 
 " Another circumstance in my life which made 
 some alteration in my mind and manners, was, 
 that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smug- 
 gling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted 
 school, to learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, 
 kc, in which I made a pretty good progress.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 47 
 
 But I made a greater progress in the knowledge 
 of mankind. The contraband 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 ene- 
 my 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 Jllette who lived next door to the school, 
 over-set my trigonometry, and set me off at a tan- 
 gent from the sphere of my studies. I, however, 
 struggled on with my sines and co-sines 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.———" 
 
 " 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.
 
 4S THE LIFE OF 
 
 " 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 I'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 
 — Tristram Shandy and The Man of Feeling — 
 were my bosom favourites. Poesy was still a 
 darling walk for my mind ; but it was only in- 
 dulged in according 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 moment-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 49 
 
 ary tone of the mind, and dismissed the work as 
 it bordered on fatigue. My passions, when once 
 lighted up, raged like so many devils, till they 
 got vent in rhyme ; and then the conning over 
 my verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet ! 
 None of the rhymes of those days are in print, 
 except Winter, a Dirge*, the eldest of my printed 
 pieces ; The Death of Poor Maillie t, John Bar- 
 leycomX, and songs, first, second, and third §. 
 Song second was the ebullition of that passion 
 which ended the forementioned school business, 
 
 " My twenty-third year was to me an import- 
 ant sera. Partly through whim, and partly that I 
 wished to set about doing something in life, I 
 joined a flaxdresser in a neighbouring town (Irvine) 
 to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. 
 My **#### #. all( j 9 t0 finish tne w hole, 
 
 as we were giving a welcoming carousal to the 
 new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes j 
 and I was left, like a true poet, not worth a six* 
 pence. 
 
 " I was obliged to give up this scheme : the 
 clouds of misfortune were gathering thick round 
 VOL. i. e 
 
 * See vol. in. p. 171. § See vol. iii.pp, 271, 
 
 f See vol. iii. p. 77. 274. 277, 
 
 X See vol. rii.p. 26 L
 
 50 TIIE LIFE Of 1 
 
 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 Jille whom I adored, 
 and who had pledged her soul to meet me in the 
 field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar cir- 
 cumstances of mortification. The finishing evil 
 that brought up the rear of this infernal file, was* 
 my constitutional melancholy being increased to 
 such a degree, that for three months I was in a 
 state of mind scarcely to be envied by the hope- 
 less wretches who have got their mittimus- — De- 
 part from me ye accursed ! 
 
 " From this adventure T learned something of 
 a town life ; but the principal thing which gave 
 my mind a turn, was a friendship I formed with a 
 young fellow, a very noble character, but a hap- 
 less 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 gen- 
 teel education, with a view of bettering his situa- 
 tion in life. The patron dying just as he was 
 ready to launch out into the world, the poor fel- 
 low in despair went to sea ; where, after a variety 
 of good and ill fortune, a little before I was ac- 
 quainted with him, lie had been set ashore by 
 an American privateer, on the wild coast of Con- 
 naught, stripped of every thing. I cannot quit 
 this poor fellow's story without adding, that he
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 51 
 
 is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman 
 belonging to the Thames. 
 
 " His mind was fraught with independence, 
 magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I loved 
 and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and 
 of course strove to imitate him. In some measure 
 I succeeded j 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 
 illicit love with the levity of a sailor, which hi- 
 therto I had regarded with horror. Here his 
 friendship did me a mischief; and the conse- 
 quence was, that soon after I resumed the plough, 
 I wrote the Poet's welcome *. My reading only 
 increased, while in this town, by two stray volumes 
 of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, 
 which gave me some idea of novels. Rhyme, 
 except some religious pieces that are in print, I 
 had given up ; but meeting with Ferguson* s 
 Scottish Poems, I strung anew my wildly-sound- 
 ing lyre with emulating vigour. When my father 
 died, his all went among the hell-hounds that 
 e 2 
 
 * Rob the Rhymer s Welcome to his Bastard Child*
 
 52 THE LIFE OF 
 
 growl in the kennel of justice ; but we made & 
 shift to collect a little money in the family 
 amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my 
 brother and I took a neighbouring farm. My 
 brother wanted my hair-brained imagination, as 
 well as my social and amortms madness : but, in 
 good sense, and every sober qualification, he was 
 far my superior. 
 
 " I entered on this farm with a full resolution, 
 Come, go to, I will be wise ! I read farming books ; 
 I calculated crops ; 1 attended markets ; and, in 
 short, in spite of the devil, and the world, mid thejlesh 9 
 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 re- 
 turned, like the dog to his vomit, and the sozv that 
 was washed, to her wallowing in the mire *. 
 
 " I now began to be known in the neighbour- 
 hood as a maker of rhymes. The first of my 
 poetic offspring that saw the light, was a bur- 
 lesque lamentation on a quarrel between two rever- 
 end Calvinists, both of them dramatis persona? 
 in my Holy Fair. I had a notion myself, that 
 the piece had some merit; but to prevent the 
 
 * See Appendix, No. II. Note 13.
 
 ilOBERT BURNS. 53 
 
 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 author of it, but that I 
 thought it pretty clever. With a certain descrip- 
 tion of the clergy, as well as laity, it met. with a 
 roar of applause. 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 artillery, if haply any of it might be 
 pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily for 
 me, my wanderings led me on another side, w'ithin 
 point blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is 
 the unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed 
 poem, Tlie Lament. This was a most melancholy 
 affair,' which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and 
 had very nearly given me one or two of the prin- 
 cipal qualifications for a place among those who 
 have lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning 
 of Rationality *. 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 Jamaica. But, before leaving my 
 native country for ever, I resolved to publish my 
 poems. I weighed my productions as impartially 
 as w r as in my power : I thought they had merit ; 
 and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a 
 
 An explanation of this will be found hereafter.
 
 S4> THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 decided in their favour. It 
 ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blun- 
 ders, both in a rational and religious point of view, 
 of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing 
 to their ignorance of themselves. — To know my- 
 seif, had been all along my constant study. I 
 weighed myself alone ; I balanced 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 Nature's design in 
 my formation — where the lights and shades in my 
 character were intended. I was pretty confident 
 my poems would meet with some applause : but, 
 at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen 
 the voice of censure, and the novelty of West In- 
 dian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off 
 six hundred copies, of which I had got subscrip- 
 tions for about three hundred and fifty. — My va- 
 nity was highly gratified by the reception I met 
 with from the public ; and besides I pocketed, all 
 expences deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This 
 sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of 
 indenting myself, for want of money to procure
 
 ROBERT BURNS. So 
 
 xiy 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 die wind." 
 
 " I liad been for some days sculking from co- 
 vert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as 
 some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merci- 
 less pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the 
 last farewell of my few friends ; my chest was on 
 the road to Greenock j I had composed the last 
 song I should ever measure in Caledonia, The 
 gloomy night was gathering Jcist *, when a letter 
 from Dr Blacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew 
 all my schemes, by opening new prospects to my 
 poetic ambition t. The Doctor belonged to a set 
 of critics, for whose applause I had not dared to 
 hope. His opinion that I would meet with en- 
 couragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, 
 fired me so much, that away I posted for that city, 
 without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of 
 introduction. The baneful star, that had so long 
 shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once 
 made a revolution to the nadir ; and a kind Pro- 
 
 * Sec vol. \n.p. 287. f See vol. \'\. p. 29.
 
 56 THE LIFE OF 
 
 vidence placed me under the patronage of one 
 of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. 
 Oublie moi, Grand Dieu, si jamais je Voublie I 
 
 " I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I 
 was in a new world ; I mingled among many 
 classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I 
 was all attention to catch the characters and the 
 manners living as they rise. Whether I have pro- 
 fited, time will shew. 
 
 " My most respectful compliments to Miss W. 
 Her very elegant and friendly letter I cannot an- 
 swer at present, as my presence is requisite in 
 Edinburgh, and I set out to-morrow*." 
 
 At the period of our poet's death, his bro- 
 ther, Gilbert Burns, was ignorant that he had 
 
 * There are various copies of this letter, in the author's 
 hand-writing; and one of these, evidently corrected, is in the 
 book in which he had copied several of his letters. This has 
 been used for the press, with some omissions, and one slight 
 alteration suggested by Gilbert Burns,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 57 
 
 himself written the foregoing narrative of his life 
 while in Ayrshire ; and having been applied to 
 by Mrs Dunlop for some memoirs of his brother, 
 he complied with her request in a letter, from 
 which the following narrative is chiefly extracted. 
 When Gilbert Burns afterwards saw the letter of 
 our poet to Dr Moore, he made some annotations 
 upon it, which shall be noticed as we proceed. 
 
 Robert Burns was born on the 29th day of Ja- 
 nuary, 1759, in a small house about two miles 
 from the town of Ayr, and within a few hundred 
 yards of Alloway Church, which his poem of 
 Tarn o* Shanter has rendered immortal *. The 
 name, which the poet and his brother moderniz- 
 ed into Burns, was originally Burnes or Burness. 
 Their father, William Burnes, was the son of a 
 farmer in Kincardineshire, and had received the 
 education common in Scotland to persons in his 
 condition of life ; he could read and write, and 
 had some knowledge of arithmetic. His family 
 
 * This house is on the right-hand side of the road from Ayr 
 to Maybole, which forms a part of the road from Glasgow to 
 Port Patrick. When the poet's father afterwards removed to 
 Tarbolton parish, he sold his leasehold right in this house, and 
 a few acres of land adjoining, to the corporation of shoemaker? 
 in Ayr. It is now a country ale-house.
 
 £8 THE LIFE OF 
 
 having fallen into reduced circumstances, he was 
 compelled to leave his home in his nineteenth 
 year, and turned his steps towards the south in 
 quest of a livelihood. The same necessity attend- 
 ed his elder brother Robert. " I have often heard 
 my father," says Gilbert Burns, in his letter to 
 Mrs Dunlop, " describe the anguish of mind he 
 felt when they parted on the top of a hill on the 
 confines of their native place, each going off his 
 several way in search of new adventures, and 
 scarcely knowing whither he went. My father 
 undertook to act as a gardener, and shaped his 
 course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard 
 when he could get work, passing through a va- 
 riety of difficulties. Still, however, he endeavour- 
 ed to spare something for the support of his aged 
 parent ; and I recollect hearing him mention his 
 having sent a bank-note for this purpose, when 
 money of that kind was so scarce in Kincardine- 
 shire, that they scarcely knew how to employ it 
 when it arrived." From Edinburgh William 
 Burnes passed westward into the county of Ayr, 
 where he engaged himself as a gardener to the 
 laird of Fairly, with whom he lived two years ; then 
 changing his service for that of Crawford of Doon- 
 side. At length, being desirous of settling in life, 
 he took a perpetual lease of seven acres of land 
 from Dr Campbell, physician in Ayr, with the view 
 of commencing nurseryman and public gardener;
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 51) 
 
 and, having built a house upon it with his own 
 hands, married in December 1 757, Agnes Brown, 
 the mother of our poet, who still survives. The 
 first fruit of this marriage was Robert, the sub- 
 ject of these memoirs, born on the 29th of Ja- 
 nuary, 17.^9, as has already been mentioned. 
 Before William Burnes had made much progress 
 in preparing his nursery, he was withdrawn from 
 that undertaking by Mr Ferguson, who purchas- 
 ed the estate of Doonholm, in the immediate 
 neighbourhood, and engaged him as his gardener 
 and overseer ; and this was his situation when our 
 poet was born. Though in the service of Mr 
 Ferguson, he lived in his own house, his wife 
 managing her family and her little dairy, which 
 consisted some imes of two, sometimes of three 
 milch cows; and this state of unambitious content 
 continued till the year 1766. His son Robert 
 was sent by him, in his sixth year, to a school at 
 Alloway Miln, about a mile distant, taught by a 
 person of the name of Campbell ; but this teacher 
 being in a few months appointed master of the 
 workhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in conjunction 
 with some other heads of families, engaged John 
 Murdoch in his stead. The education of our poet, 
 and of his brother Gilbert, was in common ; and 
 of their proficiency under Mr Murdoch we have 
 the following account : " With him we learnt to
 
 60 THE LIFE OF 
 
 read English tolerably well *, and to write a little. 
 He taught us, too, the English grammar. I was 
 too young to profit much from his lessons in 
 grammar ; but Robert made some proficiency in 
 it — a circumstance of considerable weight in the 
 unfolding of his genius and character ; as he soon 
 became remarkable for the fluency and correctness 
 of his expression, and read the few books that 
 came in his way with much pleasure and improve- 
 ment j for even then he was a reader, when he 
 could get a book. Murdoch, whose library at 
 that time had no great variety in it, lent him The 
 .Life of Hannibal, which was the first book he read 
 (the school-books excepted), and almost the only 
 one he had an opportunity of reading while he was 
 at school ; for The Life of Wallace, which he 
 classes with it in one of his letters to you, he did 
 not see for some years afterwards, when he bor- 
 rowed it from the blacksmith who shod our horses* 
 
 It appears that William Burnes approved him- 
 self greatly in the service of Mr Ferguson, by his 
 intelligence, industry, and integrity. In conse- 
 quence of this, with a view of promoting his inte- 
 rest, Mr Ferguson leased him a farm, of which we 
 have the following account : 
 
 * Letter from Gilbert Burns to Mrs Dunjop.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 61 
 
 " The farm was upwards of seventy acres * 
 (between eighty and ninety, English statute mea- 
 sure), the rent of which was to be forty pounds 
 annually for the first six years, and afterwards 
 forty-five pounds. My father endeavoured to sell 
 his leasehold property, for the purpose of stocking 
 this farm, but at that time was unable, and Mr 
 Ferguson lent him a hundred pounds for that pur- 
 pose, He removed to his new situation at Whit- 
 suntide, 1766. It was, I think, not above two 
 years after this, that Murdoch, our tutor and 
 friend, left this part of the country ; and there 
 being no school near us, and our little services 
 being useful on the farm, my father undertook to 
 teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings, by 
 candle-light ; and in this way my two elder sis- 
 ters got all the education they received. I re- 
 member a circumstance that happened at this time, 
 which, though trifling in itself, is fresh in my me- 
 mory, and may serve to illustrate the early cha- 
 racter of my brother. Murdoch came to spend 
 a night with us, and to take his leave when he was 
 about to go into Carrick. He brought us, as a 
 present and memorial of him, a small compendium 
 of English Grammar, and the tragedy of Titus An- 
 dronicus ; and by way of passing the evening, he 
 
 * Letter of Gilbert Burns to Mrs Dunlop. The name ef 
 this farm is Mount Oliphant, in Ayr parish.
 
 62 «THE LIFE OF 
 
 began to read the play aloud. We were all at- 
 tention for some time, till presently the whole 
 party was dissolved in tears. A female in the 
 play (I have but a confused remembrance of it) 
 had her hands chopt off, and her tongue cut out, 
 and then was insultingly desired to call for water 
 to wash her hands. At this, in an agony of dis* 
 tress, we with one voice desired he would read no 
 more. My father observed, that if we would not 
 hear it out, it would be needless to leave the play 
 with us. Robert replied, that if it was left he 
 would burn it. My father was going to chide 
 him for this ungrateful return to his tutor's kind- 
 ness ; but Murdoch interfered, declaring that he 
 liked to see so much sensibility ; and he left The 
 School for Love, a comedy, (translated I think from 
 the French,) in its place *." 
 
 " Nothing," continues Gilbert Burns, " could 
 be more retired than our general manner of living 
 at Mount Oliphant ; we rarely saw any body but 
 the members of our own family. There were no 
 
 * It is to be remembered that the poet was only nine years 
 of age, and the relater of this incident under eight at the 
 time it happened. The effect was very natural in children of 
 sensibility at their age. At a more sature perio ' of the judg- 
 ment, such absurd representations are calculated rather to
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 63 
 
 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 
 
 produce disgust or laughter, than tears. The scene to which 
 Gilbert Burns alludes, opens thus : 
 
 Titus Andronicus, Act II. Scene 5. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia ravished, her hands 
 art off] and her tongue cut out. 
 
 "Why is this silly play still printed as Shakespear's, against the 
 opinion of all the best critics? The bard of Avon was guilty 
 of many extravagancies, but he always performed what he in- 
 tended to perform. That he ever excited in a British mind 
 (for the French critics must be set aside) disgust or ridi- 
 cule, where he meant to have awakened pity or horror, is 
 what will not be imputed to that master of the passions,
 
 64 THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 Derham's Phy- 
 sico and Astro-Theology, and Ray's Wisdom of 
 God in the Creation, to give us some idea of astro- 
 nomy and natural history. Robert read all these 
 books with an avidity and industry scarcely to be 
 equalled. My father had been a subscriber to 
 Stackhouse's History of the Bible, then lately pub- 
 lished by James Meuros in Kilmarnock : from this 
 Robert collected a competent knowledge of an- 
 cient history ; for no book was so voluminous as 
 to slacken his industry, or so antiquated as to 
 damp his researches. A brother of my mother, 
 who had lived with us some time, and had learnt 
 •some arithmetic by our winter evening's candle, 
 went into a bookseller's shop in Ayr, to purchase 
 The Ready Reckoner, or Tradesman's sure Guide, 
 and a book to teach him to write letters. Lucki- 
 ly, in place of The Complete Letter- Writer, he got, 
 by mistake, a small collection of letters by the 
 ' most eminent writers, with a few sensible direc- 
 tions for attaining an easy epistolary style. This 
 book was to Robert of the greatest consequence. 
 It inspired him with a strong desire to excel 
 in letter-writing, while it furnished him with 
 models by some of the first writers in our Ian- 
 guage.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 65 
 
 " My brother was about thirteen or fourteen, 
 when my father, regretting that we wrote so ill, 
 sent us, week about, during a summer quarter, to 
 the parish school of Dalrymple, which, though be- 
 tween two and three miles distant, was the nearest 
 to us, that we might have an opportunity of reme- 
 dying this defect. About this time a bookish ac- 
 quaintance of my father's procured us a reading of 
 two volumes of Richardson's Pamela, which was 
 the first novel we read, and the only part of Rich- 
 ardson's works my brother was acquainted with till 
 towards the period of his commencing author. Till 
 that time too he remained unacquainted with Field- 
 ing, with Smollet, (two volumes of Ferdinand Count 
 Fathom, and two volumes of Peregrine Pickle ex- 
 cepted,) with Hume, with Robertson, and al- 
 most all our authors of eminence of the later 
 times. I recollect indeed my father borrowed a 
 volume of English history from Mr Hamilton of 
 Bourtree-hill's gardener. It treated of the reign of 
 James the First, and his unfortunate son, Charles, 
 but I do not know who was the author ; all that 
 I remember of it is something of Charles's con- 
 versation with his children. About this time 
 Murdoch, our former teacher, after having been 
 in different places in the country, and having 
 taught a school some time in Dumfries, came to 
 be the established teacher of the English language 
 in Ayr, a circumstance of considerable conse- 
 
 vol. i. 5
 
 66 THE LIFE OF 
 
 quence to us. The remembrance of my father's 
 former friendship, and his attachment to my bro- 
 ther, made him do every thing in his power for 
 our improvement. He sent us Pope's works, and 
 some other poetry, the first that we had an oppor- 
 tunity of reading, excepting what is contained in 
 The English Collection, and in the volume of The 
 Edinburgh Magazine iov 1772; excepting also those 
 excellent new songs that are hawked about the coun- 
 try in baskets, or exposed on stalls in the streets. 
 
 " The summer after we had been at Dalrym-* 
 pie school, my father sent Robert to Ayr, to re- 
 vise his English grammar, with his former teach- 
 er. He had been there only one week, when he 
 was obliged to return, to assist at the harvest. 
 When the harvest was over, he went back to 
 school, where he remained two weeks ; and this 
 completes the account of his school education, 
 excepting one summer quarter, some time after- 
 wards, that he attended the parish school of Kirk- 
 Oswalds (where he lived with a brother of my mo- 
 ther's), to learn surveying. 
 
 " During the two last weeks that he was with 
 Murdoch, he himself was engaged in learning 
 French, arid he communicated the instructions 
 he received to my brother, who, when he return- 
 ed, brought home with him a Trench dictionary
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 67 
 
 and grammar, and the Adventures of Telemachus in 
 the original. In a little while, by the assistance of 
 these books, he acquired such a knowledge of the 
 language, as to read and understand any French 
 author in prose. This was considered as a sort of 
 prodigy, and, through the medium of Murdoch, 
 procured him the acquaintance of several lads in 
 Ayr, who were at that time gabbling French, and 
 the notice of some families, particularly that of 
 Dr Malcolm, where a knowledge of French was a 
 recommendation. 
 
 " Observing the facility with which he had 
 acquired the French language, Mr Robinson, 
 the . established writing-master in Ayr, and Mr 
 Murdoch's particular friend, having himself ac- 
 quired a considerable knowledge of the Latin 
 language by his own industry, without ever hav- 
 ing learnt it at school, advised Robert to make 
 the same attempt, promising him every assist- 
 ance in his power. Agreeably to this advice, he 
 purchased The Rudiments of the Latin Tongue, 
 but finding this study dry and uninteresting, it 
 was quickly laid aside. He frequently returned 
 to his Rudiments on any little chagrin or disap- 
 pointment, particularly in his love affairs ; but 
 the Latin seldom predominated more than a day 
 or two at a time, or a week at most. Observing 
 himself the ridicule that would attach to this 
 
 f2
 
 68 THE LIFE OP 
 
 sort of conduct if it were known, he made two or 
 three humorous stanzas on the subject, which I 
 cannot now recollect, but they all ended, 
 
 * So I'll to my Latin again* 
 
 " Thus you see Mr Murdoch was a principal 
 means of my brother's improvement. Worthy 
 man ! though foreign to my present purpose, I can- 
 not take leave of him without tracing his future his- 
 tory. He continued for some years a respected and 
 useful teacher at Ayr, till one evening that he had 
 been overtaken in liquor, he happened to speak 
 somewhat disrespectfully of Dr Dalrymple, the 
 parish minister, who had not paid him that atten- 
 tion to which he thought himself entitled. In Ayr 
 he might as well have spoken blasphemy. He found 
 it proper to give up his appointment. He went to 
 London, where he still lives, a private teacher of 
 French. He has been a considerable time married, 
 and keeps a shop of stationery wares. 
 
 " The father of Dr Paterson, now physician 
 at Ayr, was, I believe, a native of Aberdeen- 
 shire, and was one of the established teachers in 
 Ayr when my father settled in the neighbour- 
 hood. He early recognised my father as a fel- 
 low native of the north of Scotland, and a cer- 
 tain degree of intimacy subsisted between them 
 during Mr Paterson's life. After his death,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 69 
 
 his widow, who is a very genteel woman, and of 
 great worth, delighted in doing what she thought 
 her husband would have wished to have done, 
 and assiduously kept up her attentions to all his 
 acquaintance. She kept alive the intimacy with 
 bur family, by frequently inviting my father and. 
 mother to her house on Sundays, when she met 
 them at church. 
 
 " When she came to know my brother's pas- 
 sion for books, she kindly offered us the use of her 
 husband's library, and from her we got the Spec- 
 tator, Pope's Translation of Homer, and several 
 other books that were of use to us. Mount Oli- 
 phant, the farm my father possessed in the parish 
 of Ayr, is almost the very poorest soil I know of 
 in a state of cultivation. A stronger proof of this 
 I cannot give, than that, notwithstanding the ex- 
 traordinary rise in the value of lands in Scotland, it 
 was, after a considerable sum laid out in improving 
 it by the proprietor, let a few years ago five pounds 
 per annum lower than the rent paid for it by my 
 father thirty years ago. My father, in consequence 
 of this, soon came into difficulties, which were 
 increased by the loss of several of his cattle by 
 accidents and disease. — To the buffettings of 
 misfortune, we could only oppose hard labour 
 and the most rigid economy. We lived very spa- 
 ringly. For several years butcher's meat was a
 
 *70 • THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 threshing the crop of corn, and at fif- 
 teen 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, 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 continued fatigues 
 of his life, with a wife and five other children, and 
 in a declining state of circumstances, these reflec- 
 tions 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 of- 
 ten afflicted through his whole life afterwards. 
 At this time he was almost constantly afflicted in 
 the evenings with a dull head-ach, which, at a fu- 
 ture period of his life, was exchanged for a palpi- 
 tation of the heart, and a threatening of fainting 
 and suffocation in his bed, in the night-time. 
 
 " By a stipulation in my father's lease, he had 
 a right to throw it up, if he thought proper, at 
 the end of every sixth year. He attempted to fix 
 himself in a better farm at the end of the first six
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 71 
 
 years, but failing in that attempt, he continued 
 where he was for six years more. He then took 
 the farm of Lochlea, of 130 acres, at the rent of 
 twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of Tarbol- 
 
 ton, of Mr , then a merchant in 
 
 Ayr, and now (1797) a merchant in Liverpool. 
 He removed to this farm at Whitsunday 1777, and 
 possessed it only seven years. No writing had 
 ever been made out of the conditions of the lease ; 
 a misunderstanding took place respecting them ; 
 the subjects in dispute were submitted to arbitra- 
 tion, and the decision involved my father's affairs 
 in ruin. He lived to know of this decision, but 
 not to see any execution in consequence of it. 
 He died on the 13th of February 1784. 
 
 <e The seven years we lived in Tarbolton parish 
 (extending from the seventeenth to the twenty- 
 fourth of my brother's age), were not marked by 
 much literary improvement ; but during this 
 time, the foundation was laid of certain habits in 
 my brother'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 in- 
 tercourse with women, yet when he approached 
 manhood, his attachment to their society became 
 very strong, and he was constantly the victim of 
 some fair enslaver. The symptoms of his passion
 
 72 THE LIFE OP 
 
 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 any thing of the 
 kind I ever knew in real life. He had always a 
 particular jealousy of people who were richer 
 than himself, or who had more consequence in 
 life. His love, therefore, rarely settled on per- 
 sons of this description. When he selected any 
 one out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure 
 to whom he should pay his particular attention, 
 she was instantly invested with a sufficient 
 stock of charms, out of the plentiful stores of 
 his own imagination ; 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 attractions, 
 which formed so many under-plots in the drama 
 of his love. As these connexions were governed 
 by the strictest rules of virtue and modesty 
 (from which he never deviated till he reached 
 his 23d year), he became anxious to be in a 
 situation to marry. This was not likely to be 
 soon the case while he remained a farmer, as
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 73 
 
 the stocking of a farm required a sum of money 
 he had no probability of being master of for a 
 great while- He began, therefore, to think of 
 trying some other line of life. He and I had for 
 several years taken land of my father for the pur- 
 pose of raising flax on our own account. In the 
 course of selling it, Robert began to think of turn- 
 ing flax-dresser, both as being suitable to his 
 grand view of settling in life, and as subservient 
 to the flax raising. He accordingly wrought at 
 the business of a flax-dresser in Irvine for six 
 months, but abandoned it at that period, as nei- 
 ther agreeing with his health nor inclination. In 
 Irvine he had contracted some acquaintance of a 
 freer manner of thinking and living than he had 
 been used to, whose society prepared him for 
 overleaping the bounds of rigid virtue which had 
 hitherto restrained him. Towards the end of the 
 period under review (in his 24th year), and soon 
 after his father's death, he was furnished with the 
 subject of his epistle to John Rankin. During 
 this period also he became a freemason, which 
 was his first introduction to the life of a boon 
 companion. Yet, notwithstanding these circum- 
 stances, and the praise he has bestowed on Scotch 
 drink (which seems to have misled his historians), 
 I do not recollect, during these seven years, nor 
 till towards the end of his commencing author 
 (when his growing celebrity occasioned his be- 
 
 3
 
 74« THE LIFE OF 
 
 ing often in company), ta have ever seen him in- 
 toxicated ; nor was he at all given to drinking. 
 A stronger proof of the general sobriety of his 
 conduct need not be required than what I am 
 about to give. During the whole of the time we 
 lived in the farm of Lochlea with my father, he 
 allowed my brother and me such wages for our la- 
 bour as he gave to other labourers, as a part of 
 which, every article of our clothing manufactur- 
 ed in the family was regularly accounted for. 
 When my father's affairs drew near a crisis, Ro- 
 bert and I took the farm of Mossgiel, consisting 
 of 118 acres, at the rent of L.90 per annum (the 
 farm on which I live at present), from Mr Gavin 
 Hamilton, as an asylum for the family in case of 
 the worst. It was stocked by the property and 
 individual savings of the whole family, and was a 
 joint concern among us. Every member of the 
 family was allowed ordinary wages for the labour 
 he performed on the farm. My brother's allow- 
 ance and mine was seven pounds per annum each. 
 And during the whole time this family-concern 
 lasted, which was four years, as well as during 
 the preceding period at Lochlea, his expences 
 never in any one year exceeded his slender in- 
 come. As I was intrusted with the keeping of 
 the family accounts, it is not possible that there 
 can be any fallacy in this statement in my bro-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 75 
 
 ther's favour. His temperance and frugality were 
 every thing that could be wished. 
 
 " The farm of Mossgiel lies very high, and 
 mostly on a cold wet bottom. The first four 
 years that we were on the farm were very frosty, 
 and the spring was very late. Our crops in conse- 
 quence were very unprofitable ; and, notwith- 
 standing our utmost diligence and economy, we 
 found ourselves obliged to give up our bargain, 
 with the loss of a considerable part of our origi- 
 nal stock. It was during these four years that 
 Robert formed his connexion with Jean Armour, 
 afterwards Mrs Burns. This connexion could no 
 longer he concealed, about the time we came to a 
 final determination to quite the farm. Robert 
 durst not engage with a family in his poor un- 
 settled state, but was anxious to shield his partner 
 by every means in his power from the consequences 
 of their imprudence. It was agreed therefore be- 
 tween them, that they should make a legal ac- 
 knowledgment of an irregular and private mar- 
 riage ; that he should go to Jamaica to push his 
 fortune ; and that she should remain with her fa- 
 ther till it might please Providence to put the 
 means of supporting a family in his power. 
 
 " Mrs Burns was a great favourite of her fa- 
 ther's. The intimation of a private marriage was
 
 76 THE LITE OF 
 
 the first suggestion he received of her real situation. 
 He was in the greatest distress, and fainted away. 
 The marriage did not appear to him to make the 
 matter any better. A husband in Jamaica appeared 
 to him and to his wife little better than none, and 
 an effectual bar to any other prospects of a set- 
 tlement in life that their daughter might have. 
 They therefore expressed a wish to her, that the 
 written papers which respected the marriage should 
 be cancelled, and thus the marriage rendered void. 
 In her melancholy state she felt the deepest re- 
 morse at having brought such heavy affliction on 
 parents that loved her so tenderly, and submitted 
 to their entreaties. Their wish was mentioned 
 to Robert. He felt the deepest anguish of mind. 
 He offered to stay at home and provide for his 
 wife and family in the best manner that his daily 
 labours could provide for them ; that being the 
 only means in his power. Even this offer they 
 did not approve of; for humble as Miss Ar- 
 mour's station was, and great though her impru- 
 dence had been, she still, in the eyes of her par- 
 tial parents, might look to a better connexion 
 than that with my friendless and unhappy brother, 
 at that time without house or biding-place. Ro- 
 bert at length consented to their wishes ; but his 
 feelings on this occasion were of the most distract- 
 ing nature : and the impression of sorrow was not 
 effaced, till by a regular marriage they were in-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 77 
 
 dissolubly united. In the state of mind which 
 this separation produced, he wished to leave the 
 country as soon as possible, and agreed with Dr 
 Douglas to go out to Jamaica as an assistant over- 
 seer, or, as I believe it is called, a book-keeper, 
 on his estate. As he had not sufficient money to 
 pay his passage, and the vessel in which Dr Dou- 
 glas was to procure a passage for him was not ex- 
 pected to sail for some time, Mr Hamilton ad- 
 vised him to publish his poems in the mean time 
 by subscription, as a likely way of getting a little 
 money to provide him more liberally in neces- 
 saries for Jamaica. Agreeably to this advice, 
 subscription-bills were printed immediately, and 
 the printing was commenced at Kilmarnock, his 
 preparations going on at the same time for his 
 voyage. The reception however, which his 
 poems met with in the world, and the friends they 
 procured him, made him change his resolution 
 of going to Jamaica, and he was advised to go to 
 Edinburgh to publish a second edition. On his 
 return, in happier circumstances, he renewed his 
 connexion with Mrs Burns, and rendered it per- 
 manent by an union for life. 
 
 " Thus, Madam, have I endeavoured to give 
 you a simple narrative of the leading circum- 
 stances in my brother's early life. The remain- 
 ing part he spent in Edinburgh, or in Dumfries-
 
 78 THE LIFE OF 
 
 shire, and its incidents are as well known to you 
 as to me. His genius having procured him your 
 patronage and friendship, this gave rise to the 
 correspondence between you, in which, I believe 
 his sentiments were delivered with the most re- 
 spectful, but most unreserved confidence, and 
 which only terminated with the last days of his 
 life." 
 
 This narrative of Gilbert Burns may serve as a 
 commentary on the preceding sketch of our poet's 
 life by himself. It will be seen that the distrac- 
 tion of mind which he mentions (p. 53,) arose from 
 the distress and sorrow in which he had involved 
 his future wife. — The whole circumstances attend- 
 ing this connexion are certainly of a very singular 
 nature *. 
 
 The reader will perceive, from the foregoing 
 narrative, how much the children of William 
 Burnes were indebted to their father, who was 
 certainly a man of uncommon talents ; though 
 
 * In page 55, the Poet mentions his — " skulking from co- 
 vert to covert, under the terror of a jail." — The "pack of the 
 law" were " uncoupled at his heels," to oblige him to find 
 security for the maintenance of his twin-children, whom he 
 was not permitted to legitimate by a marriage with their mo- 
 ther.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 79 
 
 it does not appear that he possessed any portion 
 of that vivid imagination for which the subject of 
 these memoirs was distinguished. In page 44, it 
 is observed by our poet, that his father had an 
 unaccountable antipathy to dancing-schools, and 
 that his attending one of these brought on him 
 his displeasure, and even dislike. On this obser- 
 vation Gilbert has made the following remark, 
 which seems entitled to implicit credit : — " I 
 wonder how Robert could attribute to our father 
 that lasting resentment of his going to a dancing- 
 school against his will, of which he was incapable. 
 I believe the truth was, that he, about this time, 
 began to see the dangerous impetuosity of my 
 brother's passions, as well as his not being amen- 
 able to counsel, which often irritated my father ; 
 and which he would naturally think a dancing- 
 school was not likely to correct. But he was 
 proud of Robert's genius, which he bestowed 
 more expence in cultivating than on the rest of 
 the family, in the instances of sending him to 
 Ayr and Kirk- Oswald schools ; and he was great- 
 ly delighted with his warmth of heart, and his 
 conversational powers. He had indeed that dis- 
 like of dancing-schools which Robert mentions ; 
 but so far overcame it during Robert's first 
 month of attendance, that he allowed all the rest 
 of the family that were fit for it to accompany 
 him during the second month. Robert excelled in
 
 SO THE LIFE OF 
 
 dancing, and was for some time distractedly fond 
 of it." 
 
 In the original letter to Dr Moore, our poet 
 described his ancestors as " renting lands of the 
 noble Keiths of Marischal, and as having had the 
 honour of sharing their fate." " I do not," con- 
 tinues he, " use the word honour with any refe- 
 rence to political principles ; loyal and disloyal, I 
 take to be merely relative terms, in that ancient 
 and formidable court, known in this country by 
 the name of Club-law, where the right is always 
 with the strongest. But those who dare welcome 
 ruin, and shake hands with infamy, for what they 
 sincerely believe to be the cause of their God, or 
 their king, are, as Mark Antony says in Shake- 
 speare, of Brutus and Cassius, honourable men. I 
 mention this circumstance, because it threw my 
 father on the world at large," 
 
 This paragraph has been omitted in printing 
 the letter, at the desire of Gilbert Burns ; and 
 it would have been unnecessary to have noticed 
 it on the present occasion, had not several ma- 
 nuscript copies of that letter been in circula- 
 tion. " I do not know," observes Gilbert Burns, 
 " how my brother could be misled in the ac- 
 count he has given of the Jacobitism of his an- 
 cestors. — I believe the Earl Marischal forfeited
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 81 
 
 his title and estate in 1715, before my father was 
 born; and among a collection of parish-certificates 
 in his possession, I have read one, stating that the 
 bearer had no concern in the late wicked rebellion. 99 
 On the information of one who knew William 
 Burnes soon after he arrived in the county of Ayr, 
 it may be mentioned, that a report did prevail, 
 that he had taken the field with the young Che- 
 valier ; a report which the certificate mentioned 
 by his son was, perhaps, intended to counteract. 
 Strangers from the North, settling in the low 
 country of Scotland, were in those days liable to 
 suspicions, of having been, in the familiar phrase 
 of the country, " Out in the forty-five," (1745,) 
 especially when they had any stateliness or reserve 
 about them, as was the case with William Burnes. 
 It may easily be conceived, that our poet would 
 cherish the belief of his father's having been en- 
 gaged in the daring enterprise of Prince Charles 
 Edward. The generous attachment, the heroic 
 valour, and the final misfortunes of the adherents 
 of the house of Stuart, touched with sympathy his 
 youthful and ardent mind, and influenced his ori- 
 ginal political opinions*. The father of our poet 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
 * There is another observation of Gilbert Burns on his bro- 
 ther's narrative, in which some persons will be interested. It 
 refers to pages 39 and 40, where the poet speaks of his youth- 
 ful friends. " My brother," says Gilbert Burns, " seems to
 
 82 THE LIFE OF 
 
 is described by one who knew him towards the 
 latter end of his life, as above the common stature, 
 thin, and bent with labour. His countenance was 
 serious and expressive, and the scanty locks on 
 his head were grey. He was of a religious turn 
 of mind, and, as is usual among the Scottish pea- 
 
 set off his early companions in too consequential a manner. The 
 principal acquaintance we had in Ayr, while boys, were four 
 sons of Mr Andrew M'Culloch, a distant relation of my mo- 
 ther's, who kept a tea-shop, and had made a little money in the 
 contraband trade, very common at that time. He died while 
 the boys were young, and my father was nominated one 
 of the tutors. The two eldest were bred shop-keepers, the 
 third a surgeon, and the youngest, the only surviving one, was 
 bred in a counting-house in Glasgow, where he is now a re- 
 spectable merchant. I believe all these boys went to the West 
 Indies. Then there were two sons of Dr Malcolm, whom I have 
 mentioned in my letter to Mrs Dunlop. The eldest, a very wor- 
 thy young man, went to the East Indies, where he had a com- 
 mission in the army ; he is the person whose heart my brother 
 says the Manny Begum scenes could not corrupt. The other, by 
 the interest of Lady Wallace, got an ensign cy in a regiment 
 raised by the Duke of Hamilton, during the American war. I 
 believe neither of them are now (1797) alive. We also knew 
 the present Dr Paterson of Ayr, and a younger brother of his 
 now in Jamaica, who were much younger than us. I had al- 
 most forgot to mention Dr Charles of Ayr, who was a little 
 older than my brother, and with whom we had a longer and 
 closer intimacy than with any of the others, which did not, 
 however, continue in after life."
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 83 
 
 santry, a good deal conversant in speculative theo- 
 logy. There is in Gilbert's hands a little manual 
 of religious belief, in the form of a dialogue be- 
 tween a father and his son, composed by him for 
 the use of his children, in which the benevolence 
 of his heart seems to have led him to soften the 
 rigid Calvinism of the Scottish church, into some- 
 thing approaching to Arminianism. He was a de- 
 vout man, and in the practice of calling his family 
 together to join in prayer. It is known that the 
 following exquisite picture, in the Cotter's Sa- 
 turday Night, represents William Burnes and his 
 family at their evening devotions. 
 
 The cheerful supper done, with serious face, 
 
 They, round the ingle*, form a circle wide ; 
 The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 
 
 The big hall- Bible, once his father's pride : 
 His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
 
 His lyart haffets f wearing thin and bare ; 
 Those strains that once did sweet on Zion glide. 
 
 He wales % a portion with judicious care; 
 And " Let us worship God!" he says with solemn air. 
 
 They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
 
 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
 Perhaps Dundee's || wild warbling measures rise, 
 
 Or plaintive Ma?~tyrs || worthy of the name; 
 G 2 
 
 * Fire. f Grey temples. j; Chooses. 
 
 || Names of tunes in Scottish psalmody. The tunes mention- 
 ed in this poem are the three which were, used by William 
 Burnes, who had no greater variety.
 
 84 THE LIFE (51? 
 
 Or noble Elgin beets* the heavenly flame, 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays ; 
 
 Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
 The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
 No unison have they with our Creator's praise. 
 
 The priest-like father reads the sacred pagef , 
 
 How Abram was the friend of God on high ? 
 Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
 
 With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
 Or how the royal bard did groaning lie, 
 
 Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; 
 Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
 
 Or, rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire ; 
 Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 
 
 Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
 
 How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
 How he, who bore in heaven the second name, 
 
 Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
 How his first followers and servants sped ; 
 
 The precepts sage, they wrote to many a land; 
 How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
 
 Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand > 
 And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced, by Hea- 
 ven's command ! 
 
 Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, 
 The saint, the father, and the husband, prays ; 
 
 Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing, 
 That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 
 
 * Adds fuel to. 
 
 •f The course of family devotion among the Scots is, first tc* 
 sing a psalm, then to read a portion of scripture, and lastly to 
 kneel down in prayer.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 55 
 
 There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
 
 No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
 Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
 In such society, yet still more dear ; 
 While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 
 ###### 
 
 Then homeward all take off their several way ; 
 
 The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
 The parent pair their secret homage pay, 
 
 And offer up to Heaven the warm request, 
 That he who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
 
 And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
 Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 
 
 For them and for their little ones provide ; 
 But chiefly, in their hearts, with grace divine preside \ 
 
 Of a family so interesting as that which inhabit- 
 ed the cottage of William Burnes, and particularly 
 of the father of the family, the reader will per- 
 haps be veiling to listen to some farther account. 
 What follows is given by one already mentioned 
 with so much honour, in the narrative of Gil- 
 bert Burns, Mr Murdoch, the preceptor of our 
 poet, who, in a letter to Joseph Cooper Walker, 
 Esq. of Dublin, author of the Historical Memoir 
 of the Italian Tragedy, lately published, thus ex- 
 presses himself: 
 
 3
 
 86 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I was lately favoured with a letter 
 from our worthy friend the Rev. Wm. Adair, in 
 which he requested me to communicate to you 
 whatever particulars I could recollect concerning 
 Robert Burns, the Ayrshire poet. My business 
 being at present multifarious and harassing, my 
 attention is consequently so much divided, and I 
 am so little in the habit of expressing my thoughts 
 on paper, that at this distance of time I can give 
 but a very imperfect sketch of the early part of 
 the life of that extraordinary genius, with which 
 alone I am acquainted. 
 
 " William Burnes, the father of the poet, was 
 born in the shire of Kincardine, and bred a gar- 
 dener. He had been settled in Ayrshire ten or 
 twelve years before I knew him, and had been in 
 the service of Mr Crawford of Doonside. lie was 
 afterwards employed as a gardener and overseer 
 by Provost Ferguson of Doonholm, in the parish 
 of Alio way, which is now united with that of Ayr. 
 In this parish, on the road side, a Scotch mile and 
 a half from the town of Ayr, and half a mile from 
 the bridge of Doon, William Burnes took apiece of 
 land, consisting of about seven acres, part of which 
 he laid out in garden ground, and part of which
 
 ROBERT BURNS* 87 
 
 lie kept to graze a cow, &c, still continuing in 
 the employ of Provost Ferguson. Upon this little 
 farm was erected a humble dwelling, of which 
 William Burnes was the architect. It was, with 
 the exception of a little straw, literally a taber- 
 nacle of clay. 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 palace in Europe. The Cotter's Saturday 
 Night will give some idea of the temper and man- 
 ners that prevailed there. 
 
 " In ,1765, about the middle of March, Mr W. 
 Burnes came to Ayr, and seut to the school where 
 I was improving in writing, under my good friend 
 Mr Robison, desiring that I would come and speak 
 to him at a certain inn, and bring my writing- 
 book with me. This was immediately complied 
 with. Having examined my writing, he was 
 pleased with it — (you will readily allow he was 
 not difficult), and told me that he had received 
 very satisfactory information of Mr Tennant, the 
 master of the English school, concerning my im- 
 provement in English and in his method of teach- 
 ing. In the month of May following, I was engaged 
 by Mr Burnes, and four of his neighbours, to teach, 
 and accordingly began to teach the little school 
 at Alloway, which was situated a few yards from 
 the argillaceous fabric above-mentioned. My five
 
 88 THE LIFE OF 
 
 employers undertook to board me by tarns, and 
 to make up a certain salary, at the end of the year, 
 provided my quarterly payments from the differ- 
 ent pupils did not amount to that sum. 
 
 " My pupil, Robert Burns, was then between 
 six and seven years of age; his preceptor about ^ 
 eighteen. Robert, and his younger brother, Gil- 
 bert, had been grounded a little in English be- 
 fore they were put under my care. They both 
 made a rapid progress in reading, and a tolerable 
 progress in writing. In reading, dividing words 
 into syllables by rule, spelling without book, pars- 
 ing sentences, &c, Robert and Gilbert were ge- 
 nerally at the upper end of the class, even when 
 ranged with boys by far their seniors. The books 
 most commonly used in the school were the Spell- 
 ing Book, the New Testament, the Bible, Masson's 
 Collection of Prose and Verse, and Fisher's Eng- 
 lish Grammar. They committed to memory the 
 hymns, and other poems of that collection, with 
 uncommon facility. This facility was partly ow- 
 ing to the method pursued by their father and me 
 in instructing them, which was, to make them 
 thoroughly acquainted with the meaning of every 
 word in each sentence that was to be committed 
 to memory. By the bye, this may be easier done, 
 and at an earlier period, than is generally thought. 
 As soon as they were capable of it, I taught them
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 89 
 
 to turn verse into its natural prose order ; some- 
 times to substitute synonymous expressions for 
 poetical words, and to supply all the ellipses. 
 These, you know, are the means of knowing that 
 the pupil understands his author. These are ex- 
 cellent helps to the arrangement of words in sen- 
 tences, as well as to a variety of expression. 
 
 " Gilbert always appeared to me to 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, had been asked which of them was the 
 most likely to court the muses, he would surely 
 never have guessed that Robert had a propensity 
 of that kind. 
 
 " In the year 1767, Mr Burnes quitted his 
 mud edifice, and took possession of a farm (Mount 
 Oliphant) of his own improving, while in the ser- 
 vice of Provost Ferguson. This farm being at a
 
 90 THE LIFE OP 
 
 considerable distance from the school, the boys 
 could not attend regularly ; and some changes 
 taking place among the other supporters of the 
 school, I left it, having continued to conduct it 
 for nearly two years and a half. 
 
 " In the year 1772, I was appointed (being 
 one of five candidates who were examined), to 
 teach the English school at Ayr; and in 1773, 
 Robert Burns came to board and lodge with me, 
 for the purpose of revising English grammar, &c. 
 that he might be better qualified to instruct his 
 brothers and sisters at home. He was now with 
 me day and night, in school, at all meals, and in 
 all my walks. At the end of one week, I told 
 him, that, as he was now pretty much master of 
 the parts of speech, &c. I should like to teach 
 him something of French pronunciation, that 
 when he should meet with the name of a French 
 town, ship, officer, or the like, in the newspapers, 
 he might be able to pronounce it something like a 
 French word. Robert was glad to hear this pro- 
 posal, and immediately we attacked the French 
 with great courage. 
 
 " Now there was little else to be heard but 
 the declension of nouns, the conjugation of verbs, 
 &c. When walking together, and even at meals, 
 I was constantly telling him the names of differ-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 91 
 
 ent objects, as they presented themselves, in 
 French ; so that he was hourly laying in a stock 
 cf words, and sometimes little phrases. In short, 
 he took such pleasure in learning, and I in teach- 
 ing, that it was difficult to say which of the two 
 was most zealous in the business ; and about the 
 end of the second week of our study of the French, 
 we began to read a little of the Adventures of 
 Telemachus, in Fenelon's own words. 
 
 " But now the plains of Mount Oliphant be- 
 gan to whiten, and Robert was summoned to re- 
 linquish the pleasing scenes that surrounded the 
 grotto of Calypso, and, armed with a sickle, to 
 seek glory by signalizing himself in the fields of 
 Ceres — and so he did ; for although but about 
 fifteen, I was told that he performed the work 
 of a man. 
 
 " Thus was I deprived of my very apt pupil, 
 and consequently agreeable companion, at the 
 end of three weeks, one of which was spent en- 
 tirely in the study of English, and the other two 
 chiefly in that of French. I did not, however, 
 lose sight of him ; but was a frequent visitant at 
 his father's house, when I had my half-holiday, 
 and very often went accompanied with one or two 
 persons more intelligent than myself, that good 
 William Burnes might enjoy a mental feast. —
 
 92 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Then the labouring oar was shifted to some other 
 hand. The father and the son sat down with us, 
 when we enjoyed a conversation, wherein solid 
 reasoning, sensible remark, and a moderate sea- 
 soning of jocularity, were so nicely blended as to 
 render it palatable to all parties. Robert had a 
 hundred questions to ask me about the French, 
 &c. ; and the father, who had always rational in- 
 formation in view, had still some question to pro- 
 pose to my more learned friends, upon moral or 
 natural philosophy, or some such interesting sub- 
 ject. Mrs Burnes too was of the party as much 
 as possible ; 
 
 t But still the house affairs would draw her thenca, 
 Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear, 
 Devour up their discourse 1 * 
 
 and particularly that of her husbands At all 
 times, and in all companies, she listened to him 
 with a more marked attention than to any body 
 else. When under the necessity of being absent 
 while he was speaking, she seemed to regret, as 
 a real loss, that she had missed what the good- 
 man had said. This worthy woman, Agnes 
 Brown, had the most thorough esteem for her 
 husband of any woman I ever knew. I can by 
 no means wonder that she highly esteemed him ; 
 for I myself have always considered William
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 93 
 
 Burnes as by far the best of the human race that 
 ever I had the pleasure of being acquainted with — 
 and many a worthy character I have known. I 
 can cheerfully join with Robert in the last line of 
 his epitaph (borrowed from Goldsmith), 
 
 < And ev'n his failings leanM to virtue's side.' 
 
 " He was an excellent husband, if I may judge 
 from his assiduous attention to the ease and com- 
 fort of his worthy partner, and from her affection- 
 ate behaviour to him, as well as her unwearied at- 
 tention to the duties of a mother. 
 
 <c He was a tender and affectionate father ; lie 
 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, when he 
 did rebuke, he was listened to with a kind of re- 
 verential awe. A look of disapprobation was felt ; 
 a reproof was severely so : and a 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. 
 
 ct He had the art of gaining the esteem and 
 good-will of those that were labourers under
 
 94 THE LIFE OP 
 
 him. I think I 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 inuendoes and double entendres. Were 
 every foul-mouth'd old man to receive a season- 
 able check in this way, it would be to the advan- 
 tage of the rising generation. As he w r as at no 
 time overbearing to inferiors, he was equally in- 
 capable of that passive, pitiful, paltry spirit, that 
 induces some people to keep booing and booing in 
 the presence of a great man. He always treated 
 superiors with a becoming respect ; but he never 
 gave the smallest encouragement to aristocratical 
 arrogance. But I must not pretend to give you 
 a description of all the manly qualities, the ra- 
 tional and Christian virtues of the venerable 
 William Burnes. Time would fail me. I shall 
 only add, that he carefully practised every known 
 duty, and avoided every thing that was crimi- 
 nal ; or, in the apostle's words, Herein did lie 
 exercise himself, in living a life void of offence to- 
 wards God and towards men. O for a world of 
 men of such dispositions ! We should then have 
 no wars. 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 mausole-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 95 
 
 urn of the friend of my youth overtop and sur- 
 pass most of the monuments I see in Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 " Although I cannot do justice to the charac- 
 ter of this worthy man, yet you will perceive, 
 from these few particulars, what kind of person 
 had the principal hand in the education of our 
 poet. He spoke the English language with more 
 propriety (both with respect to diction and pro- 
 nunciation), than any man I ever knew with no 
 greater advantages. This had a very good effect 
 on the boys, who began to talk, and reason like 
 men, much sooner than their neighbours. I do 
 not recollect any of their cotemporaries, at my 
 little seminary, who afterwards made any great 
 figure as literary characters, except Dr Tennant, 
 who was chaplain to Colonel Fullarton's regi- 
 ment, and who is now in the East Indies. He is 
 a man of genius and learning j yet affable, and 
 free from pedantry. 
 
 *' Mr Burnes, in a short time, found that he had 
 over-rated Mount Oliphant, and that he could 
 not rear his numerous family upon it. — After be- 
 ing there some years, he removed to Lochlea, in 
 the parish of Tarbolton, where, I believe, Robert 
 wrote most of his poems.
 
 9Q THE LIFE OF 
 
 " But here, Sir, you will permit me to pause. 
 I can tell you but little more relative to our poet. 
 I shall, however, in my next, send you a copy of 
 one of his letters to me, about the year 1783 *. 
 I received one since, but it is mislaid. Please 
 remember me, in the best manner, to my worthy 
 friend Mr Adair, when you see him or write to 
 him. 
 
 " Hart Street, Bloomshury Square, 
 London, Feb. 22, 1799." 
 
 As the narrative of Gilbert Burns was written 
 at a time when he was ignorant of the existence 
 of the preceding narrative of his brother, so this 
 letter of Mr Murdoch was written without his 
 having any knowledge that either of his pupils 
 had been employed on the same subject. The 
 three relations serve, therefore, not merely to il- 
 lustrate, but to authenticate each other. Though 
 the information they convey might have been 
 presented within a shorter compass, by reducing 
 the whole into one unbroken narrative, it is scarce- 
 ly to be doubted, that the intelligent reader will 
 be far more gratified by a sight of these original 
 documents themselves. 
 
 See Voh'u. p. 1.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 97 
 
 Under the humble roof of his parents, it appears 
 indeed that our poet had great advantages; but his 
 opportunities of information at school were more li- 
 mitted as to time than they usually are among his 
 countrymen, in his condition of life ; and the ac- 
 quisitions which he made, and the poetical talent 
 which he exerted, under the pressure of early and 
 incessant toil, and of inferior, and perhaps scanty 
 nutriment, testify at once the extraordinary force 
 and activity of his mind. In his frame of body he 
 rose nearly to five feet ten inches, and assumed 
 the proportions that indicate agility as well as 
 strength. In the various labours of the farm he 
 excelled all his competitors. Gilbert Burns de- 
 clares, that in mowing, the exercise that tries 
 all the muscles most severely, Robert was the 
 only man that, at the end of a summer's day, 
 he was ever obliged to acknowledge as his mas- 
 ter. But though our poet gave the powers of 
 his body to the labours of the farm, he refused 
 to bestow on them his thoughts or his cares. 
 While the ploughshare under his guidance 
 passed through the sward, or the grass fell un- 
 der the sweep of his scythe, he was humming 
 the songs of his country, musing on the deeds 
 of ancient valour, or rapt in the illusions of 
 Fancy, as her enchantments rose on his view. 
 Happily the Sunday is yet a sabbath, on which 
 man and beast rest from their labours. On this 
 
 VOL. i. h
 
 98 THE LIFE OF 
 
 day, therefore, Burns could indulge in a freer in- 
 tercourse with the charms of nature. It was his 
 delight to wander alone on the banks of the Ayr, 
 whose stream is now immortal, and to listen to the 
 song of the blackbird at the close of the summer's 
 day. But still greater was his pleasure, as he 
 himself informs us, in walking on the sheltered 
 side of a wood, in a cloudy winter-day, and hear- 
 ing the storm rave among the trees j and more 
 elevated still his delight, to ascend some eminence 
 during the agitations of nature, to stride along its 
 summit, while the lightning flashed around him, 
 and, amidst the bowlings of the tempest, to apo- 
 strophize the spirit of the storm. Such situations 
 he declares most favourable to devotion — " Rapt 
 in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend towards Him who 
 walks on the wings of the wind /" If other proofs 
 were wanting of the character of his genius, this 
 might determine it. The heart of the poet is 
 peculiarly awake to every impression of beauty 
 and sublimity ; but, with the higher order of 
 poets, the beautiful is less attractive than the su- 
 blime. 
 
 The gaiety of many of Burns's writings, and 
 the lively, and even cheerful colouring with 
 which he has pourtrayed his own character, may 
 lead some persons to suppose, that the melan- 
 choly which hung over him towards the end of
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 99 
 
 his days, was not an original part of his constitu- 
 tion. It is not to be doubted indeed, that this me- 
 lancholy acquired a darker hue in the progress of 
 his life ; but, independent bf his own and of his 
 brother's testimony, evidence is to be found among 
 his papers, that he was subject very early to those 
 depressions of mind, which are perhaps not wholly 
 separable from the sensibility of genius, but which 
 in him rose to an uncommon degree. The follow- 
 ing letter, addressed to his father, will serve as a 
 proof of this observation. It was written at the 
 time when he was learning the business of a flax- 
 dresser, and is dated 
 
 " Irvine, Dec. 27, 1781. 
 " 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 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE LIFE 01? 
 
 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 a little lightened, I glimmer a little 
 into futurity; but my principal, and indeed my on- 
 ly pleasurable employment, is looking backwards 
 and forwards in a moral and religious way. I am 
 quite transported at the thought, that ere long, per- 
 haps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the 
 pains and uneasinesses, and disquietudes of this 
 weary life ; for I assure you I am heartily tired 
 of it ; and, if I do not very much deceive my- 
 self, I could contentedly and gladly resign it. 
 
 ' The soul, uneasy, and confin'd at home, 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come.'' 
 
 " It is for this reason I am more pleased with 
 the 15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chap- 
 ter 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*. 
 
 * The verses of Scripture here alluded to, are as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 1.5. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him 
 day and night in his temple , and he that sitteth on the throne 
 shall dwell anions them.
 
 HOBERT BURNS. 101 
 
 As for this 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 altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of this 
 life. I foresee that poverty and obscurity proba- 
 bly await me, and I am in some measure prepar- 
 ed, and daily preparing to meet them. I have 
 but just time and paper to return you my grate- 
 ful thanks for the lessons of virtue and piety you 
 have given me, which were too much neglected 
 at the time of giving them, but which, I hope, 
 have been remembered ere it is yet too late. 
 Present my dutiful respects to my mother, and 
 my compliments to Mr and Mrs Muir ; and, with 
 wishing you a merry New-year's-day, I shall con- 
 clude. 
 
 " I am, honoured Sir, 
 " Your dutiful son, 
 
 " Robert Burns." 
 
 " P. S. My meal is nearly out j but I am going 
 to borrow, till I get more." 
 
 16. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; nei* 
 ther 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 aivay all tears from their eyes.
 
 102 THE LIFE OF 
 
 This letter, 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 a mind conscious 
 of its strength. At Irvine, Burns at this time 
 possessed a single room for his lodging, rented 
 perhaps at the rate of a shilling a- week. He pas- 
 sed his days in constant labour as a flax-dresser, 
 and his food consisted chiefly of oatmeal 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 bor- 
 row 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, shews 
 how ardently he wished for honourable fame ; 
 and his contempt of life, founded on this despair, 
 is the genuine expression of a youthful and ge- 
 nerous mind. In such a state of reflection, and 
 of suffering, the imagination of Burns naturally 
 passed the dark boundaries of our earthly hori- 
 zon, and rested on those beautiful representa- 
 tions of a better world, where there is neither 
 thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and where hap- 
 piness shall be in proportion to the capacity of 
 happiness.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 103 
 
 Such a disposition is far from being at variance 
 with social enjoyments. Those who have studied 
 the affinities of mind, know that a melancholy of 
 this description, after a while, seeks relief in the 
 endearments of society, and that it has no distant 
 connection with the flow of cheerfulness, or even 
 the extravagance of mirth. It was a few days 
 after the writing of this letter that our poet, " in 
 giving a welcoming carousal to the new year, with 
 his gay companions," suffered his flax to catch 
 fire, and his shop to be consumed to ashes. 
 
 The energy of Burns's mind was not exhaust- 
 ed by his daily labours, the effusions of his muse, 
 his social pleasures, or his solitary meditations. 
 Some time previous to his engagement as a flax- 
 dresser, having heard that a debating club had 
 been established in Ayr, he resolved to try how 
 such a meeting would succeed in the vilJage of 
 Tarbolton. About the end of the year 1780, 
 our poet, his brother, and five other young pea- 
 sants of the neighbourhood, formed themselves 
 into a society of this sort, the declared objects 
 of which were to relax themselves after toil, to 
 promote sociality and friendship, and to im- 
 prove the mind. The laws and regulations 
 were furnished by Burns. The members were 
 to meet after the labours of the day were over, 
 once a-week, in a small public-house in the
 
 104 THE LIFE OP 
 
 village ; where each should offer his opinion on a 
 given question or subject, supporting it by such 
 arguments as he thought proper. The debate' 
 was to be conducted with order and decorum j 
 and after it was finished, the members were to 
 choose a subject for discussion at the ensuing 
 meeting. The sum expended by each, was not 
 to exceed three-pence ; and, with the humble po- 
 tation that this could procure, they were to toast 
 their mistresses, and to cultivate friendship with 
 each other. This society continued its meetings 
 regularly for some time ; and in the autumn of 
 1782, wishing to preserve some account of their 
 proceedings, they purchased a book, into which 
 their laws and regulations were copied, with a pre- 
 amble, containing a short history of their transac- 
 tions down to that period. This curious docu- 
 ment, which is evidently the work of our poet, 
 has been discovered, and it deserves a place in his 
 memoirs, 
 
 " History of the Rise, Proceedings, and, Regula- 
 tions of the Bachelor's Club. 
 
 i Of birth or blood we do not boast, 
 Nor gentry does our club afford ; 
 But ploughmen and mechanics we 
 In Nature's simple dress record.' 
 
 " As the great end of human society is to 
 become wiser and better, this ought therefore
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 105 
 
 to be the principal view of every man in every sta- 
 tion of life. But as experience has taught us, 
 that such studies as inform the head anil mend the 
 heart, when long continued, are apt to exhaust the 
 faculties of the mind, it has been found proper to 
 relieve and unbend the mind by some employ- 
 ment or another, that may be agreeable enough 
 to keep its powers in exercise, but at the same 
 time not so serious as to exhaust them. But su- 
 peradded to this, by far the greater part of 
 mankind are under the necessity of earning the 
 sustenance of human life by the labour of their bodies, 
 whereby, not only the faculties of the mind, but 
 the nerves and sinews of the body, are so fatigued, 
 that it is absolutely necessary to have recourse to 
 some amusement or diversion, to relieve the wearied 
 man worn down with the necessary labours of life. 
 
 " As the best of things, however, have been 
 perverted to the worst of puiposes, so, under the 
 pretence of amusement and diversion, men have 
 plunged into all the madness of riot and dissipa- 
 tion ; and, instead of attending to the grand design 
 of human life, they have begun with extravagance 
 and folly, and ended with guilt and wretchedness. 
 Impressed with these considerations, we, the fol- 
 lowing lads in the parish of Tarbolton, viz. Hugh 
 Reid, Robert Burns, Gilbert Burns, Alexander 
 Brown, Walter Mitchel, Thomas Wright, and
 
 106 THE LIFE OP 
 
 William M'Gavin, resolved, for our mutual enter- 
 tainment, to unite ourselves into a club or society, 
 under such rules and regulations, that while we 
 should forget our cares and labours in mirth and 
 diversion, we might not transgress the bounds of 
 innocence and decorum ; and after agreeing on 
 these, and some other regulations, we held our 
 first meeting at Tarbolton, in the house of John 
 Richard, upon the evening of the 11th of No- 
 vember, 1780, commonly called Hallowe'en, and 
 after choosing Robert Burns president for the 
 night, we proceeded to debate on this question 
 — Suppose a young man, bred a farmer , but with- 
 out any fortune, has it in his power to marry either 
 of two women, the one a girl of large fortune, 
 hut neither handsome in person, nor agreeable in con- 
 versation, 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 
 behaviour, but without any fortune : which of them 
 shall he choose ? Finding ourselves very happy in 
 our society, we resolved to continue to meet once 
 a-month in the same house, in the way and man- 
 ner proposed, and shortly thereafter we chose 
 Robert Ritchie for another member. In May, 
 1781, we brought in David Sillar *, and in June, 
 
 * The person to whom Burns addressed his Epistle to Davie, 
 a brother poet.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 107 
 
 Adam Jamaison, as members. About the begin- 
 ning of the year 1782, we admitted Matthew 
 Patterson, and John Orr, and in June following 
 we chose James Patterson as a proper brother 
 for such a society. The club being thus increas- 
 ed, we resolved to meet at Tarbolton on the race- 
 night, the July following, and have a dance in 
 honour of our society. Accordingly we did meet, 
 each one with a partner, and spent the evening in 
 such innocence and merriment, such cheerfulness 
 and good humour, that every brother will long 
 remember it with pleasure and delight." To this 
 preamble are subjoined the rules and regula- 
 tions*. 
 
 The philosophical mind will dwell with interest 
 and pleasure on an institution that combined so 
 skilfully the means of instruction and of happi- 
 ness ; and if grandeur look down with a smile on 
 these simple annals, let us trust that it will be a 
 smile of benevolence and approbation. It is with 
 regret that the sequel of the history of the Ba- 
 chelor's Club of Tarbolton must be told. It sur- 
 vived several years after our poet removed from 
 Ayrshire, but no longer sustained by his talents, 
 or cemented by his social affections, its meetings 
 lost much of their attraction ; and at length, in 
 
 * For which see Appendix, No. II, Note C.
 
 108 THE LIFE OP 
 
 an evil hour, dissension arising amongst its mem- 
 bers, the institution was given up, and the re- 
 cords committed to the flames. Happily the pre- 
 amble and the regulations were spared ; and, as 
 matter of instruction and of example, they are 
 transmitted to posterity. 
 
 After the family of our bard removed from 
 Tarbolton to the neighbourhood of Mauchline, he 
 and his brother were requested to assist in form- 
 ing a similar institution there. The regulations 
 of the club at Mauchline were nearly the same as 
 those of the club at Tarbolton ; but one laudable 
 alteration was made. The fines for non-attend- 
 ance had at Tarbolton been spent in enlarging 
 their scanty potations : at Mauchline it was fixed, 
 that the money so arising, should be set apart for 
 the purchase of books ; and the first work pro- 
 cured in this manner was the Mirror, the separate 
 numbers of which were at that time recently col- 
 lected and published in volumes. After it fol- 
 lowed a number of other works, chiefly of the 
 same nature, and among these the Lounger. The 
 society of Mauchline still subsists, and was in the 
 list of subscribers to the first edition of the works 
 of its celebrated associate, 
 
 The members of these two societies were ori- 
 ginally all young men from the country, and
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 109 
 
 chiefly sons of farmers ; a description of persons, 
 in the opinion of our poet, more agreeable in 
 their manners, more virtuous in their conduct, and 
 more susceptible of improvement, than the self- 
 sufficient mechanic of country towns. With de- 
 ference to the Conversation-society of Mauchline, 
 it may be doubted, whether the books which they 
 purchased were of a kind best adapted to pro- 
 mote the interest and happiness of persons in this 
 situation of life. The Mirror and the Lounger, 
 though works of great merit, may be said, on a 
 general view of their contents, to be less calcu- 
 lated to increase the knowledge, than to refine the 
 taste of those who read them ; and to this last 
 object their morality itself, which is however al- 
 ways perfectly pure, may be considered as subor- 
 dinate. As works of taste, they deserve great 
 praise. They are, indeed, refined to a high de- 
 gree of delicacy ; and to this circumstance it is 
 perhaps owing, that they exhibit little or nothing 
 of the peculiar manners of the age or country in 
 which they were produced. But delicacy of 
 taste, though the source of many pleasures, is not 
 without some disadvantages ; and to render it 
 desirable, the possessor should perhaps in all 
 cases be raised above the necessity of bodily la- 
 bour, unless indeed we should include under this 
 term the exercise of the imitative arts, over 
 which taste immediately presides. Delicacy of
 
 HO THE LIFE OF 
 
 taste may be a blessing to him who has the dispo- 
 sal of his own time, and who can choose what 
 book he shall read, of what diversion he shall par- 
 take, and what company he shall keep. To men 
 so situated, the cultivation of taste affords a grate- 
 ful occupation in itself, and opens a path to many 
 other gratifications. To men of genius, in the 
 possession of opulence and leisure, the cultivation 
 of the taste may be said to be essential ; since it 
 affords employment to those faculties, which, 
 without employment, would destroy the happi- 
 ness of the possessor, and corrects that morbid 
 sensibility, or, to use the expression of Mr Hume, 
 that delicacy of passion, which is the bane of the 
 temperament of genius. Happy had it been for 
 our bard, after he emerged from the condition of 
 a peasant, had the delicacy of his taste equalled 
 the sensibility of his passions, regulating all the 
 effusions of his muse, • and presiding over all his 
 social enjoyments. But to the thousands who 
 share the original condition of Burns, and who 
 are doomed to pass their lives in the station in 
 which they were born, delicacy of taste, were it 
 even of easy attainment, would, if not a positive 
 evil, be at least a doubtful blessing. Delicacy of 
 taste may make many necessary labours irksome 
 or disgusting ; and should it render the culti- 
 vator of the soil unhappy in his situation, it 
 presents no means by which that situation may
 
 ROBERT BURNS. Ill 
 
 be improved. Taste and literature, which diffuse 
 so many charms throughout society, which some- 
 times secure to their votaries distinction while 
 living, and which still more frequently obtain for 
 them posthumous fame, seldom procure opulence, 
 or even independence, when cultivated with the 
 utmost attention, and can scarcely be pursued 
 with advantage by the peasant in the short inter- 
 vals of leisure which his occupations allow. Those 
 who raise themselves from the condition of daily 
 labour, are usually men who excel in the practice 
 of some useful art, or who join habits of industry 
 and sobriety to an acquaintance with some of the 
 more common branches of knowledge. The pen- 
 manship of Butterworth, and the arithmetic of 
 Cocker, may be studied by men in the humblest 
 walks of life ; and they will assist the peasant 
 more in the pursuit of independence, than the 
 study of Homer or of Shakespeare, though he 
 could comprehend, and even imitate, the beauties 
 of those immortal bards. 
 
 These observations are not offered without some 
 portion of doubt and hesitation. The subject 
 has many relations, and would justify an ample 
 discussion. It may be observed, on the other 
 hand, that the first step to improvement is to a- 
 waken the desire of improvement, and that this 
 will be most effectually done by such reading as
 
 112 THE LIFE OF 
 
 interests the heart and excites the imagination," 
 The greater part of the sacred writings them- 
 selves, which in Scotland are more especially the 
 manual of the poor, come under this description. 
 It may be farther observed, that every human be- 
 ing is the proper judge of his own happiness, and, 
 within the path of innocence, ought to be per- 
 mitted to pursue it. Since it is the taste of the 
 Scottish peasantry to give a preference to works 
 of taste and of fancy*, it may be presumed they 
 find a superior gratification in the perusal of such 
 works ; and it may be added, that it is of more 
 consequence they should be made happy in their 
 original condition, than furnished with the means, 
 or with the desire, of rising above it. Such con- 
 siderations are doubtless of much weight ; never- 
 theless, the previous reflections may deserve to be 
 examined, and here we shall leave the subject. 
 
 Though the records of the society at Tar- 
 bolton are lost, and those of the society at 
 Mauchline have not been transmitted, yet we 
 
 * In several lists of book-societies among the poorer classes 
 in Scotland which the Editor has seen, works of this descrip- 
 tion form a great part. These societies are by no means 
 general, and it is not supposed that they are increasing at 
 present.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 113 
 
 mav safely affirm, that our poet was a distinguish- 
 ed member of both these associations, which were 
 well calculated to excite and to develope the 
 powers of his mind. From seven to twelve per- 
 sons constituted the society at Tarbolton, and 
 such a number is best suited to the purposes of 
 information. Where this is the object of these 
 societies, the number should be such, that each 
 person may have an opportunity of imparting his 
 sentiments, as well as of receiving those of others; 
 and the powers of private conversation are to be 
 employed, not those of public debate. A limit- 
 ed society of this kind, where the subject of con- 
 versation is fixed beforehand, so that each mem- 
 ber may revolve it previously in his mind, is per- 
 haps one of the happiest contrivances hitherto 
 discovered for shortening the acquisition of know- 
 ledge, and hastening the evolution of talents. 
 Such an association requires indeed somewhat 
 more of regulation than the rides of politeness 
 establish in common conversation ; or rather, 
 perhaps, it requires that the rules of politeness, 
 which in animated conversation are liable to per- 
 petual violation, should be vigorously enforced. 
 The order of speech established in the club at 
 Tarbolton, appears to have been more regular 
 than was required in so small a society * ; where 
 
 VOL. T. I 
 
 * See Appendix, No. XI. Note C.
 
 114' -THE L-IFE OF 
 
 all that is necessary seems to be, the fixing on s 
 member to whom every speaker shall address him- 
 self, and who shall in return secure the speaker 
 from interruption. Conversation, which among 
 men whom intimacy and friendship have relieved 
 from reserve and restraint, is liable, when left to 
 itself, to so many inequalities, and wkich> as it 
 becomes rapid, so often diverges into separate and 
 collateral branches, in which it is dissipated and 
 lost, being kept within its channel by a simple li- 
 mitation of this kind, which practice renders easy 
 and familiar, flows along in one full stream, and 
 becomes smoother, and clearer, and deeper, as it 
 flows. It may also be observed, that in this way 
 the acquisition of knowledge becomes more plea- 
 sant and more easy, from the gradual improve- 
 ment of the faculty employed to convey it. Though 
 some attention has been paid to the eloquence of 
 the senate and the bar, wmich in this, as in all 
 other free governments, is productive of so much 
 influence to the few who excel in it, yet little re- 
 gard has been paid to the humbler exercise of 
 •speech in private conversation, an art that is of 
 consequence to every description of persons under 
 every form of government, and on which eloquence 
 of every kind ought perhaps to be founded. 
 
 The first requisite of every kind of elocution, a 
 distinct utterance, is the offspring of much time.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 115 
 
 and of long practice. Children are always de- 
 fective in clear articulation, and so are young peo- 
 ple, though in a less degree. What is called slur- 
 ring in speech, prevails with some persons through 
 life, especially in those who are taciturn. Arti- 
 culation does not seem to reach its utmost degree 
 of distinctness in men before the age of twenty, 
 or upwards ; in women it reaches this point some- 
 what earlier. Female occupations require much 
 use of speech, because they are duties in detail. 
 Besides, their occupations being generally seden- 
 tary, the respiration is left at liberty. Their 
 nerves being more delicate, their sensibility as 
 well as fancy is more lively ; the natural conse- 
 quence of which is, a more frequent utterance of 
 thought, a greater fluency of speech, and a dis- 
 tinct articulation at an earlier age. But in men 
 who have not mingled early and familiarly with 
 the world, though rich perhaps in knowledge, and 
 clear in apprehension, it is often painful to ob- 
 serve the difficulty with which their ideas are com- 
 municated by speech, through the want of those 
 habits, that connect thoughts, words, and sounds 
 together ; w T hich, when established, seem as if they 
 had arisen spontaneously, but which, in truth, are 
 the result of long and painful practice, and when 
 analyzed, exhibit the phenomena of most curious 
 and complicated association. 
 
 t 2
 
 116 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Societies then, such as we have been describ- 
 ing, while they may be said to put each member in 
 possession of the knowledge of all the rest, im- 
 prove the powers of utterance, and by the colli- 
 sion of opinion, excite the faculties of reason and 
 reflection. To those who wish to improve their 
 minds in such intervals of labour a* the condition 
 of a peasant allows, this method of abbreviating 
 instruction, may, under proper regulations, be 
 highly useful. To the student, whose opinions, 
 springing out of solitary observation and medita- 
 tion, are seldom in the first instance correct, and 
 which have notwithstanding, while confined tc* 
 himself, an increasing tendency to assume in his 
 own eye the character of demonstrations, an as- 
 sociation of this kind, where they may be examin- 
 ed as they arise, is of the utmost importance ; 
 since it may prevent those illusions of imagination, 
 by which genius being bewildered,, science is of- 
 ten debased, and error propagated through suc- 
 cessive generations. And to men who, having 
 cultivated letters, or general science, in the course 
 of their education, are engaged in the active oc- 
 cupations of life, and no longer able to devote to 
 study or to books the time requisite for improving 
 or preserving their acquisitions, associations of this 
 kind, where the mind may unbend from its usual 
 cares in discussions of literature or science, afford
 
 KOBEUT BURNS. ] 17 
 
 the most pleasing, the most useful, and the most 
 rational of gratifications *. 
 
 Whether, in the humble societies of which he 
 was a member, Burns acquired much direct in- 
 formation, may perhaps be questioned. It can- 
 not however be doubted, that by collision, the 
 faculties of his mind would be excited, that by 
 practice, his habits of enunciation would be esta- 
 blished, and thus we have some explanation of 
 that early command of words and of expression 
 which enabled him to pour forth his thoughts in 
 language not unworthy of his genius, and which, 
 of all his endowments, seemed, on his appearance 
 
 * When letters and philosophy were cultivated in ancieoi 
 Greece, the press had not multiplied the tablets of learning 
 and science, and necessity produced the habit of studying as 
 it were in common. Poets were found reciting their own 
 verses in public assemblies ; in public schools only philoso- 
 phers delivered their speculations. The taste of the hearers, 
 the ingenuity of the scholars, were employed in appreciating- 
 and examining the works cf fancy and ©f speculation submitted 
 to their consideration, and the irrevocable words were noe 
 given to the world before the composition, as well as the sen- 
 timents, were again and again retouched and unproved. Death 
 alone put the last seal on the labours of genius. Hence, per- 
 haps, may be in part explained the extraordinary art and ^k;ii 
 with which the monuments of Grecian literature that remain 
 ■tp. us, appear to have been constructed.
 
 IIS THE LIFE OF 
 
 in Edinburgh, the most extraordinary *. For as- 
 sociations of a literary nature, our poet acquired 
 a considerable relish ; and happy had it been for 
 him, after he emerged from the condition of a 
 peasant, if fortune had permitted him to enjoy 
 them in the degree of which he was capable, so as 
 to have fortified his principles of virtue by the 
 purification of his taste, and given to the energies 
 of his mind habits of exertion that might have ex- 
 cluded other associations, in which it must be 
 acknowledged they were too often wasted, as well 
 as debased. 
 
 * It appears that our Poet made more preparation than 
 might be supposed, for the discussions of the society at Tar- 
 bolton — There were found some detached memoranda, evi- 
 dently prepared for these meetings ; and, among others, the 
 heads of a speech on the question mentioned in p. 106, in 
 which, as might be expected, he takes the imprudent side of 
 the question. The following may serve as a farther specimen 
 of the questions debated in the society at Tarbolton : — Whe- 
 ther do tvc derive more happiness from love or friendship'? — Whe. 
 ther between friends, toho have no reason to doubt each other's 
 friendship, there should be any reserve?— Whether is the savage 
 man, or the peasant of a civilized country, in the most happy si- 
 tuation ? — Whether is a young man of the loiver ranks of life 
 likeliest to be happy, ivho has got a good education, and his mind 
 ivell informed, or he xvho has just the education and information 
 of those around him ?
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 119 
 
 The whole course of the Ayr is fine ; but the 
 Ibanks of that river, as it bends to the eastward 
 above Mauchline, are singularly beautiful, and 
 they were frequented, as may be imagined, by our 
 poet in his solitary walks. Here the muse often vi- 
 sited him. In one of these wanderings, he met 
 among the w r oods a celebrated Beauty of the west 
 of Scotland ; a lady, of whom it is said, that the 
 charms of her person correspond with the charac- 
 ter of her mind. This incident gave rise, as might 
 be expected, to a poem, of which an account will 
 be found in the following letter, in which he en- 
 closed it to the object of his inspiration : 
 
 To Miss 
 
 « Mossgiel, nth Nov. 1786. 
 * e Madam, 
 
 " Poets are such outre beings, so much the 
 children of wayward fancy and capricious whim, 
 that I believe the world generally allows them a 
 larger latitude in the laws of propriety, than the 
 sober sons of judgment and prudence. I mention 
 this as an apology for the liberties that a nameless 
 stranger has taken with you in the enclosed poem, 
 which he begs leave to present you with. Whe- 
 ther it has poetical merit any way worthy of the
 
 120 THE LIFE OF 
 
 theme, I am not the proper judge ; but it is the 
 best my abilities can produce ; and what to a good 
 heart will perhaps be a superior grace, it is equal- 
 ly sincere as fervent. 
 
 " The scenery was nearly taken from real life, 
 though I dare say, Madam, you do not recollect 
 it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the poetic re- 
 fveur as he wandered by you. I had roved out as 
 chance directed, in the favourite haunts of my 
 muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in 
 all the gaiety of the vernal year. The evening 
 sun was flaming over the distant western hills ; not 
 a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or 
 the verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden mo- 
 ment for a poetic heart. I listened to the feather- 
 ed warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand, 
 with a congenial kindred regard, and frequently 
 turned out of my path, lest I should disturb their 
 little songs, or frighten them to another station. 
 Surely, said I to myself, he must be a wretch in- 
 deed, who, regardless of your harmonious endea- 
 vour to please him, can eye your elusive flights to 
 discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of 
 all the property nature gives you, your dearest 
 comforts, your helpless nestlings- Even the hoary 
 hawthorn twig that shot across the way, what 
 heart at such a time but must have been interest- 
 ed in its welfare, and wished it preserved from the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 121 
 
 rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering eastern 
 blast ? Such was the scene, arid such the hour, 
 when in a corner of my prospect, I spied one of 
 the fairest pieces of Nature's workmanship that 
 ever crowned a poetic landscape, or met a poet's 
 eye, those visionary bards excepted who hold com- 
 merce with aerial beings ! Had Calumny and Vil- 
 lany taken my walk, they had at that moment 
 sworn eternal peace with such an object. 
 
 " What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! It 
 would have raised plain, dull, historic prose into 
 metaphor and measure. 
 
 " The enclosed song was the w r ork of my return 
 home ; and perhaps it but poorly answers what 
 might have been expected from such a scene. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, 
 " Madam, 
 " Your most obedient, and very 
 " humble servant, 
 
 " Robert Burns."
 
 122 THE LIFE OF 
 
 'Twas even— the dewy fields were green, 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang* ; 
 The Zephyr wanton'd round the bean, 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
 In every glen the mavis sang, 
 
 All nature listening seemed the while, 
 Except where green- wood echoes rang, 
 
 Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 With careless step I onward strayed, 
 
 My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, 
 When musing in a lonely glade, 
 
 A maiden fair I chanced to spy ; 
 Her look was like the morning's eye, 
 
 Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
 Perfection whispered passing by, 
 
 Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle f ! 
 
 Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in Autumn mild ; 
 When roying through the garden gay, 
 
 Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
 But woman, nature's darling child ! 
 
 There all her charms she does compile : 
 Even there her other works are foil'd 
 
 By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 O had she been a country maid, 
 And I the happy country swain, 
 
 Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 
 That ever rose on Scotland's plain, 
 
 * Hang, Scotticism for hung. 
 + Variation. The lily's hue and rose's dye 
 
 Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle'.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 123 
 
 Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slippery steep, 
 
 Where fame and honours lofty shine; 
 And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 
 
 Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
 Give me the cot below the pine, 
 
 To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
 And every day have joys divine, 
 
 With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 In the manuscript book in which our poet has 
 recounted this incident, and into which the letter 
 and poem are copied, he complains that the lady 
 made no reply to his effusions, and this appears to 
 have wounded his self-love. It is not, however, 
 difficult to find an excuse for her silence. Burns 
 was at that time little known, and where known at 
 all, noted rather for the wild strength of his hu- 
 mour, than for those strains of tenderness, in which 
 he afterwards so much excelled. To the lady her- 
 self his name had perhaps never been mentioned, 
 and of such a poem she might not consider her- 
 self as the proper judge. Her modesty might pre- 
 vent her from perceiving that the muse of Tibul- 
 lus breathed in this nameless poet, and that her 
 beauty was awakening strains destined to im- 
 mortality on the banks of the Ayr. It may be
 
 124? THE LIFE OF 
 
 eonceived, also, that supposing the verses duly ap- 
 preciated, delicacy might find it difficult to ex- 
 press its acknowledgments. The fervent imagi- 
 nation of the rustic bard possessed more of ten- 
 derness than of respect. Instead of raising him- 
 self to the condition of the object of his admira- 
 tion, he presumed to reduce her to his own, and 
 to strain this high-born beauty to his daring bo- 
 som. It is true, Burns might have found prece- 
 dents for such freedoms among the poets of Greece 
 and Rome, and indeed of every country. And it 
 is not to be denied, that lovely women have ge- 
 nerally submitted to this sort of profanation with 
 patience, and even with good humour. To what 
 purpose is it to repine at a misfortune v/hich is the 
 necessary consequence of their own charms, or to 
 remonstrate with a description of men who are 
 incapable of control ? 
 
 '* The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact." 
 
 It may be easily presumed, that the beautiful 
 nymph of Ballochmyle, whoever she may have 
 been, did not reject with scorn the adorations of 
 our poet, though she received them with silent 
 -modesty and dignified reserve. 
 
 The sensibility of our bard's temper, and the 
 force of his imagination, exposed him in a par-
 
 ROBERT BURNS J f 125 
 
 ticular manner to the impressions of beauty ; and 
 these qualities, united to his impassioned elo- 
 quence, gave him in turn a powerful influence 
 over the female heart. The banks of the Ayr 
 formed- the scene of youthful passions of a still 
 tenderer nature, the history of which it would be 
 improper to reveal, were it even in our power, 
 and the traces of which will soon be discoverable 
 only in those strains of nature and sensibility to 
 which they gave birth. The song in Vol. iv. p. 1 7, 
 entitled Highland Mary, is known to relate to 
 one of these attachments. " It was written," 
 says our bard, " on one of the most interesting 
 passages of my youthful days.*' The object of 
 this passion died early in life, and the impression 
 left on the mind of Burns seems to have been deep 
 and lasting. Several years afterwards, when he 
 was removed to Nithsdale, he gave vent to the 
 sensibility of his recollections in the following im- 
 passioned lines : — In the manuscript book from 
 which we extract them, they are addressed T& 
 Mary in Heaven 1 
 
 Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usher'st in the dav 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy blissful place of rest 't
 
 126 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 That sacred hour can I forget, 
 
 Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
 
 To live one day of parting love ! 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past; 
 Thy image at our last embrace; 
 
 Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thiek'ning, green ; 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene* 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray, 
 'Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 
 Still o'er these scenes my memVy wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care ; 
 Time but the impression deeper makes, 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 To the delineations of the poet by himself, by 
 liis brother, and by his tutor, these additions are 
 necessary, in order that the reader may see his 
 character in its various aspects, and may have
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 127 
 
 an opportunity of forming a just notion of the 
 variety, as well as of the power of his original 
 
 genius *. 
 
 * The history of the poems formerly printed, will be found 
 in the Appendix to the third volume, in which these poems 
 are contained — It is there inserted in the words of Gilbert 
 Burns, who, in a letter addressed to the Editor, has given 
 the following account of the friends which Robert's talents 
 procured him before he left Ayrshire, or attracted the notice 
 of the world. 
 
 " The farm of Mossgiel, at the time of our coming to it 
 (Martinmas 1783), was the property of the Earl of Loudon, 
 but was held in tack by Mr Gavin Hamilton, writer in Mauch- 
 line, from whom we had our bargain ; who had thus an op- 
 portunity of knowing, and shewing a sincere regard for my 
 brother, before he knew that he was a poet. The poet's esti* 
 mation of him, and the strong outlines of his character, may 
 be collected from the dedication to this gentleman. When, 
 the publication was begun, Mr H. entered very warmly into 
 its interests, and promoted the subscription very extensively. 
 Mr Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, is a man of worth and taste, 
 of warm affections, and connected with a most respectable 
 circle of friends and relations. It is to this gentleman The 
 Cotters Saturday Night is inscribed. The poems of my bro- 
 ther, which I have formerly mentioned, no sooner came into 
 his hands, than they were quickly known, and well received in 
 the extensive circle of Mr Aiken's friends, which gave them a 
 sort of currency, necessary in this wise world, even for the 
 good reception of things valuable in themselves. But Mr Ai- 
 ken not ordy admired the poet ; as soon as he became ac- 
 quainted with him, he shewed the warmest regard for the man, 
 and did every thin? in his power to forward his interest and
 
 128 THE LIFE Of 
 
 We have dwelt the longer on the early part of 
 his life, because it is the least known, and because, 
 as has already been mentioned, this part of his 
 history is connected with some views of the con- 
 dition and manners of the humblest ranks of so- 
 ciety, hitherto little observed, and which will per- 
 haps be found neither useless nor uninteresting. 
 
 respectability. The Ejristle to a young Friend was addressed 
 to this gentleman's son, Mr A. H. Aiken, now of Liverpool. 
 He was the oldest of a young family, who were taught to re- 
 ceive my brother with respect, as a man of genius, and their 
 father's friend. 
 
 " The Brigs of Ayr is inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq, 
 Banker in Ayr ; one of those gentlemen to whom my brother 
 was introduced by Mr Aiken. He interested himself rery 
 warmly in my brother's concerns, and constantly shewed the 
 greatest friendship and attachment to him. When the Kil- 
 marnock edition was all sold off, and a considerable demand 
 pointed out the propriety of publishing a second edition, Mr 
 Wilson, who had printed the first, was asked if he would 
 print the second, and take his chance of being paid from 
 the first sale. This he declined ; and when this came to 
 Mr Ballantine's knowledge, he generously offered to accom- 
 modate Robert with what money he might need for that 
 purpose ; but advised him to go to Edinburgh, as the 
 fittest place for publishing. When he did go to Edinburgh, 
 his friends advised him to publish again by subscription, 
 so that he did not need to accept this offer. Mr Wil- 
 liam Parker, merchant in Kilmarnock, was a subscriber 
 for thirty -five copies of the Kilmarnock edition. This
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 129 
 
 About the time of leaving his native county, 
 his correspondence commences ; and in the series 
 of letters now given to the world, the chief inci- 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
 may perhaps appear not deserving of notice here ; but if the 
 comparative obscurity of the poet, at this period, be taken into 
 consideration, it appears to me a greater effort of generosity, 
 than many things which appear more brilliant in my brother's 
 future history. 
 
 <f Mr Robert Muir, merchant in Kilmarnock, was one of 
 those friends Robert's poetry had procured him, and one who 
 •was dear to his heart. This gentleman had no very great for- 
 tune, or long line of dignified ancestry ; but what Robert says 
 of Captain Matthew Henderson, might be said of him with 
 great propriety, that he held the patent of his honours immedi- 
 ately from Almighty God. Nature had indeed marked him a 
 gentleman in the most legible characters. He died while yet a 
 young man, soon after the publication of my brother's first Edin* 
 burgh edition. Sir William Cunningham of Robertland, paid a 
 very flattering attention, and shewed a good deal of friend- 
 ship for die poet. Before his going to Edinburgh, as well as 
 after, Robert seemed peculiarly pleased with Professor Stew- 
 art's friendship and conversation. 
 
 " But of all the friendships which Robert acquired in Ayr- 
 shire or elsewhere, none seemed more agreeable to him than 
 that of Mrs Dunlop, of Dunlop, nor any which has been more 
 uniformly and constantly exerted in behalf of him and his fa« 
 mily ; of which, were it proper, I could give many instances.
 
 ISO SHE LIFE OF 
 
 dents of the remaining part of his life will be 
 found. This authentic, though melancholy re- 
 cord will supersede in future the necessity of any 
 extended narrative. 
 
 Robert was on the point of setting out for Edinburgh before 
 Mrs Dunlop had heard of him. About the time of my bro- 
 ther's publishing in Kilmarnock, she had been afflicted with a 
 long and severe illness, which had reduced her mind to the 
 most distressing state of depression* In this situation, a copy 
 of the printed poems was laid on her table by a friend, and. 
 happening to open on The Cotter's Saturday Night, she read 
 it over with the greatest pleasure and surprise ; the poet's de- 
 scription of the simple cottagers, operating on her mind like 
 the charm of a powerful exorcist, expelling the demon ennui, 
 and restoring her to her wonted inward harmony and satis- 
 faction. — Mrs Dunlop sent off a person express to Mossgiel, 
 distant fifteen or sixteen miles, with a very obliging letter to- 
 my brother, desiring him to send her half a dozen copies of 
 his poems, if he had them to spare, and begging he would do 
 her the pleasure of calling at Dunlop House as soon as conve- 
 nient. This was the beginning of a correspondence which 
 ended only with the poet's life. The last use he made of his 
 pen was writing a short letter to this lady a few days before 
 his death. 
 
 " Col. Fullarton, who afterwards paid a very particular at- 
 tention to the poet, was not in the country at the time of 
 his first commencing author. At this distance of time, and in 
 the hurry of a wet day, snatched from laborious occupations, 
 I may have forgot some persons who ought to have been men-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 131 
 
 BURNS set out for Edinburgh in the month of 
 November, 1786, and arrived on the second day 
 afterwards, having performed his journey on foot. 
 He was furnished with a letter of introduction to 
 Dr Blacklock, from the gentleman to whom the 
 Doctor had addressed the letter which is repre- 
 sented by our bard as the immediate cause of his 
 visiting the Scottish metropolis. He was ac- 
 quainted with Mr Stewart, Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy in the University, and had been enter- 
 tained by that gentleman at Catrine, his estate in 
 Ayrshire. He had been introduced by Mr Al- 
 exander Dalzel to the Earl of Glencairn, who had 
 expressed his high approbation of his poetical ta- 
 lents. He had friends therefore w 7 ho could in- 
 troduce him into the circles o£ literature as well 
 
 tioned on this occasion, for which, if it come to ray knowledge, 
 I shall be heartily sorry." 
 
 The friendship of Mrs Dunlop was of particular value to 
 Burns. This lady, daughter and sole heiress to Sir Thomas 
 Wallace of Craigie, and lineal descendant of the illustrious 
 Wallace, the first of Scottish warriors, possesses the qualities 
 of mind suited to her high lineage. Preserving, in the decline 
 of life, the generous affections of youth ; her admiration of 
 the poet was soon accompanied by a sincere friendship for 
 the man ; which pursued him in after life through good 
 and evil report ; in poverty, in sickness, and in sorrow ; and 
 which is continued to his infant family, now deprived of their 
 parent.
 
 1S2 THE LIFE OF 
 
 as of fashion, and his own manners and appear- 
 ance exceeding every expectation that could have 
 been formed of them, he soon became an object 
 of general curiosity and admiration. The follow- 
 ing circumstance contributed to this in a consi- 
 derable degree. — At the time when Burns arrived 
 in Edinburgh, the periodical paper, entitled The 
 Lounger was publishing, every Saturday produ- 
 cing a successive number. His poems had attracted 
 the notice of the gentlemen engaged in that un- 
 dertaking, and the ninety-seventh number of 
 those unequal, though frequently beautiful essays, 
 is devoted to An Account of Robert Burns, the 
 Ayrshire ploughman, with extracts from his Poems, 
 written by the elegant pen of Mr Mackenzie # . 
 The Lounger had an extensive circulation among 
 persons of taste and literature, not in Scotland only, 
 but in various parts of England, to whose acquain- 
 tance therefore our bard was immediately intro- 
 duced. The paper of Mr Mackenzie was calculat- 
 ed to introduce him advantageously. The extracts 
 are well selected ; the criticisms and reflections 
 are judicious as well as generous; and in the style 
 and sentiments there is that happy delicacy, by 
 which the writings of the author are so eminently 
 
 * This paper has been attributed, but improperly, to Lord 
 Craig, one of the Scottish Judges, author of the very interesting 
 account of Michael Bruce, in the 36th number of the Mirror.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 133 
 
 distinguished. The extracts from Burns's poems 
 in the ninety-seventh number of The Lounger, 
 were copied into the London as well as into many 
 of the provincial papers, and the fame of our bard 
 spread throughout the island. Of the manners, cha- 
 racter, and conduct of Burns at this period, the 
 following account has been given by Mr Stewart, 
 in a letter to the editor, which he is particularly 
 happy to have obtained permission to insert in 
 these memoirs. 
 
 Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh, to Dv 
 James Currie of Liverpool. 
 
 " The first time I saw Robert Burns was 
 on the 23d of October, 1786, when he dined at 
 my house in Ayrshire, together with our common 
 friend Mr John Mackenzie, surgeon, inMauchline, 
 to whom I am indebted for the pleasure of his ac- 
 quaintance. I am enabled to mention the date par- 
 ticularly, by some verses which Burns wrote after 
 he returned home, and in which the day of our 
 meeting is recorded. — My excellent and much la- 
 mented friend, the late Basil, Lord Daer, happen- 
 ed to arrive at Catrine the same day, and by the 
 kindness and frankness of his manners, left an im- 
 pression on the mind of the poet, which never was 
 effaced. The verses I allude to are among the 
 most imperfect of his pieces; but a few stanzas may 
 perhaps be an object of curiosity to you, both
 
 I34t THE LIFE OF 
 
 on account of the character to which they relate, 
 and of the light which they throw on the situation 
 and feelings of the writer, before his name was 
 known to the public*. 
 
 * This poem is as follows : 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
 I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 
 
 October twenty-third, 
 A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
 Sae far I sprackledf up the brae, 
 
 I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
 
 I've been at druken writers' % feasts, 
 Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 
 
 Wi' reverence be it spoken ; 
 I've even join'd the honoured jorum, 
 When mighty Squireships of the quorum, 
 
 Their hydra drouth did sloken. 
 
 But wi* a Lord — stand out my shin, 
 A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son, 
 
 Up higher yet my bonnet ; 
 An' sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
 Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 
 
 As I look o'er my sonnet. 
 
 But O for Hogarth's magic pow r ! 
 To show Sir Bardy's willyart glowr §, 
 And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
 
 t Clambered. X Attorneys. 
 § Frightened stare
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 135 
 
 u I cannot positively say, at this distance of 
 time, whether, at the period of our first ac- 
 
 Whan goavan*, as if led wi' branksf, 
 An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 
 He in the parlour hammer'd. 
 
 I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
 An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 
 
 Like some portentous omen ; 
 Except good sense and social glee, 
 An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 
 
 I marked nought uncommon. 
 I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
 The gentle pride, the lordly state, 
 
 The arrogant assuming ; 
 The feint a pride, nae pride had he, 
 Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 
 
 Mair than an honest ploughman. 
 Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
 Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 
 
 One rank as well's another ; 
 Nae honest taorthy man need care, 
 To meet with noble youthful Dae*, 
 
 Fo r he but meets a brother. 
 
 These lines will be read with no common interest by all who 
 remember the unaffected simplicity of appearance, the sweet- 
 ness of countenance and manners, and the unsuspecting bene* 
 ^olence of heart, of Basil, Lord Daer. 
 
 Walking stupidly. t A kind of bridle.
 
 136 THE LIFE OF 
 
 quaintance, the Kilmarnock edition of his poems 
 had been just published, or was yet in the press. 
 I suspect that the latter was the case, as I have 
 still in my possession copies, in his own hand-wri- 
 ting, of some of his favourite performances ; par- 
 ticularly of his verses " on turning up a Mouse 
 with his plough ;" — " on the Mountain Daisy j" 
 and " the Lament." On my return to Edinburgh, 
 I shewed the volume, and mentioned what I knew 
 of the author's history, to several of my friends, 
 and, among others, to Mr Henry Mackenzie, who 
 first recommended him to public notice in the 97th 
 number of The Lounger, 
 
 " 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 si- 
 tuation, not, however, without lamenting, that his 
 want of patronage should force him to think of a 
 project so repugnant to his feelings, when his am- 
 bition aimed at no higher an object than the 
 station of an exciseman or guager in his own 
 country. 
 
 " His manners were then, as they continued 
 ever afterwards, simple, manly, and indepen- 
 dent ; strongly expressive of conscious genius 
 and worth ; but without any thing that indi- 
 cated forwardness, arrogance, or vanity. He
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 137 
 
 took his share in conversation, but not more than 
 belonged to him ; and listened with apparent at- 
 tention and deference, on subjects where his want 
 of education deprived him of the means of infor- 
 mation. If there had been a little more of gentle- 
 ness 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 any 
 thing approaching to meanness or servility, render- 
 ed his manner somewhat decided and hard. No- 
 thing, perhaps, was more remarkable among his 
 various attainments, than the fluency, and preci- 
 sion, and originality of his language, when he 
 spoke in company ; more particularly as he 
 aimed at purity in his turn of expression, and 
 avoided more successfully than most Scotchmen, 
 the peculiarities of Scottish phraseology. 
 
 " He came to Edinburgh early in the winter 
 following, and remained there for several months. 
 By whose advice he took this step, I am unable 
 to say. Perhaps it was suggested only by his own 
 curiosity to see a little more of the world ; but, 1 
 confess, I dreaded the consequences from the 
 first, and always wished that his pursuits and ha- 
 bits should continue the same as in the former 
 part of life ; with the addition of, what I consi- 
 dered as then completely within his reach, a good
 
 133 THE LIFE OF 
 
 farm on moderate terms, in a part of the coun* 
 
 try agreeable to his taste. 
 
 "The attentions he received during his stay in 
 town from all ranks and descriptions of persons, 
 were such as would have turned any head but his 
 own. I cannot say that I could perceive any un- 
 favourable effect which they left on his mind. He 
 retained the same simplicity of manners and ap- 
 pearance which had struck me so forcibly when I 
 first saw him in the country ; nor did he seem to 
 feel any additional self-importance from the num- 
 ber and rank of his new acquaintance. His dress 
 was perfectly suited to his station, plain and unpre- 
 tending, with a sufficient attention to neatness. If 
 I recollect right he always wore boots ; and, when 
 on more than usual ceremony, buck-skin breeches. 
 
 " The variety of his engagements, while in 
 Edinburgh, prevented me from seeing him so 
 often as I could have wished. In the course of 
 the spring he called on me once or twice, at my 
 request, early in the morning, and walked with 
 me to Braid-Hills, in the neighbourhood of the 
 town, when he charmed me still more by his 
 private conversation, than he had ever done in 
 company. He was passionately fond of the 
 beauties of nature; and I recollect once he told 
 me, when I was admiring a distant prospect m
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 139 
 
 one of our morning walks, that the sight of so 
 many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his 
 mind, which none could understand who had not 
 witnessed, like himself, the happiness and the worth 
 which they contained. 
 
 " In his political principles he was then a Jaco- 
 bite ; which was perhaps owing partly to this, that 
 his father was originally from the estate of Lord 
 Marischall. Indeed he did not appear to have 
 thought much on such subjects, nor very consis- 
 tently. He had a very strong sense of religion, 
 and expressed deep regret at the levity with which 
 he had heard it treated occasionally in some con- 
 vivial meetings which he frequented. I speak of 
 him as he was in the winter of 1786-7 ; for after- 
 wards we met but seldom, and our conversations 
 turned chiefly on his literary projects, or his pri- 
 vate affairs. 
 
 " I do not recollect whether it appears or not 
 from any of your letters to me, that you had ever 
 3een Burns*. If you have, it is superfluous for 
 me to add, that the idea which his conversation 
 conveyed of the powers of his mind, exceeded, 
 if possible, that which is suggested by his writ- 
 ings. Among the poets whom I have happened 
 
 * The Editor has seen and conversed with Burns.
 
 140 THE LIFE OP 
 
 to know, I have been struck, in more than one 
 instance, with the unaccountable disparity between 
 their general talents, and the occasional inspira- 
 tions of their more favoured moments. But all 
 the faculties of Burns's mind were, as far as I 
 could judge, equally vigorous ; and his predilec- 
 tion for poetry was rather the result of his own 
 enthusiastic and impassioned temper, than of a ge- 
 nius exclusively adapted to that species of composi- 
 tion. From his conversation I should have pro- 
 nounced him to be fitted to excel in whatever walk 
 of ambition he had chosen to exert his abilities. 
 
 " Among the subjects on which he was accus- 
 tomed to dwell, the characters of the individuals 
 with whom he happened to meet, was plainly a 
 favourite one. The remarks he made on them 
 were always shrewd and pointed, though frequent- 
 ly inclining too much to sarcasm. His praise of 
 those he loved was sometimes indiscriminate and 
 extravagant ; but this, I suspect, proceeded ra- 
 ther from the caprice and humour of the moment, 
 than from the effects of attachment in blinding 
 his judgment. His wit was ready, and always im- 
 pressed with the marks of a vigorous understand- 
 ing ; but, to my taste, not often pleasing or happy. 
 His attempts at epigram, in his printed works, are 
 the only performances, perhaps, that he has pro- 
 duced, totally unworthy of his genius.
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 141 
 
 *' In summer 1787, I passed some weeks in 
 Ayrshire, and saw Burns occasionally. I think; 
 that he made a pretty long excursion that season 
 to the Highlands, and that he also visited what 
 Beattie calls the Arcadian ground of Scotland, 
 upon the banks of the Tiviot and the Tweed. 
 
 " I should have mentioned before, that not- 
 withstanding various reports I heard during the 
 preceding winter, of Burns's predilection for con- 
 vivial, 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 observa- 
 tion. Pie told me indeed himself, that the weak- 
 ness of his stomach was such as to deprive him 
 entirely of any merit in his temperance. 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 campaign in town, 
 that he had been much disturbed when in bed, by 
 a palpitation at his heart, which, he said, w r as 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 unpreme- 
 ditated compliments to different individuals from
 
 142 THE LIFE OF 
 
 whom he had no reason to expect a visit, and 
 every thing he said was happily conceived, and 
 forcibly as well as fluently expressed. If I am 
 not mistaken, he told me, that in that village, 
 * before going to Edinburgh, he had belonged" to 
 a small club of such of the inhabitants as had a 
 taste for books, when they used to converse and 
 debate on any interesting questions that occurred 
 to them in the course of their reading. His man- 
 ner of speaking in public had evidently the marks 
 of some practice in extempore elocution. 
 
 <c I must not omit to mention, what I have 
 always considered as characteristical in a high 
 degree of true genius, the extreme facility and 
 good-nature of his taste, in judging of the com- 
 positions of others, where there was any real 
 ground for praise. I repeated to him many pas- 
 sages of English poetry with which he was unac- 
 quainted, and have more than once witnessed the 
 tears of admiration and rapture with which he 
 heard them. The collection of songs by Dr 
 Aikin, which I first put into his hands, he read 
 with unmixed delight, notwithstanding his former 
 efforts in that very difficult species of writing ; 
 and I have little doubt that it had some effect in 
 polishing his subsequent compositions. 
 
 *' In judging of prose, I do not think his
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 143 
 
 taste was equally sound. I once read to him a 
 passage or two in Franklin's Works, which I 
 thought very happily executed, upon the model 
 of Addison j but he did not appear to relish, or 
 to perceive the beauty which they derived from 
 their exquisite simplicity, and spoke of them with 
 indifference, when compared with the point, and 
 antithesis, and quaintness of Junius. The influ- 
 ence of this taste is very perceptible in his own 
 prose compositions, although their great and vari- 
 ous excellences render some of them scarcely less 
 objects of wonder than his poetical performances. 
 The late Dr Robertson used to say, that consider- 
 ing his education, the former seemed to him the 
 more extraordinary of the two, 
 
 " His memory was uncommonly retentive, at 
 least for poetry, of which he recited to me fre- 
 quently long compositions with the most minute 
 accuracy. They were chiefly ballads, and other 
 pieces in our Scottish dialect ; great part of them 
 (he told me) he had learned in his childhood, 
 from his mother, who delighted in such recita- 
 tions, and whose poetical taste, rude as it proba- 
 bly was, gave, it is presumable, the first direction 
 to her son's genius. 
 
 " Of the more polished verses which acciden- 
 tally fell into his hands in his early years, he men-
 
 144> THE LIFE OF 
 
 tionecl particularly the recommendatory poems, 
 by different authors, prefixed to Hervey's Medi- 
 tations ; a book which has always had a very wide 
 circulation among such of the country people of 
 Scotland, as affect to unite some degree of taste 
 with their religious studies. And these poems 
 (although they are certainly below mediocrity) 
 he continued to read with a degree of rapture be- 
 yond expression. He took notice of this fact 
 himself, as a proof how much the taste is liable to 
 be influenced by accidental circumstances. 
 
 " His father appeared to me from the account 
 he gave of him, to have been a respectable and 
 worthy character, possessed of a mind superior to 
 what might have been expected from his station 
 in life. He ascribed much of his own principles 
 and feelings to the early impressions he had re- 
 ceived from his instructions and example. I re- 
 collect that he once applied to him (and he added, 
 that the passage w r as a literal statement of fact), 
 the two last lines of the following passage in the 
 Minstrel ; the whole of which he repeated with 
 great enthusiasm : 
 
 " Shall I be left forgotten ill the dust, 
 
 When fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ; 
 
 Shall nature's voice, to man alone unjust, 
 
 Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live T*
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 145 
 
 ts it for this fair Virtue oft must strive, 
 With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
 
 No ! Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive ; 
 And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
 
 Bright thro' th 1 eternal year of love's triumphant reign. 
 
 This truth sublime, his simple sire had taught : 
 In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew. 
 
 " With respect to Burns's early education, I 
 cannot say any thing with certainty. He always 
 spoke with respect and gratitude of the school- 
 master who had taught him to read English ; and 
 who, finding in his scholar -a more than ordinary 
 ardour for knowledge, had been at pains to in- 
 struct him in the grammatical principles of the 
 language. He began the study of Latin, but 
 dropped it before he had finished the verbs. I 
 have sometimes heard him quote a few Latin 
 words, such as omnia vincit amor, &c. but they 
 seemed to be such as he had caught from conver- 
 sation, and which he repeated by rote. I think 
 he had a project, after he came to Edinburgh, of 
 prosecuting the study under his intimate friend, 
 the late Mr Nicol, one of the masters of the 
 grammar-school here ; but I do not know if he 
 ever proceeded so far as to make the attempt. 
 
 " He certainly possessed a smattering of French; 
 
 VOL. I, L
 
 146 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and, if he had an affectation in any thing, it was in 
 introducing occasionally a word or phrase from 
 that language. It is possible that his knowledge 
 in this respect might be more extensive than I 
 suppose it to be ; but this you can learn from his 
 more intimate acquaintance. It would be worth 
 while to inquire, whether he was able to read the 
 French authors with such facility as to receive 
 from them any improvement to his taste. For my 
 own part, I doubt it much — nor would I believe 
 it, but on very strong and pointed evidence. 
 
 •* If my memory does not fail me, he was 
 well instructed in arithmetic, and knew some- 
 thing of practical geometry, particularly of sur- 
 veying. — All his other attainments were entirely 
 his own. 
 
 " The last time I saw him was during the win- 
 ter, 1788-89 *; when he passed an evening with 
 me at Drumsheugh, in the neighbourhood of Edin- 
 burgh, where I was then living. My friend Mr 
 Alison was the only other in company. I never 
 saw him more agreeable or interesting. A pre- 
 
 * Or rather 1789-90. I cannot speak with confidence with 
 respect to the particular year. Some of my other dates may 
 possibly require correction, as I keep no journal of such oc- 
 currences.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 147 
 
 sent which Mr Alison sent him afterwards of his 
 Essays on Taste, drew from Burns a letter of ac- 
 knowledgment, which I remember to have read 
 with some degree of surprise at the distinct con- 
 ception he appeared from it to have formed, of 
 the several principles of the doctrine of associa- 
 te)?!. When I saw Mr Alison in Shropshire last 
 autumn, I forgot to inquire if the letter be still in 
 existence. If it is, you may easily procure it, by 
 means of our friend Mr Houlbrooke * ." 
 
 ^F vF w vF tP tF tF vf* *7p 
 
 The scene that opened on our bard in Edin- 
 burgh was altogether new, and in a variety of 
 other respects highly interesting, especially to one 
 of his disposition of mind. To use an expression 
 of his own, he found himself " suddenly trans- 
 lated from the veriest shades of life," into the 
 presence, and indeed, into the society of a num- 
 ber of persons, previously known to him by re- 
 port as of the highest distinction in his country, 
 and whose characters it was natural for him to ex- 
 amine with no common curiosity. 
 
 From the men of letters, in general, his re- 
 ception was particularly flattering. The late Dr 
 
 * This letter will be found, Vol. ii. p. 353. 
 L 2
 
 148 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Robertson, Dr Blair, Dr Gregory, Mr Stewart* 
 Mr Mackenzie, and Mr Fraser Tytler, may be 
 mentioned in the list of those who perceived his 
 uncommon talents, who acknowledged more es- 
 pecially his powers in conversation, and who in- 
 terested themselves in the cultivation of his geni- 
 us. In Edinburgh literary and fashionable so- 
 ciety are a good deal mixed. Our bard was an 
 acceptable guest in the gayest and most elevated 
 circles, and frequently received from female beau- 
 ty and elegance, those attentions above all others 
 most grateful to him. . At the table of Lord 
 Monboddo he was a frequent guest; and while 
 he enjoyed the society, and partook of the hos- 
 pitalities of the venerable Judge, he experienced 
 the kindness and condescension of his lovely and 
 accomplished daughter. The singular beauty of 
 this young lady was illuminated by that happy ex- 
 pression of countenance which results from the 
 union of cultivated taste and superior understand- 
 ing, with the finest affections of the mind. The 
 influence of such attractions was not unfelt by our 
 poet. " There has not been any thing like Miss 
 " Burnet," said he in a letter to a friend, " in all 
 " the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness, 
 " the Creator has formed, since Milton's Eve on 
 " the first day of her existence *." In his Address 
 
 Vol. ii. p. 44.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 149 
 
 to Edinburgh, she is celebrated in a strain of still 
 greater elevation : 
 
 " Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 
 
 Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
 I see the Sire of Love on high, 
 
 And own his works indeed divine * !" 
 
 This lovely woman died a few years afterwards 
 in the flower of youth. Our bard expressed his 
 sensibility on that occasion, in verses addressed 
 to her memory t. 
 
 Among the men of rank and fashion, Burns 
 was particularly distinguished by James, Earl of 
 Glencairn. On the motion of this nobleman, 
 the Caledonian Hunt, (an association of the prin- 
 cipal of the nobility and gentry of Scotland,) 
 extended their patronage to our bard, and ad- 
 mitted him to their gay orgies. He repaid their 
 notice by a dedication of the enlarged and im- 
 proved edition of his poems, in which he has 
 celebrated their patriotism and independence in 
 very animated terms. 
 
 " I congratulate my country that the blood of 
 her ancient heroes runs uncontaminated ; and 
 that, from your courage, knowledge, and public 
 
 Vol. iii. p. 230. f Vol. ii. p. 323.
 
 150 THE LIFE OF 
 
 spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and 
 liberty. ********* May 
 corruption shrink at your kindling indignant 
 glance ; and may tyranny in the ruler, and licen- 
 tiousness in the people, equally find in you an in- 
 exorable foe * !" 
 
 It is to be presumed that these generous senti- 
 ments, uttered at an aera singularly propitious to 
 independence of character and conduct, were fa- 
 vourably received by the persons to whom they 
 were addressed, and that they were echoed from 
 every bosom, as well as from that of the Earl of 
 Glencairn. This accomplished nobleman, a scho- 
 lar, a man of taste and sensibility, died soon after- 
 wards. Had he lived, and had his power equalled 
 his wishes, Scotland might still have exulted in 
 the genius, instead of lamenting the early fate of 
 her favourite bard. 
 
 A taste for letters is not always conjoined with 
 habits of temperance and regularity ; and Edin- 
 burgh, at the period of which we speak, contained 
 perhaps an uncommon proportion of men of con- 
 siderable talents, devoted to social excesses, in 
 which their talents were wasted and debased. 
 
 Vol. iii. Dedication.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 151 
 
 Burns entered into several parties of this de- 
 scription, with the usual vehemence of his cha- 
 racter. His generous affections, his ardent elo- 
 quence, his brilliant and daring imagination, fitted 
 him to be the idol of such associations ; and ac- 
 customing himself to conversation of unlimited 
 range, and to festive indulgences that scorned re- 
 straint, he gradually lost some portion of his re- 
 lish for the more pure, but less poignant pleasures, 
 to be found in the circles of taste, elegance and 
 literature. The sudden alteration in his habits of 
 life operated on him physically as well as morally. 
 The humble fare of an Ayrshire peasant he had 
 exchanged for the luxuries of the Scottish metro- 
 polis, and the effects of this change on his ardent 
 constitution could not be inconsiderable. But 
 whatever influence might be produced on his con- 
 duct, his excellent understanding suffered no cor- 
 responding debasement. He estimated his friends 
 and associates of every description at their pro- 
 per value, and appreciated his own conduct with 
 a precision that might give scope to much curious 
 and melancholy reflection. He saw his clanger, 
 and at times formed resolutions to guard against 
 it ; but he had embarked on the tide of dissipa- 
 tion, and was borne along its stream. 
 
 Of the state of his mind at this time, an au- 
 thentic, though imperfect, document remains, in
 
 152 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a book which he procured in the spring of 1787, 
 for the purpose, as he himself informs us, of re- 
 cording in it whatever seemed worthy of obser- 
 vation. The following extracts may serve as a 
 specimen ; 
 
 " Edinburgh, April 9, 1787- 
 u As I have seen a good deal of human 
 life in Edinburgh, a great many characters 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 recol- 
 lection." 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 
 discrimination, with his or her own remark, and 
 at times, no doubt, to admire my acuteness and 
 penetration. The world are so busied with self- 
 ish pursuits, ambition, vanity, interest, or plea- 
 sure, 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
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 153 
 
 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 bo- 
 som, his every thought and floating fancy, his very 
 inmost soul, with unreserved confidence to ano- 
 ther, without hazard of losing part of that respect 
 which man deserves from man ; or, from the un- 
 avoidable imperfections attending human nature, 
 of one day repenting his confidence. 
 
 " For these reasons I am determined to make 
 these pages my confidant. 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 any thing 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. 
 
 " My own private story likewise, my love-ad- 
 ventures, my rambles ; the frowns and smiles of 
 fortune on my hardship ; my poems and frag- 
 ments, that must never see the light, shall be 
 occasionally inserted. — In short, never did four 
 shillings purchase so much friendship, since con-
 
 154} THE LIFE OF 
 
 iidence went first to market, or honesty was set 
 up to sale. 
 
 " To these seemingly invidious, but too just 
 ideas of human friendship, I would cheerfully 
 make one exception — the connexion between two 
 persons of different sexes, when their interests 
 are united and absorbed by the tie of love — 
 
 When thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, n 
 And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. 
 
 There, confidence — confidence that exalts them 
 the more in one another's opinion, that endears 
 them the more to each other's hearts, unreserv- 
 edly " reigns and revels." But this is not my 
 lot ; and, in my situation, if I am wise (which 
 by the by I have no great chance of being), my 
 fate should be cast with the Psalmist's sparrow, 
 " to watch alone on the house-tops." — Oh, the 
 pity ! 
 
 " There are few of the sore evils under the 
 sun give me more uneasiness and chagrin than 
 the comparison how a man of genius, nay, of 
 avowed worth, is received every where, with the 
 reception which a mere ordinary character, de-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 155 
 
 corated 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 born equal, still giving honour to 
 whom honour is due ; he meets, at a great man's 
 table, a Squire something, or a Sir somebody 5 
 he knows the noble landlord, at heart, gives the 
 bard, or whatever 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 scarcely have made an eightjienny 
 tailor, and whose heart is not worth three far- 
 things, meet with attention and notice, that are 
 withheld from the son of genius and poverty ? 
 
 " The noble G has w r ounded me to the 
 
 soul here, because I dearly esteem, respect, and 
 love him. He shewed so much attention — en- 
 grossing attention, one day, to the only block- 
 head at table (the whole company consisted of 
 his lordship, dunderpate, and myself), that I 
 was within half a point of throwing down my 
 gage of contemptuous defiance ; but he shook my 
 hand, and looked so benevolently good at part- 
 ing. God bless him ! though I should never see 
 him more, I shall love him until my dying day : 
 I am pleased to think I am so capable of the 
 throes of gratitude, as I am miserably deficient in 
 some other virtues.
 
 156 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " With 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 pinna- 
 cle, and meets me on equal ground in conver- 
 sation, my heart overflows with what is called 
 liking. When he neglects me for the mere car- 
 cass of greatness, 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 ?" 
 
 The intentions of the poet in procuring this 
 book, so fully described by himself, were very 
 imperfectly executed. He has inserted in it 
 few or no incidents, but several observations 
 and reflections, of which the greater part that 
 are proper for the public eye, will be found in- 
 terwoven in the volume of his letters. The 
 most curious particulars in the book are the de- 
 lineations of the characters he met with. These 
 are not numerous ; but they are chiefly of per- 
 sons of distinction in the republic of letters, and 
 nothing but the delicacy and respect due to 
 living characters prevents us from committing 
 them to the press. Though it appears that in 
 his conversation he was sometimes disposed to
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 157 
 
 sarcastic remarks on the men with whom he lived, 
 nothing of this kind is discoverable in these more 
 deliberate efforts of his understanding, which, 
 while they exhibit great clearness of discrimina- 
 tion, manifest also the wish, as well as the power, 
 to bestow high and generous praise. 
 
 By the new edition of his poems, Burns acquir- 
 ed a sum of money that enabled him not only to 
 partake of the pleasures of Edinburgh, but to grati- 
 fy a desire he had long entertained, of visiting 
 those parts of his native country, most attractive 
 by their beauty or their grandeur ; a desire which, 
 the return of summer naturally revived. The 
 scenery on the banks of the Tweed, and of its tri- 
 butary streams, strongly interested his fancy ; and, 
 accordingly, he left Edinburgh on the 6th of May, 
 1787, on a tour through a country so much cele- 
 brated in the rural songs of Scotland. He travel- 
 led on horseback, and was accompanied, during 
 some part of his journey, by Mr Ainslie, now wri- 
 ter to the signet, a gentleman who enjoyed much 
 of his friendship and of his confidence. Of this 
 tour a journal remains, which, however, contains 
 only occasional remarks on the scenery, and which 
 is chiefly occupied with an account of the author's 
 different stages, and with his observations on the 
 various characters to whom he was introduced. In 
 the course of this tour he visited Mr Ainslie of
 
 158 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Berrywell, the father of his companion ; Mr Bry- 
 done, the celebrated traveller, to whom he carried 
 a letter of introduction from Mr Mackenzie ; the 
 Rev. Dr Somerville of Jedburgh, the historian ; 
 Mr and Mrs Scott of Wauchope ; Dr Elliot, a 
 physician, retired to a romantic spot on the banks 
 of the Roole ; Sir Alexander Don ; Sir James 
 Hall of Dunglass ; and a great variety of other 
 respectable characters. Every where the fame of 
 the poet had spread before him, and every where 
 he received the most hospitable and flattering at- 
 tentions. At Jedburgh he continued several days, 
 and was honoured by the magistrates with the 
 freedom of their borough. The following may 
 serve as a specimen of this tour, which the per- 
 petual reference to living characters prevents our 
 giving at large. 
 
 " Saturday, May 6th. Left Edinburgh — Lam- 
 mermuir-hills, miserably dreary in general, but 
 at times very picturesque. 
 
 " Lanson-edge, a glorious view of the Merse. 
 Reach Berrywell. * * * The family-meeting 
 with my compagnon de voyage, very charming j 
 
 particularly the sister. * * * 
 
 " Sunday. — Went to church at Dunse. Heard 
 Dr Bowmaker. ;l * *
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 159 
 
 " Monday. Coldstream — glorious river Tweed 
 •—clear and majestic — fine bridge — dine at Cold- 
 stream with Mr Ainslie and Mr Foreman. Beat 
 Mr Foreman in a dispute about Voltaire. Drink 
 tea at Lenel-House with Mr and Mrs Brydone. 
 * * * Reception extremely flattering. Sleep 
 at Coldstream. 
 
 " Tuesday. Breakfast at Kelso — charming si- 
 tuation of the town — fine bridge over the Tweed. 
 Enchanting views and prospects on both sides of 
 the river, especially on the Scotch side. # * * 
 Visit Roxburgh Palace — fine situation of it. Ruins 
 of Roxburgh Castle — a Holly-bush growing where 
 James the Second was accidentally killed by the 
 bursting of a cannon. A small old religious ruin, 
 and a fine old garden planted by the religious, 
 rooted out and destroyed by a Hottentot, a maitre 
 cT hotel of the Duke's ! — Climate and soil of Ber- 
 wickshire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to 
 Ayrshire — bad roads — turnip and sheep hus- 
 bandry, their great improvements. * * * Low 
 markets, consequently low lands — magnificence of 
 farmers and farm-houses. Come up the Tiviot, 
 and up the Jed to Jedburgh, to lie, and so wish 
 myself good night. 
 
 Wednesday. — Breakfast with Mr Fair. 
 
 * # * 
 
 (.'harming romantic situation of Jedburgh, with
 
 160 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gardens and orchards, intermingled among the 
 houses and the ruins of a once magnificent cathe- 
 dral. All the towns here have the appearance of 
 old rude grandeur, but extremely idle.— Jed, a 
 line romantic little river. Dined with Capt. Ru- 
 therford, * * * return to Jedburgh. Walk up the 
 Jed with some ladies, to be shewn Love-lane, and 
 Blackburn, two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr 
 Potts, writer, and to Mr Sommerville, the clergy- 
 man of the parish, a man, and a gentleman, but 
 sadly addicted to punning. 
 
 " Jedburgh, Saturday. Was presented by the 
 magistrates with the freedom of the town. 
 
 " Took farewell of Jedburgh with some melan- 
 choly sensations. 
 
 " Monday, May 14>th, Kelso. Dine with the 
 farmer's club — all gentlemen talking of high mat- 
 ters — eacli of them keeps a hunter from L.30 to 
 L.50 value, and attends the fox-hunting club in 
 the country. Go out with Mr Ker, one of the 
 club, and a friend of Mr AinshVs, to sleep. In 
 his mind and manners, Mr Ker is astonishingly 
 like my dear old friend Robert Muir — Every thing 
 in his house elegant. He offers to accompany me 
 in my English tour.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 161 
 
 " Tuesday. Dine with Sir Alexander Don ; a 
 very wet day. # * * Sleep at Mr Ker's again, 
 and set out next day for Melrose — visit Dryburgh, 
 a fine old ruined abbey, by the way. Cross the 
 Leader, and come up the Tweed to Melrose. 
 Dine there, and visit that far-famed glorious ruin 
 — Come to Selkirk up the banks of Ettrick. The 
 whole country hereabouts, both on Tweed and 
 Ettrick, remarkably stoney." 
 
 Having spent three weeks in exploring this in- 
 teresting scenery, Burns crossed over into Nor- 
 thumberland. Mr Ker, and Mr Hood, two gen- 
 tlemen with whom he had become acquainted in 
 the course of his tour, accompanied him. He vi- 
 sited Alnwick Castle, the princely seat of the 
 Duke of Northumberland ; the hermitage and old 
 castle of Warksworth ; Morpeth, and Newcastle. 
 — In this town he spent two days, and then pro- 
 ceeded to the south-west by Hexham and Ward- 
 rue, to Carlisle. — After spending a day at Carlisle 
 with his friend Mr Mitchell, he returned into 
 Scotland, and at Annan his journal terminates a- 
 bruptly. 
 
 Of the various persons with whom he became 
 acquainted in the course of this journey, he has, 
 in general, given some account j and almost al- 
 
 VOL. I. jvi
 
 162 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ways a favourable one. That on the ^anks of 
 the Tweed and of the Tiviot, our bard should 
 find nymphs that were beautiful, is what might 
 be confidently presumed. Two of these are par- 
 ticularly described in his journal. But it does 
 not appear that the scenery, or its inhabitants, 
 produced any effort of his muse, as was to have 
 been wished and expected. From Annan, Burns 
 proceeded to Dumfries, and thence through San- 
 quhar, to Mossgiel, near Mauchline, in Ayrshire, 
 where he arrived about the 8th of June, 1787, 
 after a long absence of six busy and eventful 
 months. It will easily be conceived with what 
 pleasure and pride he was received by his mother, 
 his brothers, and sisters. He had left them poor, 
 and comparatively friendless ; he returned to them 
 high in public estimation, and easy in his circum- 
 stances. He returned to them unchanged in his 
 ardent affections, and ready to share with them to 
 the uttermost farthing, the pittance that fortune 
 liad bestowed. 
 
 Having remained with them a few days, he 
 proceeded again to Edinburgh, and immediately 
 set out on a journey to the Highlands. Of this 
 tour no particulars have been found among his 
 manuscripts. A letter to his friend Mr Ainslie, 
 dated Arrachas, near Crochairbas, by Lochleary, 
 June 28, 1787, commences as follows:
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 163 
 
 " I write you this on my tour through a coun- 
 try were savage streams tumble over savage moun- 
 tains, thinly overspread with savage flocks, which 
 starvingly support as savage inhabitants. My last 
 stage was Inverary — to-morrow night's stage, Dun- 
 barton. I ought sooner to have answered your kind 
 letter, but you know I am a man of many sins." 
 
 From this journey Burns returned to his friends 
 in Ayrshire, with whom he spent the month of 
 July, renewing his friendships, and extending his 
 acquaintance throughout the county, where he 
 was now very generally known and admired. In 
 August he again visited Edinburgh, whence he 
 undertook another journey towards the middle of 
 this month, in company with Mr M. Adair, now 
 Dr Adair, of Harrowgate, of which this gentle- 
 man has favoured us with the following ac- 
 count : 
 
 " Burns and I left Edinburgh together in Au- 
 gust, 1787. We rode by Linlithgow and Carron, 
 to Stirling. We visited the iron-works at Carron, 
 with which the poet was forcibly struck. The 
 resemblance between that place, and its inhabi- 
 tants, to the cave of the Cyclops, which must 
 have occurred to every classical visitor, present- 
 ed itself to Burns. At Stirling the prospects from 
 the castle strongly interested him ; in a former 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE LIFE OF 
 
 visit to which, his national feelings had been 
 powerfully excited by the ruinous and roofless 
 state of the hall in which the Scottish Parliaments 
 had frequently been held. His indignation had 
 vented itself in some imprudent, but not unpoeti- 
 cal lines, which had given much offence, and 
 which he took this opportunity of erasing, by 
 breaking the pane of the window at the inn on 
 which they were written. 
 
 " At Stirling we met with a company of tra- 
 vellers from Edinburgh, among whom was a cha- 
 racter in many respects congenial with that of 
 Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of 
 the High Grammar-School at Edinburgh — the 
 same wit and power of conversation ; the same 
 fondness for convivial society, and thoughtless- 
 ness of to-morrow, characterized both. Jacobiti- 
 cal principles in politics were common to both of 
 them ; and these have been suspected, since the 
 revolution of France, to have given place in each, 
 to opinions apparently opposite. I regret that I 
 have preserved no memorabilia of their conversa- 
 tion, either on this or on other occasions, when 
 I happened to meet them together Many songs 
 were sung ; which I mention for the sake of ob- 
 serving, that when Burns was called on in his turn, 
 he was accustomed, instead of singing, to recite 
 one or other of his own shorter poems, with a tone
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 165 
 
 and emphasis, which, though not correct or harmo- 
 nious, were impressive and pathetic. This he did 
 on the present occasion. 
 
 " From Stirling we went next morning through 
 the romantic and fertile vale of Devon to Har- 
 vieston, in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by 
 Mrs Hamilton, with the younger part of whose 
 family Burns had been previously acquainted. He 
 introduced me to the family, and there was form- 
 ed my first acquaintance with Mrs Hamilton's 
 eldest daughter, to whom I have been married 
 for nine years. Thus was I indebted to Burns 
 for a connexion from which I have derived, and 
 expect further to derive much happiness. 
 
 " During a residence of about ten days at 
 Harvieston, we made excursions to visit various 
 parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior to none 
 in Scotland, in beauty, sublimity, and romantic 
 interest ; particularly Castle Campbell, the an- 
 cient seat of the family of Argyle ; and the fa- 
 mous cataract of the Devon, called the Cauldron 
 Linn ; and the Rumbling Bridge, a single broad 
 arch, thrown by the Devil, if tradition is to be 
 believed, across the river, at about the height of 
 a hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised 
 that none of these scenes should have called forth 
 an exertion of Burns's muse. But I doubt if he
 
 166 THE LIFE OF 
 
 had much taste for the picturesque. I well re- 
 member, that the ladies at Harvieston, who ac- 
 companied us on this jaunt, expressed their dis- 
 appointment at his not expressing in more glow- 
 ing and fervid language, his impressions of the 
 Cauldron Linn scene, certainly highly sublime, and 
 somewhat horrible. 
 
 " A visit to Mrs Bruce of Clackmannan, a 
 lady above ninety, the lineal descendant of that 
 race which gave the Scottish throne its brightest 
 ornament, interested his feelings more powerful- 
 ly. This venerable dame, with characteristical 
 dignity, informed me, on my observing that I be- 
 lieved she was descended from the family of Ro- 
 bert Bruce, that Robert Bruce was sprung from 
 her family. Though almost deprived of speech by 
 a paralytic affection, she preserved her hospita- 
 lity and urbanity. She was in possession of the 
 hero's helmet and two-handed sword, with which 
 she conferred on Burns and myself the honour of 
 knighthood, remarking, that she had a better right 
 to confer that title than some people. * * * * 
 You will of course conclude that the old lady's 
 political tenets were as Jacobitical as the poet's, 
 a conformity which contributed not a little to the 
 cordiality of our reception and entertainment. — 
 She gave as her first toast after dinner, Awa 9 
 Uncos, or, Away with the Strangers — Who these
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 167 
 
 Strangers were, you will readily understand. Mrs 
 A. corrects me by saying it should be Hooi, or 
 Hoohi uncos, a sound used by shepherds to direct 
 their dogs to drive away the sheep. 
 
 " We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on 
 the shore of Lochleven) and Queensferry. I am 
 inclined to think Burns knew nothing of poor 
 Michael Bruce, who was then alive at Kinross, or 
 had died there a short while before. A meeting 
 between the bards, or a visit to the deserted cot- 
 tage and early grave of poor Bruce, would have 
 been highly interesting *. 
 
 " At Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey, 
 and the abbey-church, now consecrated to Pres- 
 byterian worship. Here I mounted the cutty stool, 
 or stool of repentance, assuming the character 
 of a penitent for fornication ; while Burns from 
 the pulpit addressed to me a ludicrous reproof and 
 exhortation, parodied from that which had been 
 delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had, 
 as he assured me, once been one of seven who 
 mounted the seat of shame together. 
 
 " In the church-yard two broad flag-stones 
 marked the grave of Robert Bruce, for whose me- 
 
 • .— , i M- 
 
 * Bruce died some years before.
 
 168 THE LIFE OF 
 
 mory Burns had more than common veneration. 
 He knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fer- 
 vour, and heartily (suus ut mos eratj execrated 
 the worse than Gothic neglect of the first of 
 Scottish heroes *." 
 
 The surprise expressed by Dr Adair, in his ex- 
 cellent letter, that the romantic scenery of the 
 Devon should have failed to call forth any ex- 
 ertion of the poet's muse, is not in its nature sin- 
 gular ; and the disappointment felt at his not ex- 
 pressing in more glowing language his emotions 
 on the sight of the famous cataract of that river, 
 is similar to what was felt by the friends of Burns 
 on other occasions of the same nature. Yet the 
 inference that Dr Adair seems inclined to draw 
 from it, that he had little taste for the picturesque, 
 might be questioned, even if it stood uncon- 
 troverted by other evidence. The muse of Burns 
 was in a high degree capricious ; she came uncal- 
 led, and often refused to attend at his bidding. 
 Of all the numerous subjects suggested to him by 
 his friends and correspondents, there is scarcely 
 one that lie adopted. The very expectation that 
 a particular occasion would excite the energies 
 of fancy, if communicated to Burns, seemed in 
 
 * Extracted from a letter of Dr Adair to the Editor.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 169 
 
 him, as in other poets, destructive of the effect 
 expected. Hence perhaps it may be explained, 
 why the banks of the Devon and of the Tweed 
 form no part of the subjects of his song. 
 
 A similar train of reasoning may perhaps ex- 
 plain the want of emotion with which he viewed 
 the Cauldron Linn. Certainly there are no affec- 
 tions of the mind more deadened by the influence 
 of previous expectation, than those arising from 
 the sight of natural objects, and more especially 
 of objects of grandeur. Minute descriptions of 
 scenes, of a sublime nature, should never be given 
 to those who are about to view them, particularly 
 if they are persons of great strength and sensibi- 
 lity of imagination. Language seldom or never 
 conveys an adequate idea of such objects, but in 
 the mind of a great poet it may excite a picture 
 that far transcends them. The imagination of 
 Burns might form a cataract, in ' comparison 
 with which the Cauldron Linn should seem the 
 purling of a rill, and even the mighty falls of Nia- 
 gara a humble cascade *. 
 
 * This reasoning might be extended, with some modifica- 
 tions, to objects of sight of every kind. To have formed be- 
 fore-hand a distinct picture in the mind of any interesting per- 
 son or thing, generally lessens the pleasure of the first meet- 
 ing with them. Though this picture be not superior, or even
 
 170 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Whether these suggestions may assist in ex- 
 plaining our Bard's deficiency of impression on 
 the occasion referred to, or whether it ought 
 rather to be imputed to some pre-occupation, or 
 indisposition of mind, we presume not to decide ; 
 but that he was in general feelingly alive to the 
 beautiful or sublime in scenery, may be supported 
 by irresistible evidence. It is true, this pleasure 
 was greatly heightened in his mind, as might be 
 expected, when combined with moral emotions 
 of a kind with which it happily unites. That under 
 this association Burns contemplated the scenery of 
 the Devon with the eye of a genuine poet, the 
 following lines, written at this very period, may 
 bear witness. 
 
 equal to the reality, still it can never be expected to be an ex- 
 act resemblance; and the disappointment felt at finding it 
 something different from what was expected, interrupts and 
 diminishes the emotion that would otherwise be produced. 
 In such cases the second or third interview gives more plea- 
 sure than the first. — See the Elements of' the Philosophy qf the 
 Human Mind, by Mr Stewart, p. 484. Such publications as 
 The Guide to the Lakes, where every scene is described in the 
 most minute manner, and sometimes with considerable exag- 
 geration of language, are in this point of view objectionable. 
 
 3
 
 HOBERT BURNS. 1*7 1 
 
 On a Young Lady, residing on the banks of the small river 
 Devon, in Clackmannanshire, but whose infant years were 
 spent in Ayrshire. 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
 With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming 
 fair ; 
 
 Put the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
 Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
 
 Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
 In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew I 
 
 And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
 That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 
 
 O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
 With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 
 
 And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
 The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn ! 
 
 Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 
 
 And England triumphant display her proud rose; 
 
 A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
 
 Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 
 
 The different journeys already mentioned did 
 not satisfy the curiosity of Burns. About the be- 
 ginning of September, he again set out from 
 Edinburgh, on a more extended tour to the High- 
 lands, in company with Mr Nicol, with whom he 
 had contracted a particular intimacy, which lasted
 
 172 THE LIFE OF 
 
 during the remainder of his life. Mr Nicol was 
 of Dumfries-shire, of a descent equally humble 
 with our poet. Like him he rose by the strength 
 of his talents, and fell by the strength of his pas- 
 sions. He died in the summer of 17^7. Having 
 received the elements of a classical instruction at 
 his parish school, Mr Nicol made a very rapid and 
 singular proficiency ; and by early undertaking 
 the office of an instructor himself, he acquired 
 the means of entering himself at the University of 
 Edinburgh. There he was first a student of theo- 
 logy, then a student of medicine, and was after- 
 wards employed in the assistance and instruction 
 of graduates in medicine, in those parts of their 
 exercises in which the Latin language is employ- 
 ed. In this situation he was the contemporary and 
 rival of the celebrated Dr Brown, whom he re- 
 sembled in the particulars of his history, as well 
 as in the leading features of his character- The 
 office of assistant-teacher in the High School being 
 vacant, it was, as usual, filled up by competition ; 
 and, in the face of some prejudices, and per- 
 haps of some well-founded objections, Mr Nicol, 
 by superior learning, carried it from all the other 
 candidates. This office he filled at the period of 
 which we speak. 
 
 It is to be lamented, that an acquaintance with 
 •lie writers of Greece and Home does not always
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 173 
 
 supply an original want of taste and correctness in 
 manners and conduct ; and where it fails of this 
 effect, it sometimes inflames the native pride of 
 temper, which treats with disdain those delicacies 
 in which it has not learnt to excel. It was thus 
 with the fellow-traveller of Burns. Formed by 
 nature in a model of great strength, neither his 
 person nor his manners had any tincture of taste 
 or elegance ; and his coarseness was not compen- 
 sated by that romantic sensibility, and those tow- 
 ering flights of imagination, which distinguished 
 the conversation of Burns, in the blaze of whose 
 genius all the deficiencies of his manners were 
 absorbed and disappeared. 
 
 Mr Nicol and our poet travelled in a post-chaise, 
 which they engaged for the journey, and passing 
 through the heart of the Highlands, stretched 
 northwards, about ten miles beyond Inverness. 
 There they bent their course eastward, across the 
 island, and returned by the shore of the German 
 Sea to Edinburgh. In the course of this tour, 
 some particulars of which will be found in a letter 
 of our bard, Vol. ii. p. 96, they visited a number 
 of remarkable scenes, and the imagination of 
 Burns was constantly excited by the wild and 
 sublime scenery through which he passed. Of 
 this several proofs may be found in the poems for-
 
 174« THE LIFE 0? 
 
 merly printed *. Of the history of one of these 
 poems, The Humble Petition ofBruar Water (Vol. 
 iii. p. 353), and of the bard's visit to Athole 
 House, some particulars will be found in Vol. ii. 
 No. 33 and No. 34 ; and by the favour of Mr Wal- 
 ker of Perth, then residing in the family of the 
 Duke of Athole, we are enabled to give the follow- 
 ing additional account. 
 
 " On reaching Blair, he sent me notice of mV 
 arrival (as I had been previously acquainted with 
 him), and I hastened to meet him at the inn. The 
 Duke, to whom he brought a letter of introduc- 
 tion, was from home ; but the Duchess, being in- 
 formed of his arrival, gave him an invitation to 
 sup and sleep at Athole House. He accepted 
 the invitation j but, as the hour of supper was 
 at some distance, begged I would in the inter- 
 val be his guide through the grounds. It was 
 already growing dark ; yet the softened, though 
 faint and uncertain, view of their beauties, 
 
 * See Vol. iii. Lines on seeing some Mater-fowl in Loch Turit, 
 u -mild scene among the lulls qfOchtcrtyre, p. 358. Lines written, 
 tvith a Pencil over the chimney-piece, in the Inn at Kenmore, 
 Taymouth, p. 361. Lines written with a pencil standing hf 
 the Fall of Fycrs, near Lochncss, p. 363.
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 175 
 
 which the moonlight afforded us, seemed ex- 
 actly suited to the state of his feelings at the 
 time. I had often, like others, experienced the 
 pleasures which arise from the sublime or elegant 
 landscape, but I never saw those feelings so in- 
 tense 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 wa- 
 ter-fall, he threw himself on the heathy seat, and 
 gave himself up to a tender, abstracted, and vo- 
 luptuous enthusiasm of imagination. I cannot 
 help thinking it might have been here that he con- 
 ceived the idea of the following lines, which he 
 afterwards introduced into his poem on Bruar 
 Water, when only fancying such a combination 
 of objects as were now present to his eye. 
 
 Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
 
 Mild, chequering thro' the trees, 
 Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 
 
 Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
 
 " It was with much difficulty I prevailed on 
 him to quit this spot, and to be introduced in 
 proper time to supper. 
 
 " My curiosity was great to see how he would 
 conduct himself in company so different from
 
 176 THE LIFE OF 
 
 what he had been accustomed to *. His manner 
 was unembarrassed, plain, and firm. He appear- 
 ed to have complete reliance on his own native 
 good sense for directing his behaviour. 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 arrogate 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 bonnie lasses, an idea which was much 
 applauded by the company, and with which he 
 has very felicitously closed his poem t. 
 
 " Next day I took a ride with him through 
 some of the most romantic 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 mention 
 a remark which he made on his fellow-traveller, 
 
 * In the preceding winter, Burns had been in company of 
 the highest rank in Edinburgh ; but this description of his 
 manners is perfectly applicable to his first appearance in such 
 society. 
 
 f See Vol. iii. p. 357.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 177 
 
 who was walking at the time a few paces before 
 Us. He was a man of a robust but clumsy per- 
 son ; 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," lie 
 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 Burns both 
 before 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 appropriate return he could make, to write 
 some descriptive 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 qfBruar, and in a few days I 
 received a letter from Inverness, with the verses 
 enclosed *." 
 
 It appears that the impression made by our 
 poet on the noble family of Athole, was in a 
 
 * Extract of a letter from Mr Walker to Mr Cunningham, 
 dated Perth, 2Uh October 1797. 
 
 The letter mentioned as written to Mr Walker by Mr Burn?, 
 will be found in Vol. ii. p. 94. Mr Walker will, it is hoped, 
 have the goodness to excuse the printing of his reply, (with- 
 out his permission), p. 108 of the same volume. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE LIFE OF 
 
 high degree favourable ; it is certain he was 
 charmed with the reception he received from, 
 them, and he often mentioned the two days he 
 spent at Athole-house as among the happiest of 
 his life. He was warmly invited to prolong his 
 stay, but sacrificed his inclinations to his engage- 
 ment with Mr Nicol ; which is the more to be re- 
 gretted, as he would otherwise have been intro- 
 duced to Mr Dundas (then daily expected on a 
 visit to the Duke), a circumstance that might have 
 had a favourable influence on Burns's future for- 
 tunes. At Athole-house he met, for the first time, 
 Mr Graham, of Fintry, to whom he was after- 
 wards indebted for his office in the Excise. 
 
 The letters and poems which he addressed to 
 Mr Graham, bear testimony of his sensibility, and 
 justify the supposition, that he would not have 
 been deficient in gratitude had he been elevated 
 to a situation better suited to his disposition and 
 to his talents *. 
 
 A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, our 
 poet and his fellow-traveller arrived at Fochabers. 
 In the course of the preceding winter Burns had 
 been introduced to the Duchess of Gordon at 
 
 * See the first Epistle to Mr Graham, soliciting an employ- 
 ment in the Excise, Vol. ii. p. 181; and his second Epistle, 
 Vol. Hi. p. 315.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 179 
 
 Edinburgh, and presuming on this acquaintance, 
 he proceeded to Gordon-Castle, leaving Mr Nicol 
 at the inn in the village. At the castle our poet 
 was received with the utmost hospitality and kind- 
 ness, and the family being about to sit down to 
 dinner, he was invited to take his place at table 
 as a matter of course. This invitation he accept- 
 ed, and after drinking a few glasses of wine, he 
 rose up, and proposed to withdraw. On being 
 pressed to stay, he mentioned, for the first time, 
 his engagement with his fellow-traveller ; and his 
 noble host offering to send a servant to conduct 
 Mr Nicol to the castle, Burns insisted on under- 
 taking that office himself. He was, however, ac- 
 companied by a gentleman, a particular acquaint- 
 ance of the Duke, by whom the invitation was 
 delivered in all the forms of politeness. The in- 
 vitation came too late ; the pride of Nicol was in- 
 flamed into a high degree of passion, by the ne- 
 glect which be had already suffered. He had or- 
 dered the horses to be put to the carriage, being 
 determined to proceed on his journey alone ; and 
 they found him parading the streets of Fochabers, 
 before the door of the inn, venting his anger on 
 the postillion, for the slowness with which he 
 obeyed his commands. As no explanation nor 
 entreaty could change the purpose of his fellow- 
 traveller, our poet was reduced to the necessity of 
 
 separating from him entirely, or of instantly pro- 
 
 x 2
 
 180 THE LIFE OP 
 
 ceeding with him on their journey. He chose the 
 last of these alternatives ; and seating himself be- 
 side Nicol in the post-chaise, with mortification 
 and regret, he turned his back on Gordon Castle, 
 where lie had promised himself some happy days. 
 Sensible, however, of the great kindness of the 
 noble family, he made the best return in his power, 
 by the following poem *. 
 
 I. 
 
 Streams that glide in orient plains, 
 Never bound by winter's chains ; 
 Glowing here on golden sands, 
 There commix'd with foulest stains 
 From tyranny's empurpled bands : 
 These, their richly gleaming waves, 
 I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
 Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
 The banks by Castle-Gordon. 
 
 II. 
 
 Spicy forests, ever gay, 
 Shading from the burning ray 
 Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
 Or the ruthless native's way, 
 Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : 
 Woods that ever verdant wave, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave, 
 Give me the groves that lofty brave 
 The storms, by Castle- Gordon. 
 
 * This information is extracted from a letter of Dr Couper 
 of Fochabers to the Editor*
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 181 
 
 III. 
 
 Wildly here, without controul, 
 Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
 In that sober pensive mood, 
 Dearest to the feeling soul, 
 She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
 Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
 And find at night a sheltering cave, 
 Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
 By bonnie Castle-Gordon *. 
 
 Burns remained at Edinburgh during the great- 
 er part of the winter, 1787-8, and again entered 
 into the society and dissipation of that metropolis. 
 It appears that, on the 3 1 st day of December, he 
 attended a meeting to celebrate the birth-day of 
 the lineal descendant of the Scottish race of kings, 
 the late unfortunate Prince Charles Edward. 
 Whatever might have been the wish or purpose of 
 the original institutors of this annual meeting, 
 there is no reason to suppose that the gentlemen 
 of which it was at this time composed, were not 
 perfectly loyal to the king on the throne. It is 
 not to be conceived that they entertained any hope 
 of, any wish for, the restoration of the House of 
 Stuart ; but, over their sparkling wine, they in- 
 
 * These verses our poet composed to be sung to Morag, a 
 Highland air of which he was extremely fond.
 
 182 THE LIFE OF 
 
 dulged the generous feelings which the recollec- 
 tion of fallen greatness is calculated to inspire ; 
 and commemorated the heroic valour which strove 
 to sustain it in vain — valour worthy of a nobler 
 cause and a happier fortune. On this occasion 
 our bard took upon himself the office of poet-lau- 
 reate, and produced an ode, which, though defi- 
 cient in the complicated rhythm and polished ver- 
 sification that such compositions require, might, 
 on a fair competition, where energy of feelings 
 and of expression were alone in question, have 
 won the butt of Malmsey from the real laureate 
 of that day. 
 
 The following extracts may serve as a speci- 
 men : — 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
 Nor think to lure us as in days of yore: 
 
 We solemnize this sorrowing natal day, 
 To prove our loyal truth — we can no more ; 
 And, owning Heaven's mysterious sway, 
 Submissive, low, adore. 
 II. 
 Ye honoured mighty dead ! 
 Who nobly perish'd in the glorious cause, 
 Your King, your country, and her laws ! 
 
 From great Dundee, who smiling victory led. 
 And fell a martyr in her arms, 
 ( What breast of northern ice but warms ?) 
 

 
 ROBERT BURNS. 183 
 
 To bold Balmerino's undying name, 
 Whose soul of fire, lighted at heavVs high flame. 
 Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim *. 
 
 III. 
 
 Not unreveng\l your fate shall be, 
 
 It only lags the fatal hour ; 
 Your blood shall with incessant cry 
 
 Awake at last th' unsparing power. 
 As from the cliff, with thundering course, 
 
 The snowy ruin smokes along, 
 With doubling speed and gathering force, 
 Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the vale ; 
 80 vengeance * * * 
 
 In relating the incidents of our poet's life in 
 Edinburgh, we ought to have mentioned the senti- 
 ments of respect and sympathy with which he 
 traced out the grave of his predecessor Fer- 
 gusson, over whose ashes, in the Canongate 
 church-yard, he obtained leave to erect an hum- 
 ble monument, which will be viewed by reflecting 
 
 * In the first part of this ode there is some beautiful image- 
 ry, which the poet afterwards interwove in a happier man- 
 ner, in the Chevaliers Lament, (See Vol. ii. p. 144). But if 
 there were no other reasons for omitting to print the entire 
 poem, the want of originality would be sufficient. A consider- 
 able part of it is a kind of rant, for which indeed precedent may 
 be cited in various other odes, but with which it is impossible 
 to go along.
 
 184 THE LIFE OF 
 
 minds with no common interest, and which will 
 awake, in the bosom of kindred genius, many a 
 high emotion *. Neither should we pass over the 
 continued friendship he experienced from a poet 
 then living, the amiable and accomplished Black- 
 lock. — To his encouraging advice it was owing (as 
 has already appeared) that Burns, instead of emi- 
 grating to the West Indies, repaired to Edinburgh. 
 He received him there with all the ardour of affec- 
 tionate admiration ; he eagerly introduced him to 
 the respectable circle of his friends ; he consulted 
 his interest ; he blazoned his fame ; he lavished 
 upon him all the kindness of a generous and feel- 
 ing heart, into which nothing selfish or envious 
 ever found admittance. Among the friends to 
 whom he introduced Burns was Mr Ramsay of 
 Ochtertyre, to whom our poet paid a visit in the 
 autumn of 1787, at his delightful retirement in 
 the neighbourhood of Stirling, and on the banks 
 of the Teith. Of this visit we have the following 
 particulars : 
 
 " I have been in the company of many men 
 of genius," says Mr Ramsay, " some of them 
 poets, but never witnessed such flashes of intel- 
 lectual brightness as from him, the impulse of 
 
 * See Vol. ii. p. 65 — 68, where the Epitaph will be found,
 
 ROBERT BURNS- 185 
 
 the moment, sparks of celestial fire ! I never was 
 more delighted, therefore, than with his company 
 for two days, tete-a-tete. In a mixed company I 
 should have made little of him ; for, in the game- 
 ster's phrase, he did not always know when to play 
 off and when to play on. * # * I not only 
 proposed to him the writing of a play similar to the 
 Gentle Shepherd, qualcm decet esse sororem, but 
 Scottish Georgics, a subject which Thomson has by 
 no means exhausted in his Seasons. What beau- 
 tiful landscapes of rural life and manners might 
 not have been expected from a pencil so faithful 
 and forcible as his, which could have exhibited 
 scenes as familiar and interesting as those in the 
 Gentle Shepherd, which every one who knows our 
 swains in their unadulterated state, instantly re- 
 cognises as true to nature. But to have executed 
 either of these plans, steadiness and abstraction 
 from company were wanting, not talents. When 
 I asked him whether the Edinburgh Literati had 
 mended his poems by their criticisms, " Sir," 
 said he, " these gentlemen remind me of some 
 spinsters in my country, who spin their thread so 
 fine that it is neither fit for weft nor woof." He 
 said he had not changed a word except one, to 
 please Dr Blair *. 
 
 * Extract of a letter from Mr Ramsay to the Editor. " This 
 incorrigibility of Burns extended, however, only to his poems
 
 136 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Having settled with his publisher, Mr Creech, 
 in February, 1788, Burns found himself master 
 of nearly five hundred pounds, after discharging 
 all his expences. Two hundred pounds he imme- 
 diately advanced to his brother Gilbert, who had 
 taken upon himself the support of their aged mo- 
 ther, and was struggling with many difficulties in 
 the farm of Mossgiel. With the remainder of this 
 sum, and some farther eventual profits from his 
 poems, he determined on settling himself for life 
 in the occupation of agriculture, and took from Mr 
 Miller, of Dalswinton, the farm of Ellisland, on the 
 banks of the river Nith, six miles above Dumfries, 
 on which he entered at Whitsunday, 1788. Hav- 
 ing been previously recommended to the Board of 
 Excise, his name had been put on the list of candi- 
 datesfor the humble office of a guager or exciseman; 
 and he immediately applied to acquiring the infor- 
 mation necessary for filling that office, when the 
 honourable Board might judge it proper to em- 
 ploy him. He expected to be called into service 
 in the district in which his farm was situated, and 
 vainly hoped to unite with success the labours 
 of the farmer with the duties of the exciseman. 
 
 printed before he arrived in Edinburgh ; for, in regard to his 
 unpublished poems, he was amenable to critieism, of which 
 many proofs might be given." Sec some remarks on this sub- 
 ject; Vol. iii. App. p. 152.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 187 
 
 When Burns had in this manner arranged his 
 plans for futurity, his generous heart turned to the 
 object of his most ardent attachment, and listen- 
 ing to no considerations but those of honour and 
 affection, he joined with her in a public declara- 
 tion of marriage, thus legalizing their union, and 
 rendering it permanent for life *. 
 
 Before Burns was known in Edinburgh, a spe- 
 cimen of his poetry had recommended him to Mr 
 Miller of Dalswinton. Understanding that he 
 intended to resume the life of a farmer, Mr Miller 
 had invited him, in the spring of i 787, to view r 
 his estate in Nithsdale, offering him at the same 
 time the choice of any of his farms out of lease, 
 at such a rent as Burns and his friends might 
 judge proper. It was not in the nature of Burns 
 to take an undue advantage of the liberality of 
 Mr Miller. He proceeded in this business, how- 
 ever, with more than usual deliberation. Having 
 made choice of the farm of Ellisland, he employ- 
 ed two of his friends skilled in the value of land, 
 to examine it, and, with their approbation, offer- 
 ed a rent to Mr Miller, which was immediately 
 
 * Sec p. 75-6-7 of this volume,
 
 188 THE LIFE OF 
 
 accepted. It was not convenient for Mrs Burns 
 to remove immediately from Ayrshire, and our 
 poet therefore took up his residence alone at Ellis- 
 land, to prepare for the reception of his wife and 
 children, who joined him towards the end of the 
 year. 
 
 The situation in which Burns now found himself 
 was calculated to awaken reflection. The diffe- 
 rent steps he had of late taken were in their na- 
 ture highly important, and might be said to have, 
 in some measure, fixed his destiny. He had be- 
 come a husband and a father ; he had engaged in 
 the management of a considerable farm, a difficult 
 and laborious undertaking ; in his success the hap- 
 piness of his family was involved ; it was time, 
 therefore, to abandon the gaiety and dissipation 
 of which he had been too much enamoured ; to 
 ponder seriously on the past, and to form virtuous 
 resolutions respecting the future. That such was 
 actually the state of his mind, the following ex- 
 tract from his common-place book may bear wit- 
 ness : — 
 
 *< Ellisland, Sunday, \Uh June, 1788. 
 " This is now the third day that I have been 
 in this country. ' Lord, what is man!' What 
 a bustling little bundle of passions, appetites,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 1S9 
 
 ideas, and fancies ! and what a capricious kind of 
 existence he has here ! * * * There is indeed an 
 e]sewhere, where, as Thomson says, virtue sole 
 survives. 
 
 il Tell us, ye dead ; 
 Will none of you in pity disclose the secret. 
 What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be ? 
 
 A little time 
 
 Will make us wise as you are, and as close." 
 
 " I am such a coward in life, so tired of the 
 service, that I would almost at any time, with 
 Milton's Adam, ' gladly lay me in my mother's 
 lap, and be at peace.' 
 
 " But a wife and children bind me to struggle 
 with the stream, till some sudden squall shall 
 overset the silly vessel, or in the listless return of 
 years, its own craziness reduce it to a wreck. 
 Farewell now to those giddy follies, those varnish- 
 ed vices, which, though half-sanctified by the be- 
 witching levity of wit and humour, are at best 
 but thriftless idling with the precious current of 
 existence ; nay, often poisoning the whole, that, 
 like the plains of Jericho, the 'water is naught and 
 the grounds barren, and nothing short of a super- 
 naturally-gifted u Elisha can ever after heal the 
 evils.
 
 190 THE LIFE 01? 
 
 " Wedlock, the circumstance that buckles me 
 hardest to care, if virtue and religion were to be 
 any thing with me but names, was what in a few 
 seasons I must have resolved on ; in my present 
 situation it was absolutely necessary. Humanity, 
 generosity, honest pride of character, justice to 
 my own happiness for after life, so far as it could 
 depend (which it surely will a great deal) on in- 
 ternal peace ; all these joined their warmest suf- 
 frages, their most powerful solicitations, with a 
 rooted attachment, to urge the step I have taken. 
 Nor have I any reason on her part to repent it. — 
 I can fancy how, but have never seen where, I 
 could have made a better choice. Come, then, 
 let me act up to my favourite motto, that glori- 
 ous passage in Young — 
 
 " On reason build resolve, 
 That column of true majesty in man V 
 
 Under the impulse of these reflections, Burns 
 immediately engaged in re-building the dwelling- 
 house on his farm, which, in the state he found 
 it, was inadequate to the accommodation of his 
 family. On this occasion, he himself resumed 
 at times the occupation of a labourer, and 
 found neither his strength nor his skill impaired. 
 — Pleased with surveying the grounds he was 
 about to cultivate, and with the rearing of a 
 building that should give shelter to his wife and
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 191 
 
 children, and, as he fondly hoped, to his own 
 grey hairs, sentiments of independence buoyed 
 up his mind, pictures of domestic content and 
 peace rose on his imagination ; and a few days 
 passed away, as he himself informs us, the most 
 tranquil, if not the happiest, which he had ever 
 experienced *. 
 
 * Animated sentiments of any kind, almost always gave 
 rise in our poet to some production of his muse. His senti- 
 ments on this occasion were in part expressed by the follow- 
 ing vigorous and characteristic, though not very delicate verses ; 
 they are in imitation of an old ballad. 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain, 
 
 I'll partake wi' nae-body. 
 I'll tak cuckold fra nane, 
 
 I'll gie cuckold to nae-body. 
 
 I hae a penny to spend, 
 
 There — thanks to nae-body ; 
 I hae naething to lend, 
 
 I'll borrow frae nae-body. 
 
 I am nae-body's lord, 
 
 I'll be slave to nae-body ; 
 I hae a guid braid sword, 
 
 I'll tak dunts frae nae-body. 
 
 I'll be merry and free, 
 
 I'll be sad for nae-body ; 
 If nae-body care for me, 
 
 I'll care for nae-body.
 
 192 THE LIFE OF 
 
 It is to be lamented that at this critical period 
 of his life, our poet was without the society of his 
 wife and children. A great change had taken 
 place in his situation ; his old habits were broken ; 
 and the new circumstances in which he was plac- 
 ed were calculated to give a new direction to his 
 thoughts and conduct *. But his application to 
 the cares and labours of his farm was interrupted 
 by several visits to his family in Ayrshire ; and as 
 the distance was too great for a single day's jour- 
 ney, he generally spent a night at an inn on the 
 road. On such occasions he sometimes fell into 
 company, and forgot the resolutions he had form- 
 ed. In a little while temptation assailed him 
 nearer home. 
 
 His fame naturally drew upon him the atten- 
 tion of his neighbours, and he soon formed a 
 general acquaintance in the district in which he 
 lived. The public voice had now pronounced on 
 the subject of his talents ; the reception he had 
 met with in Edinburgh had given him the cur- 
 rency which fashion bestows ; he had surmount- 
 ed the prejudices arising from his humble birth, 
 and he was received at the table of the gentlemen 
 of Nithsdale with welcome, with kindness, and 
 
 * Mrs Burns was about to be confined in child-bed, and the 
 bouse at Ellisland was rebuilding.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 193 
 
 even with respect. Their social parties too often 
 seduced him from his rustic labours and his rustic 
 fare, overthrewthe unsteady fabric of his resolutions, 
 and inflamed those propensities which temperance 
 might have weakened, and prudence ultimately 
 suppressed *. It was not long, therefore, before 
 Burns began to view his farm with dislike and 
 despondence, if not with disgust. 
 
 Unfortunately he had for several years looked 
 to an office in the Excise as a certain means of 
 livelihood, should his other expectations fail. As 
 has already been mentioned, he had been re- 
 commended to the Board of Excise, and had re* 
 
 * The poem of The Whistle ( Vol. Hi. p. 367 J celebrates 
 a Bacchanalian contest among three gentlemen of Niths- 
 dale, where Burns appears as umpire. Mr Riddel died be- 
 fore our Bard, and some elegiac verses to his memory will 
 be found in Vol. iv. p. 370. From him, and from all the 
 members of his family, Burns received not kindness only, but 
 friendship ; and the society he met in general at Friar's Carse 
 was calculated to improve his habits as well as his manners. 
 Mr Ferguson of Craigdarroch, so well known for his eloquence 
 and social talents, died soon after our poet. Sir Robert 
 Laurie, the third person in the drama, survives, and has since 
 been engaged in contests of a bloodier nature. Lon<r may he 
 Jive to fight the battles of his country ! (1799). 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 THE LIFE OP 
 
 ceived the instruction necessary for such a situa- 
 tion. He now applied to be employed ; and by 
 the interest of Mr Graham of Fintry, was appoint- 
 ed to be exciseman, or, as it is vulgarly called, 
 gauger, of the district in which he lived. His 
 farm was, after this, in a great measure, abandon- 
 ed to servants, while he betook himself to the 
 duties of his new appointment. 
 
 He might indeed still be seen in the spring, 
 directing his plough, a labour in which he excel- 
 led ; or with a white sheet, containing his seed- 
 corn, slung across his shoulders, striding with 
 measured steps along his turned-up furrows, and 
 scattering the grain in the earth. But his farm no 
 longer occupied the principal part of his care or 
 his thoughts. It was not at EJlisland that he was 
 now in general to be found. Mounted on horse- 
 back, this high-minded poet was pursuing the de- 
 faulters of the revenue, among the hills and vales 
 of Nithsdale, his roving eye wandering over the 
 charms of nature, and muttering his wayward fan?- 
 ties as he moved along. 
 
 " I had an adventure with him in the year 
 1790," says Mr Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, in a 
 letter to the editor, " when passing through 
 Dumfries-shire, on a tour to the South, with Dr 
 Steuart of Luss. Seeing him pass quickly, near
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 195 
 
 Closeburn, I said to my companion, * that is 
 Burns.' On coming to the inn, the hostler told 
 us he would be back in a few hours to grant per- 
 mits j that where he met with any thing seizable 
 he was no better than any other gauger ; in every 
 thing else, that he was perfectly a gentleman. 
 After leaving a note to be delivered to him on 
 his return, I proceeded to his house, being curi- 
 ous to see his Jean, &c. I was much pleased 
 with his uxor Sabina qualis, and the poet's modest 
 mansion, so unlike the habitation of ordinary 
 rustics. In the evening he suddenly bounced in 
 upon us, and said, as he entered, I come, to use 
 the words of Shakespear, stewed in haste. In fact 
 he had ridden incredibly fast after receiving my 
 note. We fell into conversation directly, and 
 soon got into the mare magnum of poetry. He 
 told me that he had now gotten a story for a 
 drama, which he was to call Rob Macquecharts 
 Elshon^ from a popular story of Robert Bruce 
 being defeated on the water of Caern, when the 
 heel of his boot having loosened in his flight, he 
 applied to Robert Macquechan to fix it ; who, to 
 make sure* ran his awl nine inches up the King's 
 heel. We were now going on at a great rate, 
 
 when Mr S popped in his head ; which put 
 
 a stop to our discourse, which had become very 
 interesting. Yet in a little while it was re- 
 sumed : and such was the force and versatilitv 
 
 2
 
 196 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of the bard's genius, that he made the tears run 
 
 down Mr S 's cheeks, albeit unused to the 
 
 poetic strain. * * * From that time we met no 
 more, and I was grieved at the reports of him 
 afterwards. Poor Burns ! we shall hardly ever 
 see his like again. He was, in truth a sort of 
 comet in literature, irregular in its motions, which 
 did not do good proportioned to the blaze of light 
 it displayed." 
 
 In the summer of 1791, two English gentle- 
 men, who had before met with him in Edinburgh, 
 paid a visit to him at Ellisland. On calling at the 
 house, they were informed that he had walked 
 out on the banks of the river j and dismounting 
 from their horses, they proceeded in search of 
 him. On a rock that projected into the stream, 
 they saw a man employed in angling, of a singu- 
 lar appearance. He had a cap made of a fox's 
 skin on his head, a loose great coat fixed round 
 him by a belt, from which depended an enormous 
 Highland broad-sword. It was Burns. He re- 
 ceived them with great cordiality, and asked 
 them to share his humble dinner — an invitation 
 which they accepted. On the table they found 
 boiled beef, with vegetables, and barley broth, af- 
 ter the manner of Scotland, of which they par- 
 took heartily. After dinner, the bard told them 
 ingenuously that he had no wine to offer them,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 197 
 
 nothing better than Highland whisky, a bottle of 
 which Mrs Burns set on the board. He produ- 
 ced at the same time his punch-bowl made of In- 
 verary marble, and, mixing the spirits with water 
 and sugar, filled their glasses, and invited them to 
 drink *. The travellers were in haste, and besides, 
 the flavour of the whisky to their suthron palates 
 was scarcely tolerable ; but the generous poet 
 offered them his best, and his ardent hospitality 
 they found it impossible to resist. Burns was in 
 his happiest mood, and the charms of his conver- 
 sation were altogether fascinating. He ranged 
 over a great variety of topics, illuminating what- 
 ever he touched. He related the tales of his in- 
 fancy and of his youth ; he recited some of the 
 gayest and some of the tenderest of his poems ; 
 in the wildest of his strains of mirth, he threw in 
 touches of melancholy, and spread around him 
 the electric emotions of his powerful mind. The 
 Highland whisky improved in its flavour ; the 
 marble bowl was again and again emptied and 
 replenished ; the guests of our poet forgot 
 the flight of time, and the dictates of pru- 
 dence : at the hour of midnight they lost their 
 way in returning to Dumfries, and could 
 
 * This bowl was made of the stone of which Inverarv-konst 
 
 is built, the mansion of the family of Arg;! f _-.
 
 198 THE LIFE OF 
 
 scarcely distinguish when assisted by the morn* 
 ing's dawn *. 
 
 Besides his duties in the Excise and his social 
 pleasures, other circumstances interfered with the 
 attention of Burns to his farm. He engaged in. 
 the formation of a society for purchasing and cir* 
 culating books among the farmers of his neigh- 
 bourhood, of which he undertook the manage- 
 ment t ; and he occupied himself occasionally in 
 composing songs for the musical work of Mr 
 Johnson, then in the course of publication. 
 These engagements, useful and honourable in 
 themselves, contributed, no doubt, to the abstrac- 
 tion of his thoughts from the business of agricul- 
 ture. 
 
 The consequences may be easily imagined. 
 Notwithstanding the uniform prudence and 
 good management of Mrs Burns, and though 
 his rent was moderate and reasonable, our poet 
 found it convenient, if not necessary, to resign 
 his farm to Mr Miller ; after having occupied 
 it three years and a half His office in the Ex- 
 cise had originally produced about fifty pounds 
 per annum. Having acquitted himself to the 
 
 * Given from the information of one of the partv. 
 f .See Vol. ii. p. 279.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 199 
 
 satisfaction of the Board, he had been appointed 
 to a new district, the emoluments of which rose 
 to about seventy pounds per annum. Hoping to 
 support himself and his family on this humble in- 
 come till promotion should reach him, he disposed 
 of his stock and of his crop on Ellisland by public 
 auction, and removed to a small house which he 
 had taken in Dumfries, about the end of the year 
 1*791. 
 
 llitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in 
 social parties, had abstained from the habitual 
 use of strong liquors, and his constitution had 
 not suffered any permanent injury from the irre- 
 gularities of his conduct. In Dumfries, temp- 
 tations to the sin that so easily beset him, continual- 
 ly presented themselves ; and his irregularities 
 grew by degrees into habits. These temptations 
 unhappily occurred during his engagements in the 
 business of his office, as well as during his hours 
 of relaxation ; and though he clearly foresaw the 
 consequence of yielding to them, his appetites and 
 sensations, which could not pervert the dictates 
 of his judgment, finally triumphed over the powers 
 of his will. Yet this victory was not obtained with- 
 out many obstinate struggles, and at times tem- 
 perance and virtue seemed to have obtained the 
 mastery. Besides his engagements in the Excise, 
 and the society into which they led, many circum-
 
 200 THE LIFE OF 
 
 stances contributed to the melancholy fate of 
 Burns. His great celebrity made him an object 
 of interest and curiosity to strangers, and few per- 
 sons of cultivated minds passed through Dunir 
 fries without attempting to see our poet, and to 
 enjoy the pleasure of his conversation. As he 
 could not receive them under his own humble 
 roof, these interviews passed at the inns of the 
 town, and often terminated in those excesses 
 which Burns sometimes provoked, and was sel- 
 dom able to resist. And among the inhabitants 
 of Dumfries and its vicinity, there were never 
 wanting persons to share his social pleasures ; to 
 lead or accompany him to the tavern ; to partake 
 in the wildest sallies of his wit ; to witness the 
 strength and degradation of his genius. 
 
 Still, however, he cultivated the society of per- 
 sons of taste and respectability, and in their com- 
 pany could impose on himself the restraints of 
 temperance and decorum. Nor was his muse dor- 
 mant. In the four years which he lived in Dum- 
 fries, he produced many of his beautiful lyrics, 
 though it does not appear that he attempted any 
 poem of considerable length. During this time, 
 he made several excursions into the neierhbourinsr 
 country, of one of which, through Galloway, an 
 account is preserved in a letter of Mr 8yme, writ- 
 ten soon after j which, as it gives an animated
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 201 
 
 picture of him by a correct and masterly hand, we 
 shall present to the reader. 
 
 w I got Burns a grey Highland shelty to ride on. 
 We dined the first day, 27th July, 1793, at Glen- 
 denwynes of Parton ; a beautiful situation on the 
 banks of the Dee. In the evening we walked out, 
 and ascended a gentle eminence, from which we 
 had as fine a view of Alpine scenery as can well 
 be imagined. A delightful soft evening showed 
 all its wilder as well as its grander graces. Imme- 
 diately opposite, and within a mile of us, we saw 
 Airds, a charming romantic place, where dwelt 
 Low, the author of Mary weep no more for me *. 
 This was classical ground for Burns. He viewed 
 " the highest hill which rises o'er the source of 
 Dee ;" and would have staid till " the passing 
 spirit" had appeared, had we not resolved to reach 
 Kenmore that night. We arrived as Mr and Mrs 
 Gordon were sitting down to supper. 
 
 " Here is a genuine baron's seat. The castle, 
 
 A beautiful and well known ballad, which begins thus 
 
 The moon had climb'd the highest hill 
 
 Which rises o'er the source of Dec 
 And, from the eastern summit, shed 
 Its silver light on tower and tree.
 
 202 THE LIFE OF 
 
 an old building, stands on a large natural moat. 
 In front, the river Ken winds for several miles 
 through the most fertile and beautiful holm *, till 
 it expands into a lake twelve miles long, the banks 
 of which, on the south, present a fine and soft 
 landscape of green knolls, natural wood, and here 
 and there a grey rock. On the north, the aspect 
 is great, wild, and I may say, tremendous. In 
 short, I can scarcely conceive a scene more terri- 
 bly romantic than the castle of Kenmore. Burns 
 thinks so highly of it, that he meditates a descrip- 
 tion of it in poetry. Indeed, I believe he has be- 
 gun the work. We spent three days with Mr 
 Gordon, whose polished hospitality is of an origi- 
 nal and endearing kind. Mrs Gordon's lap-dog, 
 Kcho, was dead. She would have an epitaph for 
 him. Several had been made. Burns was asked 
 for one. This was setting Hercules to his distaff. 
 He disliked the subject ; but, to please the lady, 
 he would try. Here is what he produced : 
 
 In wood and wild ye warbling throng 
 
 Your heavy loss deplore; 
 Now half extinct your powers of song, 
 
 Sweet Echo is no more. 
 
 * The level low-ground on the banks of a river or stream. 
 This word should be adopted from the Scottish, as indeed, 
 ought several others of the same nature. That dialect is 
 singularly copious and exact in the denominations tff natural
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 203 
 
 Ye jarring screeching things around, 
 
 Scream your discordant joys ; 
 Now half your din of tuneless sound 
 
 With Echo silent lies. 
 
 " We left Kenmore, and went to Gatehouse. 
 I took him the moor-road, where savage and de- 
 solate regions extended wide around. The sky 
 was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil j 
 it became lowering and dark. The hollow winds 
 sighed, the lightnings gleamed, the thunder roll- 
 ed. The poet enjoyed the awful scene — he spoke 
 not a word, but seemed rapt in meditation. In a 
 little while the rain began to fall ; it poured in 
 floods upon us. For three hours did the wild ele- 
 ments rumble their belly-full upon our defenceless 
 heads. Oh, oh ! 'twas foul. We got utterly wet ; 
 and to revenge ourselves, Burns insisted at Gate- 
 house on our getting utterly drunk. 
 
 " From Gatehouse, we went next day to Kirk- 
 cudbright, through a fine country. But here I 
 must tell you that Burns had got a pair of jemmy 
 boots for the journey, which had been thoroughly 
 wet, and which had been dried in such a manner 
 that it was not possible to get them on again. — 
 The brawny poet tried force, and tore them to 
 shreds. A whiffling vexation of this sort is more 
 trying to the temper than a serious calamity. We
 
 204 THE LIFE OF 
 
 were going to Saint Mary's Isle, the seat of the 
 Earl of Selkirk, and the forlorn Burns was dis- 
 comfited at the thought of his ruined boots. A 
 sick stomach, and a heart-ache, lent their aid, and 
 the man of verse was quite accable. I attempted 
 to reason with him. Mercy on us, how he did 
 fume and rage ! Nothing could re-instate him in 
 temper. I tried various expedients, and at last 
 hit on one that succeeded. I showed him the 
 house of * * * *, across the bay of Wigton. 
 Against * * * *, with whom he was offended, 
 he expectorated his spleen, and regained a most 
 agreeable temper. He was in a most epigramma- 
 tic humour indeed ! He afterwards fell on hum- 
 bler game. There is one ****** whom he 
 does not love. He had a passing blow at him. 
 
 When ******, deceased, to the devil went down, 
 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown : 
 Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never, 
 I grant thouVt as wicked, but not quite so clever. 
 
 " Well, I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright 
 along with our poet, without boots. I carried 
 the torn ruins across my saddle in spite of his 
 fulminations, and in contempt of appearances ; 
 and what is more, Lord Selkirk carried them in 
 his coach to Dumfries. He insisted they were 
 worth mending.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 205 
 
 " We reached Kirkcudbright about one o'clock. 
 I had promised that we should dine with one of 
 the first men in our country, J. Dalzell. But 
 Burns was in a wild and obstreperous humour, 
 and swore he would not dine where he should be 
 under the smallest restraint. We prevailed, there- 
 fore, on Mr Dalzell to dine with us in the inn, 
 and had a very agreeable party. In the evening 
 we set out for St Mary's Isle. Robert had not 
 absolutely regained the milkiness of good temper, 
 and it occurred once or twice to him, as he rode 
 along, that St Mary's Isle was the seat of a Lord ; 
 yet that Lord was not an aristocrate, at least in 
 his sense of the word. We arrived about eight 
 o'clock, as the family were at tea and coffee. St 
 Mary's Isle is one of the most delightful places 
 that can, in my opinion, be formed by the assem- 
 blage of every soft, but not tame object which 
 constitutes natural and cultivated beauty. But 
 not to dwell on its external graces, let me tell 
 you that we found all the ladies of the family 
 (all beautiful), at home, and some strangers ; and 
 among others, who but Urbani ! The Italian 
 sung us many Scottish songs, accompanied with 
 instrumental music. The two young ladies of 
 Selkirk sung; also. We had the song of Lord 
 Gregory, which I asked for, to have an oppor- 
 tunity of calling on Burns to recite fits ballad to
 
 206 THE LIFE OF 
 
 that tune. He did recite it ; and such was the 
 effect, that a dead silence ensued. It was such a 
 silence as a mind of feeling naturally preserves 
 when it is touched with that enthusiasm which ba- 
 nishes every other thought but the contemplation 
 and indulgence of the sympathy produced. Burns's 
 Lord Gregory is, in my opinion, a most beautiful 
 and affecting ballad # . The fastidious critic may 
 perhaps say, some of the sentiments and imagery 
 are of too elevated a kind for such a style of com- 
 position ; for instance, " Thou bolt of Heaven 
 that passest by ;" and, " Ye mustering thunder," 
 &c. ; but this is a cold-blooded objection, which 
 will be said rather xhdmfelt, 
 
 " We enjoyed a most happy evening at Lord 
 Selkirk's. We had, in every sense of the word, 
 a feast, in which our minds and our senses were 
 equally gratified. The poet was delighted with 
 his company, and acquitted, himself to admira- 
 tion. The lion that had raged so violently in 
 the morning, was now as mild and gentle as a 
 lamb. Next day we returned to Dumfries, and 
 so ends our peregrination. I told you, that in 
 the midst of the storm, on the wilds of Ken- 
 
 See Vol. iv. p. 38.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 207 
 
 more, Burns was rapt in meditation. What do 
 you think he was about ? He was charging the 
 English army, along with Bruce, at Bannockburn. 
 He was engaged in the same manner on our ride 
 home from St Mary's Isle, and I did not disturb 
 him. Next day he produced me the following 
 address of Bruce to his troops, and gave me a 
 copy for DalzelL 
 
 " Scots wha liae wP Wallace bled/' &c. * 
 
 Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in 
 the Excise ; but circumstances occurred which re- 
 larded their fulfilment, and which, in his own 
 mind, destroyed all expectation of their being ever 
 fulfilled. The extraordinary events which usher- 
 ed in the revolution of France, interested the feel- 
 ings, and excited the hopes of men in every cor- 
 ner of Europe. Prejudice and tyranny seemed 
 about to disappear from among men, and the day- 
 star of reason to rise upon a benighted world. In 
 the dawn of this beautiful morning, the genius of 
 French freedom appeared on our southern horizon 
 with the countenance of an angel, but speedily 
 assumed the features of a demon, and vanished in 
 a shower of blood. 
 
 Though previously a jacobite and a cavalier, 
 * See Vol. iv. p. 12.5.
 
 208 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Burns had shared in the original hopes entertain- 
 ed of this astonishing revolution, by ardent and 
 benevolent minds. The novelty and the hazard 
 of the attempt meditated by the First, or Consti- 
 tuent Assembly, served rather, it is probable, to 
 recommend it to his daring temper ; and the un- 
 fettered scope proposed to be given to every kind 
 of talents, was doubtless gratifying to the feelings 
 of conscious but indignant genius. Burns fore- 
 saw not the mighty ruin that was to be the imme- 
 diate consequence of an enterprise, which, on its 
 commencement, promised so much happiness to 
 the human race. And even after the career of 
 guilt and of blood commenced, he could not im- 
 mediately, it may be presumed, withdraw his par- 
 tial gaze from a people who had so lately breath- 
 ed the sentiments of universal peace and benigni- 
 ty, or obliterate in his bosom the pictures of hope 
 and of happiness to which those sentiments had 
 given birth. Under these impressions, he did not 
 always conduct himself with the circumspection 
 and prudence which his dependent situation seem- 
 ed to demand. He engaged indeed in no popu- 
 lar associations, so common at the time of which 
 we speak ; but in company he did not conceal 
 his opinions of public measures, or of the reforms 
 required in the practice of our government : and 
 sometimes, in his social and unguarded moments, 
 he uttered them with a wild arid unjustifiable ve-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 209 
 
 hemence. Information of this was given to the 
 Board of Excise, with the exaggerations so gene- 
 ral in such cases. A superior officer in that de- 
 partment was authorized to inquire into his con- 
 duct. Burns defended himself in a letter address- 
 ed to one of the Board, written with great inde- 
 pendence of spirit, and with more than his accus- 
 tomed eloquence. The officer appointed to in- 
 quire into his conduct gave a favourable report. 
 His steady friend, Mr Graham of Fintry, inter- 
 posed his good offices in his behalf; and the im- 
 prudent gauger was suffered to retain his situa- 
 tion, but given to understand that his promotion 
 was deferred, and must depend on his future be- 
 haviour. 
 
 This circumstance made a deep impression on 
 the mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his mis- 
 conduct, and represented him as actually dismiss- 
 ed from his office j and this report induced a gen- 
 tleman of much respectability to propose a sub- 
 scription in his favour. The offer was refused by 
 our poet in a letter of great elevation of senti- 
 ment, in which he gives an account of the whole 
 of this transaction, and defends himself from the 
 imputation of disloyal sentiments on the one hand, 
 and on the other, from the charge of having made 
 Submissions for the sake of his office, unworthy of 
 his character. 
 
 VOL. t. p
 
 210 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " The partiality of my countrymen," he ob- 
 serves, has brought me forward as a man of ge- 
 nius, and has given me a character to support. 
 In the poet I have avowed manly and independ- 
 ent sentiments, which I hope have been found in 
 the man. Reasons of no less weight than the sup- 
 port of a wife and children, have pointed out my 
 present occupation as the only eligible line of life 
 within my reach. Still my honest fame is my 
 dearest concern, and a thousand times have I 
 trembled at the idea of the degrading epithets that 
 malice or misrepresentation may affix to my name. 
 Often in blasting anticipation have I listened to 
 some future hackney scribbler, with the heavy 
 malice of savage stupidity, exultingly asserting 
 that Burns, notwithstanding the fanfaronade of 
 independence to be found in his works, and after 
 having been held up to public view, and to public 
 estimation, as a man of some genius, yet, quite 
 destitute of resources within himself to support 
 his borrowed dignity, dwindled into a paltry ex- 
 ciseman, and slunk out the rest of his insignificant 
 existence in the meanest of pursuits, and among 
 the lowest of mankind. 
 
 ** In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me 
 to lodge my strong disavowal and defiance of 
 such slanderous falsehoods. Burns was a poor 
 man from his birth, and an exciseman by ne-
 
 .ROBERT BURNS. 211 
 
 cessity : but— I mil say it ! the sterling of his ho- 
 nest worth, poverty could not debase, and his in- 
 dependent British spirit, oppression might bend* 
 but could not subdue." 
 
 It was one of the last acts of his life to copy 
 this letter into his book of manuscripts, accom- 
 panied by somte additional remarks on the same 
 subject. It is not surprising, that at a season of 
 universal alarm for the safety of the constitution, 
 the indiscreet expressions of a man so powerful as 
 Burns, should have attracted notice. The times 
 certainly required extraordinary vigilance in those 
 intrusted with the administration of the govern- 
 ment, and to insure the safety of the constitution 
 was doubtless their first duty. Yet generous minds 
 will lament that their measures of precaution 
 should have robbed the imagination of our poet 
 of the last prop on which his hopes of independ- 
 ence rested, and by embittering his peace, have 
 aggravated those excesses which were soon to 
 conduct him to an untimely grave. 
 
 Though the vehemence of Burns's temper, in- 
 creased as it often was by stimulating liquors, 
 might lead him into many improper and unguard- 
 ed expressions, there seems no reason to doubt of 
 his attachment to our mixed form of goverment. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE LIFE OF 
 
 In his common-place book, where he could have 
 no temptation to disguise, are the following "Sen- 
 timents.—" Whatever might be my sentiments of 
 republics, ancient or modern, as to Britain, I ever 
 abjured the idea. A constitution which, in its 
 original principles, experience has proved to be 
 every way fitted for our happiness, it would be 
 insanity to abandon for an untried visionary the- 
 ory." In conformity to these sentiments, when 
 the pressing nature of public affairs called in 1795 
 for a general arming of the people, Burns appear- 
 ed in the ranks of the Dumfries volunteers, and 
 employed his pOetical talents in stimulating their 
 patriotism * ; and at this season of alarm, he brought 
 forward the following hymn, worthy of the Gre- 
 cian Muse, when Greece was most conspicuous 
 for genius and valour. 
 
 Scene — A Field of Battle — Time of the Dai/, 
 Evening — the wounded and dying of the victori- 
 ous Army are supposed to join in the following 
 Song : 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 
 
 Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
 Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, 
 
 Our race of existence is run ! 
 
 See Vol. iv. p. 385.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 313 
 
 Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy fop, 
 
 Go, frighten the cpward and slave ; 
 Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 
 
 No terrors has thou to the brave ! 
 
 Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark, 
 
 Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
 Thou strik'st the young hero— a glorious mark I 
 
 He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
 
 In the field of proud honour— our swords in our hands, 
 
 Our king and our country to saye— - 
 While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 
 
 O ! who would not rest with the brave ! * 
 
 Though by nature of an athletic form, Burns 
 had in his constitution the peculiarities and the 
 delicacies that belong to the temperament of ge- 
 nius. He was liable, from a very early period of 
 
 * This poem was written in 1791. See Vol. ii. p. 385. It 
 was printed in Johnson's Musical Museum. The poet had an 
 intention, in the latter part of his life, of printing it separate- 
 ly, set to music, but was advised against it, or at least dis- 
 couraged from it. The martial ardour which rose so high af- 
 terwards, on the threatened invasion, had not then acquired 
 the tone necessary to give popularity to this noble poem ; 
 which, to the editor, seems more calculated to invigorate the 
 spirit of defence, in a season of real and pressing danger, than 
 any production of modern times. It is here printed with his 
 last correctiens, varied a little from the copy followed, Vol. i\. 
 p. 385.
 
 214 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of life, to that interruption in the process of di- 
 gestion, which arises from deep and anxious 
 thought, and which is sometimes the effect, and 
 sometimes the cause of depression of spirits. Con- 
 nected with this disorder of the stomach, there 
 was a disposition to head-ache, affecting more 
 especially the temples and eye-balls, and frequent- 
 ly accompanied by violent and irregular move- 
 ments of the heart. Endowed by nature with 
 great sensibility of nerves, Burns was, in his cor- 
 poreal, as well as in his mental system, liable to 
 inordinate impressions ; to fever of body as well 
 as of mind. This predisposition to disease, which 
 strict temperance in diet, regular exercise, and 
 sound sleep, might have subdued, habits of a very 
 different nature strengthened and inflamed. Per- 
 petually stimulated by alcohol in one or other of 
 its various forms, the inordinate actions of the cir- 
 culating system became at length habitual j the 
 process of nutrition was unable to supply the waste, 
 and the powers of life began to fail. Upwards of 
 a year before his death, there was an evident de- 
 cline in our poet's personal appearance, and though 
 his appetite continued unimpaired, he was himself 
 sensible that his constitution was sinking. In his mo- 
 ments of thoughthe reflected with the deepestregret 
 on his fatal progress, clearly foreseeing the goal to- 
 wards which he was hastening, without the strength 
 of mind necessary to stop, or even to slacken his
 
 ROBERT BURNS*. 215 
 
 course. His temper now became more irritable 
 and gloomy ; he fled from himself into society, 
 often of the lowest kind. And in such company, 
 that part of the convivial scene, in which wine 
 increases sensibility and excites benevolence, was 
 hurried over, to reach the succeeding part, over 
 which uncontroled passion generally presided. 
 He who suffers the pollution of inebriation, how 
 shall he escape other pollution ? But let us re- 
 frain from the mention of errors over which de- 
 licacy and humanity draw the veil. 
 
 In the midst of all his wanderings, Burns met 
 nothing in his domestic circle but gentleness and 
 forgiveness, except in the gnawings of his own 
 remorse. He acknowledged his transgressions to 
 the wife of his bosom, promised amendment, and 
 again and again received pardon for his offences. 
 But as the strength of his body decayed, his reso- 
 lution became feebler, and habit acquired predo- 
 minating strength. 
 
 From October 1795, to the January following, 
 an accidental complaint confined him to the house. 
 A few days after he began to go abroad, he dined 
 at a tavern, and returned home about three o'clock 
 in a very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicated. 
 This was followed by an attack of rheumatism, 
 which confined him about a week. His appetite 
 now began to fail j his hand shook, and his voice
 
 216 THE LIFE OF 
 
 faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse, 
 became weaker and more rapid, and pain in the 
 larger joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived 
 him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too 
 much dejected in his spirits, and too well aware of 
 his real situation to entertain hopes of recovery, he 
 was ever musing on the approaching desolation of 
 his family, andhis spirits sunk into an uniform gloom. 
 
 It was hoped by some of his friends, that if he 
 could live through the months of spring, the suc- 
 ceeding season might restore him. But they were 
 disappointed. The genial beams of the sun in- 
 fused no vigour into his languid frame ; the sum- 
 mer wind blew upon him, but produced no refresh- 
 ment. About the latter end of June he was ad- 
 vised to go into the country, and impatient of me- 
 dical advice, as well as of every species of control, 
 he determined for himself to try the effects of 
 bathing in the sea. For this purpose he took up 
 his residence at Brow, in Annandale, about ten 
 miles east of Dumfries, on the shore of the Sol- 
 way-Firth. 
 
 It happened that at that time a lady with whom 
 he had been connected in friendship by the sym- 
 pathies of kindred genius, was residing in the im- 
 mediate neighbourhood *. Being informed of 
 
 * For a character of this lady, see Vol. ii. p. 390.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 217 
 
 bis arrival, she invited him to dinner, and sent her 
 carriage for him to the cottage where he lodged, 
 as he was unable to walk. — " I was struck," says 
 this lady (in a confidential letter to a friend writ- 
 ten soon after), *' with his appearance on enter- 
 ing the room. The stamp of death was impressed 
 on his features. He seemed already touching the 
 brink of eternity- His first salutation was « Well, 
 Madam, have you any commands for the other 
 world ?' I replied, that it seemed a doubtful case 
 which of us should be their 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 ex- 
 pressed his concern at seeing me look so ill, with 
 his accustomed 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 conversation about his present situation, 
 and the approaching termination of all his earthly 
 prospects. I^e spoke of his death without any of 
 the ostentation 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 unprotect- 
 ed, and his wife in so interesting a situation — in 
 hourly expectation of lying-in of a fifth. He men- 
 tioned, with seeming pride and satisfaction, the 
 promising genius of his eldest son, and the flatter-
 
 $18 THE LIFE OP 
 
 ing 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 them all the justice he was 
 so well qualified to do. Passing from this sub- 
 ject, he shewed 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 male- 
 volence, when no dread of his resentment would 
 restrain 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 epi- 
 grams on persons against whom he entertained no 
 enmity, and whose characters he should be sorry 
 to wound ; and many indifferent poetical pieces, 
 which he feared would now, with all their imper- 
 fections on their head, be thrust upon the world.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 219 
 
 On this account he deeply regretted having de- 
 ferred to put his papers into a state of arrangement, 
 as he was now quite incapable of the exertion." 
 — The lady goes on to mention many other topics 
 of a private nature on which he spoke. — " The 
 conversation," she adds, " was kept up with great 
 evenness and animation on his side. I had sel- 
 dom seen his mind greater or more collected. 
 There was frequently a considerable degree of 
 vivacity in his sallies, arid 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 unwilling to in- 
 dulge. 
 
 '* 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 !" 
 
 At first, Burns imagined bathing in the sea had 
 been of benefit to him : the pains in his limbs 
 were relieved ; but this was immediately followed 
 by a new attack of fever. When brought back 
 to his own house in Dumfries, on the 18th of 
 July, he was no longer able to stand upright. At 
 this time a tremor pervaded his frame : his tongue 
 was parched, and his mind sunk jnto delirium, 
 when not roused by conversation. On the second
 
 £20 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and third day the fever increased, and his strength 
 diminished. On the fourth, the sufferings of this 
 great, but ill-fated genius were terminated, and a 
 life was closed in which virtue and passion had 
 been at perpetual variance *. 
 
 The death of Burns made a strong and general 
 impression on all who had interested themselves 
 in his character, and especially on the inhabitants 
 of the town and county in which he had spent 
 the latter years of his life. Flagrant as his follies 
 and errors had been, , they had not deprived him* 
 of the respect and regard entertained for the ex- 
 traordinary powers of his genius, and the gene- 
 rous qualities of his heart. The Gentlemen- Vo- 
 lunteers of Dumfries determined to bury their 
 illustrious associate with military honours, and 
 every preparation was made to render this last 
 service solemn and impressive. The Fencible 
 Infantry of Angus-shire, and the regiment of ca- 
 valry of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered 
 in Dumfries, offered their assistance on this occa- 
 sion ; the principal inhabitants of the town and 
 neighbourhood determined to walk in the funeral 
 
 * The particulars respecting the illness and death of Burns 
 •were obligingly furnished by Dr Maxwell, the physician wha 
 
 attended him.
 
 ROBERT Bt'RNS. 221 
 
 procession ; and a vast concourse of persons, as- 
 sembled, some of them from a considerable dis- 
 tance, to witness the obsequies of the Scottish 
 Bard. On the evening of the 25th of July, the 
 remains of Burns were removed from his house 
 to the Town- Hall, and the funeral took place on 
 the succeeding day. A party of the volunteers, 
 selected to perform the military duty in the 
 church-yard, stationed themselves in the front of 
 the procession, with their arms reversed ; the 
 main body of the corps surrounded and support- 
 ed the coffin, on which were placed the hat and 
 sword of their friend and fellow-soldier ; the nu- 
 merous body of attendants ranged themselves iii 
 the rear ; while the Fencible regiments of infan- 
 try and cavalry lined the streets from the Towu- 
 Hall to the burial-ground in the Southern church- 
 yard, a distance of more than half a mile. The 
 whole procession moved forward to that sublime 
 and affecting strain of music, the Dead March in 
 Saul : and three vollies fired over his grave mark- 
 ed the return of Burns to his parent earth ! 
 The spectacle was in a high degree grand and 
 solemn, and accorded with the general sentiment? 
 of sympathy and sorrow which the occasion had 
 called forth. 
 
 It was an affecting circumstance, that* on the 
 morning of the day of her husband's funeral, Mrs
 
 222 THE LtfE OF 
 
 Burns was undergoing the pains of labour, and 
 that during the solemn service we have just been 
 describing, the posthumous son of our poet was 
 born. This infant boy, who received the name of 
 Maxwell, was not destined to a long life. He 
 has already become an inhabitant of the same 
 grave with his celebrated father. The four other 
 children of our poet, all sons (the eldest at that 
 time about ten years of age) yet survive, and give 
 every promise of prudence and virtue that can be 
 expected from their tender years. They remain 
 under the care of their affectionate mother in 
 Dumfries, and are enjoying the means of educa- 
 tion which the excellent schools of that town af- 
 ford ; the teachers of which, in their conduct to 
 the children of Burns, do themselves great ho- 
 nour. On this occasion, the name of Mr Whyte 
 deserves to be particularly mentioned, himself a 
 poet, as well as a man of science *. 
 
 Burns died in great poverty ; but the indepen- 
 dence of his spirit, and the exemplary prudence 
 of his wife, had preserved him from debt. He 
 had received from his poems a clear profit of 
 about nine hundred pounds. Of this sum, the 
 part expended on his library (which was far from 
 
 * The author of St Guerdons Well, a poem ; and of A Tfi- 
 
 Bute to the Memory of Burns. 
 
 3
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 223 
 
 extensive) and in the humble furniture of his 
 house, remained ; and obligations were found for 
 two hundred pounds advanced by him to the as- 
 sistance of those to whom he was united by the ties 
 of blood, and still more by those of esteem and 
 affection. When it is considered, that his ex- 
 pences in Edinburgh, and on his various journeys, 
 could not be inconsiderable ; that his agricultur- 
 al undertaking was unsuccessful ; that his income 
 from the Excise was for some time as low as fifty, 
 and never rose to above seventy pounds a-year $ 
 that his family was large, and his spirit liberal- — 
 no one will be surprised that his circumstances 
 were so poor, or that, as his health decayed, his 
 proud and feeling heart sunk under the secret 
 consciousness of indigence, and the apprehensions 
 of absolute want. Yet poverty never bent the 
 spirit of Burns to any pecuniary meanness. Nei- 
 ther chicanery nor sordidness ever appeared in his 
 conduct. He carried his disregard of money to 
 a blameable excess. Even in the midst of dis- 
 tress he bore himself loftily to the world, and re- 
 ceived with a jealous reluctance every offer of 
 friendly assistance. His printed poems had pro- 
 cured him great celebrity, and a just and fair re- 
 compense for the latter offsprings of his pen might 
 have produced him considerable emolument. In 
 the year 1795, the Editor of a London newspaper, 
 high in its character for literature, and indepen-
 
 224 THE LIFE Of 
 
 dence of sentiment, made a proposal to him that 
 he should furnish them, once a-week, with an ar- 
 ticle for their poetical department, and receive 
 from them a recompense of fifty-two guineas per 
 annum ; ari offer which the pride of genius dis- 
 dained to accept. Yet he had for several years 
 furnished, and was at that time furnishing, the 
 Museum of Johnson with his beautiful lyrics, with- 
 out fee or reward, and was obstinately refusing 
 all recompense for his assistance to the greater 
 work of Mr Thomson, Which the justice and ge- 
 nerosity of that gentleman was pressing upon 
 him. 
 
 The sense of his poverty, and of the approach- 
 ing distress of his infant family, pressed heavily 
 on Burns as he lay on the bed of death. Yet he 
 alluded to his indigence, at times, with something 
 approaching to his wonted gaiety. — -" What busi- 
 ness," said lie to Dr Maxwell, who attended 
 him with the utmost zeal, " has a physician to 
 waste his time on me ? I am a poor pigebn, not 
 Avorth plucking. Alas ! I have not feathers enough 
 upon me to carry me to my grave." And when 
 his reason was lost in delirium, his ideas ran in 
 the same melancholy train ; the horrors of a 
 jail were continually present to his troubled ima- 
 gination, and produced the most affecting excla- 
 mation?.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 22£ 
 
 As for some months previous to his death he 
 had been incapable of the duties of his office, 
 Burns had imagined that his salary was reduced 
 one half, as is usual in such cases. The Board, 
 however, to their honour, continued his full emo- 
 luments ; and Mr Graham of Fintry, hearing of 
 his illness, though unacquainted with its danger- 
 ous nature, made an offer of his assistance towards 
 procuring him the means of preserving his health. 
 *— Whatever might be the faults of Burns, ingra- 
 titude was not of the number. — Amongst his ma- 
 nuscripts, various proofs are found of the sense he 
 entertained of Mr Graham's friendship, which de- 
 licacy towards that gentleman has induced us to 
 suppress ; and on this last occasion there is no 
 doubt that his heart overflowed towards him, 
 though he had no longer the power of expressing 
 his feelings *. 
 
 On the death of Burns, the inhabitants of Dum- 
 fries and its neighbourhood opened a subscription 
 for the support of his wife and family ; and 
 Mr Miller, Mr M'Murdo, Dr Maxwell, and 
 Mr Syme, gentlemen of the first respectabili- 
 
 * The letter of Mr Graham, alluded to above, is dated on 
 the 13th of July, and probably arrived on the 15th. Burns 
 became delirious on the 17th or 18th, and died on the 21st. 
 VOL. I-. q
 
 226 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ty, became trustees for the application of the 
 money to its proper objects. The subscription 
 was extended to other parts of Scotland, and of 
 England also, particularly London and Liverpool. 
 By this means a sum was raised amounting to 
 seven hundred pounds ; and thus the widow and 
 children were rescued from immediate distress, 
 and the most melancholy of the forebodings of 
 Burns happily disappointed. It is true, this sum, 
 though equal to their present support, is insuffi- 
 cient to secure them from future penury. Their 
 hope in regard to futurity depends on the favour- 
 able reception of these volumes from the public 
 at large, in the promoting of which the candour 
 and humanity of the reader may induce him to 
 lend his assistance. 
 
 Burns, as has already been mentioned, was 
 nearly five feet ten inches in height, and of a form 
 that indicated agility as well as strength. His 
 well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling 
 hair, indicated extensive capacity. His eyes were 
 large, dark, full of ardour and intelligence. His 
 face was well formed ; and his countenance un- 
 commonly interesting and expressive. His mode 
 of dressing, which was often slovenly, and a cer- 
 tain fulness and bend in his shoulders, characte- 
 ristic of his original profession, disguised in some 
 degree the natural symmetry and elegance of his
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 22? 
 
 form. The external appearance of Burns was 
 most strikingly indicative of the character of his 
 mind. On a first view, his physiognomy had a 
 certain air of coarseness, mingled, however, with 
 an expression of deep penetration, and of calm 
 thoughtfulness approaching to melancholy. There 
 appeared in his first manner and address, perfect 
 ease and self-possession, but a stern and almost 
 supercilious elevation, not, indeed, incompatible 
 with openness and affability, which, however, be- 
 spoke a mind conscious of superior talents. — 
 Strangers that supposed themselves approaching 
 an Ayrshire peasant, who could make rhymes, 
 and to whom their notice was an honour, found 
 themselves speedily overawed by the presence of 
 a man who bore himself with dignity, and who 
 possessed a singular power of correcting forward- 
 ness and of repelling intrusion. But though 
 jealous of the respect due to himself, Burns never 
 enforced it where he saw it was willingly paid ; 
 and, though inaccessible to the approaches of 
 pride, he was open to every advance of kind- 
 ness and of benevolence. His dark and haughty 
 countenance easily relaxed into a look of good- 
 will, of pity, or of tenderness j and, as the various 
 emotions succeeded each other in his mind, as- 
 sumed with equal ease the expression of the broad- 
 est humour, of the most extravagant mirth, of the 
 deepest melancholy, or of the most sublime emo- 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE LIFE 0* 
 
 tion. The tones of his voice happily correspond- 
 ed with the expression of his features, and with the 
 feelings of his mind. When to these endowments 
 are added a rapid and distinct apprehension, a 
 most powerful understanding, and a happy com- 
 mand of language — of strength as well as bril- 
 liancy of expression — we shall be able to account 
 for the extraordinary attractions of his conver- 
 sation — for the sorcery which in his social parties 
 he seemed to exert on all around him. In the 
 company of women this sorcery was more espe- 
 cially apparent. Their presence charmed the 
 fiend of melancholy in his bosom, and awoke 
 his happiest feelings ; it excited the powers of 
 his fancy, as well as the tenderness of his heart ; 
 and, by restraining the vehemence and the exu- 
 berance of his language, at times gave to his 
 manners the impression of taste, and even of 
 elegance, which in the company of men they 
 seldom possessed. This influence was doubt- 
 less reciprocal. A Scottish Lady, accustomed 
 to the best society, declared with characteristic 
 naivete, that no man's conversation ever carried 
 her so completely off Iter feet as that of Burns ; 
 and an English Lady, familiarly acquainted 
 with several of the most distinguished charac- 
 ters of the present times, assured the editor, 
 that in the happiest of his social hours, there 
 was a charm about Burns which she had never
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 229 
 
 seen equalled. This charm arose not more from 
 the power than the versatility of his genius. No 
 languor could be felt in the society of a man who 
 passed at pleasure from grave to gay, from the lu- 
 dicrous to the pathetic, from the simple to the 
 sublime ; who wielded all his faculties with equal 
 strength and ease, and never failed to impress the 
 offspring of his fancy with the stamp of his under- 
 standing. 
 
 This, indeed, is to represent Burns in his hap- 
 piest phasis. In large and mixed parties, he was 
 often silent and dark, sometimes fierce and over- 
 bearing; he was jealous of the proud man's scorn, 
 jealous to an extreme of the insolence of wealth, 
 and prone to avenge, even on its innocent posses- 
 sor, the partiality of fortune. By nature kind, 
 brave, sincere, and in a singular degree compas- 
 sionate, he was on the other hand proud, irascible, 
 and vindictive. His virtues and his failings had 
 their origin in the extraordinary sensibility of his 
 mind, and equally partook of the chills and glows 
 of sentiment. His friendships were liable to in- 
 terruption from jealousy or disgust, and his enmi- 
 ties died away under the influence of pity or self- 
 accusation. His understanding was equal to the 
 other powers of his mind, and his deliberate opi- 
 nions were singularly candid and just; but, like 
 other men of great and irregular genius, the opi- 
 nions which he delivered in conversation were
 
 230 THE LIFE OF 
 
 often the offspring of temporary feelings, and 
 widely different from the calm decisions of his 
 judgment. This was not merely true respecting 
 the characters of others, but in regard to some 
 of the most important points of human specu- 
 lation. 
 
 On no subject did he give a more striking proof 
 of the strength of his understanding, than in the 
 correct estimate he formed of himself. He knew 
 his own failings ; he predicted their consequence ; 
 the melancholy foreboding was never long absent 
 from his mind ; yet his passions carried him down 
 the stream of error, and swept him over the pre- 
 cipice he saw directly in his course. The fatal 
 defect in his character lay in the comparative weak- 
 ness of his volition, that superior faculty of the 
 mind, which governing the conduct according to 
 the dictates of the understanding, alone entitles 
 it to be denominated rational; which is the parent 
 of fortitude, patience, and self-denial; which, by 
 regulating and combining human exertions, may 
 be said to have effected all that is great in the 
 works of man, in literature, in science, or on the 
 face of nature. The occupations of a poet are 
 not calculated to strengthen the governing powers 
 of the mind, or to weaken that sensibility which 
 requires perpetual control, since it gives birth to 
 the vehemence of passion as well as to the higher
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 231 
 
 powers of imagination. Unfortunately the favour- 
 ite occupations of genius are calculated to increase 
 all its peculiarities ; to nourish that lofty pride, 
 which disdains the littleness of prudence, and the 
 restrictions of order ; and, by indulgence, to in- 
 crease that sensibility, which, in the present form 
 of our existence, is scarcely compatible with peace 
 or happiness, even when accompanied with the 
 choicest gifts of fortune ! 
 
 It is observed by one who was a friend and as- 
 sociate of Burns *, and who has contemplated 
 and explained the system of animated nature, that 
 no sentient being, with mental powers greatly su- 
 perior to those of men, could possibly live and 
 be happy in this world. — " If such a being really 
 existed," continues he, " his misery would be ex- 
 treme. With senses more delicate and refined ; 
 with perceptions more acute and penetrating; with 
 a taste so exquisite that the objects around him 
 would by no means gratify it ; obliged to feed on 
 nourishment too gross for his frame ; he must be 
 born only to be miserable, and the continuation 
 of his existence would be utterly impossible. Even 
 in our present condition, the sameness and the in- 
 sipidity of objects and pursuits, the futility of 
 
 * Smellie — See his Philosophy of Natural History^ 
 Vol. i. p. 526.
 
 232 THE LIFE OF 
 
 pleasure, and the infinite sources of excruciating 
 pain, are supported with great difficulty by culti- 
 vated and refined minds. Increase our sensibili- 
 ties, continue the same objects and situation, and 
 no man could bear to live." 
 
 Thus it appears, that our powers of sensation, 
 as well as all our other powers, are adapted to the 
 scene of our existence 5 that they are limited in 
 mercy, as well as in wisdom. 
 
 The speculations of Mr Smellie are not to be 
 considered as the dreams of a theorist; they 
 were probably founded on sad experience. The 
 being he supposes, " with senses more delicate 
 and refined, with perceptions more acute and 
 penetrating," is to be found in real life. He is 
 of the temperament of genius, and perhaps a 
 poet. Is there, then, no remedy for this inordi- 
 nate sensibility ? Are there no means by which 
 the happiness of one so constituted by nature 
 may be consulted? Perhaps it will be found, 
 that regular and constant occupation, irksome 
 though it may at first be, is the true remedy. 
 Occupation in which the powers of the under- 
 standing are exercised, will diminish the force of 
 external impressions, and keep the imagination 
 under restraint,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 23CJ 
 
 That the bent of every man's mind should be 
 followed in his education and in his destination 
 in life, is a maxim which has been often repeated, 
 but which cannot be admitted without many re- 
 strictions. It may be generally true when ap- 
 plied to weak minds, which being capable of lit- 
 tle, must be encouraged and strengthened in the 
 feeble impulses by which that little is produced. 
 But where indulgent nature has bestowed her 
 gifts with a liberal hand, the very reverse of this 
 maxim ought frequently to be the rule of con- 
 duct. In minds of a higher order, the object of 
 instruction and of discipline is very often to re- 
 strain rather than to impel ; to curb the impulses 
 of imagination, so that the passions also may be 
 kept under control *. Hence the advantages, 
 
 * Quinctilian discusses the important question, whether the 
 bent of the individual's genius should be followed in his educa- 
 tion (an secundum sui quisque ingenii docendus sit naturamj, 
 chiefly, indeed, with a reference to the orator, but in a way 
 that admits of very general application. His conclusions 
 coincide very much with those of the text. An vero Isocrates 
 cum de Ephoro atque Theompompo sic judicaret, tit alteiu 
 
 FRENIS, ALTERI CALCARIBUS OPUS ESSE dkeret ; aut ill fflo 
 
 lentiore tarditatem, aut in Mo pene prcccipiti concitationem adju- 
 •vandum docendo existimavit ? cum alterum alterius natura mis- 
 cendum arbitrareiur. Imbecillis tamen in^eniis sane sic obse-
 
 234 THE LIFE OP 
 
 even in a moral point of view, of studies of 
 a severer nature, which, while they inform the 
 understanding, employ the volition, that regu- 
 lating power of the mind, which, like all our 
 other faculties, is strengthened by exercise, 
 and on the superiority of which, virtue, happi- 
 ness, and honourable fame, are wholly depen- 
 dent. Hence also the advantage of regular and 
 constant application, which aids the voluntary 
 power by the production of habits so necessary 
 to the support of order and virtue, and so difficult 
 to be formed in the temperament of genius. 
 
 The man who is so endowed and so regulated, 
 may pursue his course with confidence in almost 
 any of the various walks of life which choice or 
 accident shall open to him ; and, provided he em- 
 ploys the talents he has cultivated, may hope for 
 such imperfect happiness, and such limited suc- 
 cess, as are reasonably to be expected from human 
 exertions. 
 
 The pre-eminence among men, which procures 
 personal respect, and which terminates in lasting 
 
 quendum sit, ut tantum in id quo vocat natura, ducantur. Ita 
 enitn, quod solum possunt, melius efficient, 
 
 Instit. Orator, lib. ii. 9.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 235 
 
 reputation, is seldom or never obtained by the 
 excellence of a single faculty of mind. Experi- 
 ence teaches us, that it has been accquired by 
 those only who have possessed the comprehension 
 and the energy of general talents, and who have 
 regulated their application, in the line which 
 choice, or perhaps accident, may have determined, 
 by the dictates of their judgment. Imagination 
 is supposed, and with justice,, to be the leading fa- 
 culty of the poet. But what poet has stood the 
 test of time by the force of this single faculty ? 
 Who does not see that Homer and Shakespeare 
 excelled the rest of their species in understanding 
 as well as in imagination ; that they were pre- 
 eminent in the highest species of knowledge — - 
 the knowledge of the nature and character of 
 man ? On the other hand, the talent of ratiocin- 
 ation is more especially requisite to the orator ; 
 but no man ever obtained the palm of oratory, 
 even by the highest excellence in this single ta- 
 lent. Who does not perceive that Demosthenes 
 and Cicero were not more happy in their ad- 
 dresses to the reason, than in their appeals to the 
 passions ? They knew, that to excite, to agitate, 
 and to delight, are among the most potent arts of 
 persuasion ; and they enforced their impression on 
 the understanding, by their command of all the 
 sympathies of the heart. These observations 
 might be extended to other walks of life. He
 
 236 THE LIFE OF 
 
 who has the faculties fitted to excel in poetry, has 
 the faculties which, duly governed, and differ- 
 ently directed, might lead to pre-eminence in 
 other, and, as far as respects himself, perhaps in 
 happier destinations. The talents necessary 
 to the construction of an Iliad, under different 
 discipline and application, might have led ar- 
 mies to victory, or kingdoms to prosperity ; 
 might have wielded the thunder of eloquence, 
 or discovered and enlarged the sciences that 
 constitute the power and improve the condi- 
 tion of our species*. Such talents are, indeed, 
 
 * The reader must not suppose it is contended that the 
 same individual could have excelled in all these directions. A 
 certain degree of instruction and practice is necessary to ex- 
 cellence in every one, and life is too short to admit of one 
 man, however great his talents, acquiring this in all of them* 
 It is only asserted, that the same talents, differently applied, 
 might have succeeded in any one, though, perhaps, not equally 
 well in each- And, after all, this position requires certain li- 
 mitations, which the reader's candour and judgment will sup- 
 ply. In supposing that a great poet might have made a great 
 orator, the physical qualities necessary to oratory are pre- 
 supposed. In supposing that a great orator might have made 
 a great poet, it is a necessary condition, that he should have 
 devoted himself to poetry, and that he should have acquir- 
 ed a proficiency in metrical numbers, which by patience 
 and attention may be acquired, though the want of it 
 has embarrassed and chilled many of the first efforts of 
 true poetical genius. In supposing that Homer might
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 23? 
 
 rare among the productions of nature, and oc- 
 casions of bringing them into full exertion are 
 
 have led armies to victory, more indeed is assumed than the 
 physical qualities of a general. To these must be added that, 
 hardihood of mind, that coolness in the midst of difficulty and 
 danger, which great poets and orators are found sometimes, 
 but not always, to possess. The nature of the institutions of 
 Greece and Rome produced more instances of single indivi- 
 duals who excelled in various departments of active and specu- 
 lative life, than occur in modern Europe, where the employ- 
 ments of men are more subdivided. Many of the greatest 
 warriors of antiquity excelled in literature and in oratory. That 
 they had the minds of great poets also, will be admitted, when 
 the qualities are justly appreciated which are necessary to ex- 
 cite, combine, and command the active energies of a great body 
 ©f men, to rouse that enthusiasm which sustains fatigue, hun- 
 ger, and the inclemencies of the elements, and which triumphs 
 over the fear of death, the most powerful instinct of our na - 
 ture. 
 
 The authority of Cicero may be appealed to in favour of the 
 close connexion between the poet and the orator. Est eninr 
 Jinitimus oratori poeta, numeris adstrictior paulo, verborum autcr.i 
 licentia liberior, fyc. De Orator. Lib. i. c. 16. See also 
 Lib. iii. c. 7. — It is true the example of Cicero may be quoted 
 against his opinion. His attempts in verse, which are praised 
 by Plutarch, did not meet the approbation of Juvenal, or of 
 many others. Cicero probably did not take sufficient time to 
 learn the art of the poet ; but that he had the afflatus necessary 
 to poetical excellence, maybe abundantly proved from his con:
 
 238 THE LIFE OF 
 
 rarer still. But safe and salutary occupations 
 may be found for men of genius in every direc- 
 
 positions in prose. On the other hand, nothing is more clear* 
 than that, in the character of a great poet, all the mental qua- 
 lities of an orator are included. It is said by Quinctilian of 
 Homer, Omnibus eloquentice partibus exemplum et ortum dedit. 
 Lib. i. 47. The study of Homer is therefore recommended to 
 the orator, as of the first importance. Of the two sublime poets 
 in our own language, who are scarcely inferior to Homer, 
 Shakespeare and Milton, a similar recommendation may be 
 given. How much an acquaintance with them has availed the 
 great orator who is now the pride and ornament of the English 
 bar, need not be mentioned, nor need we point out by name a 
 character which may be appealed to with confidence when we 
 are contending for the universality of genius. 
 
 The identity, or at least the great similarity of the talents 
 necessary to excellence in poetry, oratory, painting, and war, 
 will be admitted by some, who will be inclined to dispute the 
 extension of the position to science or natural knowledge. On 
 this occasion I may quote the following observations of Sir 
 William Jones, whose own example will, however, far exceed 
 in weight the authority of his precepts. " Abul Ola had so 
 flourishing a reputation, that several persons of uncommon ge- 
 nius were ambitious of learning the art of poetry from so able 
 an instructor. His most illustrious scholars were Feleki and 
 Khakani, who were no less eminent for their Persian composi- 
 tions, than for their skill in every branch of pure and mixed 
 mathematics, ami particularly in astronomy ; a striking proof 
 that a sublime poet may become master of any kind of learn- 
 
 2
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 239 
 
 tion, while the useful and ornamental arts re- 
 main to be cultivated, while the sciences remain 
 to be studied and to be extended, and the prin- 
 ciples of science to be applied to the correction 
 and improvement of art. In the temperament of 
 sensibility, which is in truth the temperament of 
 general talents, the principal object of discipline 
 and instruction is, as has already been mentioned, 
 to strengthen the self-command ; and this may be 
 promoted by the direction of the studies, more ef- 
 fectually perhaps than has been generally under- 
 stood. 
 
 If these observations be founded in truth, they 
 may lead to practical consequences of some im- 
 portance. It has been too much the custom to 
 consider the possession of poetical talents as ex- 
 cluding the possibility of application to the severer 
 branches of study, and as in some degree incapa- 
 citating the possessor from attaining those habits, 
 and from bestowing that attention, which are ne- 
 cessary to success in the details of business, and 
 
 ing which he chooses to profess ; since a fine imagination, a 
 lively wrt, an easy and copious style, cannot possibly obstruct 
 the acquisition of any science whatever ; but must necessarily 
 assist him in his studies, and shorten his labour," — Sir WiUiqv* 
 Jones's Worksy Vol. ii./?. 317.
 
 240 THE LIFE OP 
 
 in the engagements of active life. It has been 
 common for persons conscious of such talents, to 
 look with a sort of disdain on other kinds of 
 intellectual excellence, and to consider them- 
 selves as in some degree absolved from those 
 rules of prudence by which humbler minds 
 are restricted. They are too much disposed 
 to abandon themselves to their own sensations, 
 and to suffer life to pass away without regular ex- 
 ertion, or settled purpose. 
 
 But though men of genius are generally prone 
 to indolence, with them indolence and unhappiness 
 are in a more especial manner allied. The unbid- 
 den splendours of imagination may indeed at times 
 irradiate the gloom which inactivity produces j but 
 such visions, though bright, are transient, and serve 
 to cast the realities of life into deeper shade. In 
 bestowing great talents, Nature seems very general- 
 ly to have imposed on the possessor the necessity 
 of exertion, if he would escape wretchedness. 
 Better for him than sloth, toils the most painful, 
 or adventures the most hazardous. Happier to 
 him than idleness, were the condition of the pea- 
 sant, earning with incessant labour his scanty 
 food; or that of the sailor, though hanging on the 
 yard-arm, and wrestling with the hurricane. 
 
 These observations might be amply illustrated
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 241 
 
 by the biography of men of genius of every de- 
 nomination, and more especially by the biography 
 of the poets. Of this last description of men, few 
 seem to have enjoyed the usual portion of happi- 
 ness that falls to the lot of humanity, those ex- 
 cepted who have cultivated poetry as an elegant 
 amusement in the hours of relaxation from other 
 occupations, or the small number who have en- 
 gaged with success in the greater or more arduous 
 attempts of the muse, in which all the faculties of 
 the mind have been fully and permanently employ- 
 ed. Even taste, virtue, and comparative inde- 
 pendence, do not seem capable of bestowing, on 
 men of genius, peace and tranquillity, without 
 such occupation as may give regular and healthful 
 exercise to the faculties of body and mind. The 
 amiable Shenstone has left us the records of his 
 imprudence, of his indolence, and of his un hap- 
 piness, amidst the shades of the Leasowes * ; and 
 the virtues, the learning, and the genius of Gray, 
 equal to the loftiest attempts of the epic muse, 
 failed to procure him in the academic bowers of 
 Cambridge, that tranquillity and that respect which 
 less fastidiousness of taste, and greater constancy 
 
 * See his Letters, which, as a display of the effects of poe- 
 tical idleness, are highly instructive. 
 VOL. T. Tl
 
 242 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and vigour of exertion, would have doubtless ob- 
 tained. 
 
 It is more necessary that men of genius should 
 be aware of the importance of self-command, and 
 of exertion, because their indolence is peculiarly 
 exposed, not merely to unhappiness, but to dis- 
 eases of mind, and to errors of conduct, which 
 are generally fatal. This interesting subject de- 
 serves a particular investigation ; but we must con- 
 tent ourselves with one or two cursory remarks. 
 Relief is sometimes sought from the melancholy 
 of indolence in practices, which for a time sooth 
 and gratify the sensations, but which in the end 
 involve the sufferer in darker gloom. To com- 
 mand the external circumstances by which happi- 
 ness is affected, is not in human power ; but there 
 are various substances in nature which operate on 
 the system of the nerves, so as to give a fictitious 
 gaiety to the ideas of imagination, and to alter the 
 effect of the external impressions which we re- 
 ceive. Opium is chiefly employed for this pur- 
 pose by the disciples of Mahomet, and the inha- 
 bitants of Asia ; but alcohol, the principle of in- 
 toxication in vinous and spiritous liquors, is pre- 
 ferred in Europe, and is universally used in the 
 Christian world *. Under the various wounds to 
 
 * There are a great number of other substances, which may 
 be considered under this point of view — Tobacco, tea, and
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 243 
 
 which indolent sensibility is exposed, and under 
 the gloomy apprehensions respecting futurity to 
 which it is so often a prey, how strong is the 
 temptation to have recourse to an antidote by 
 which the pain of these wounds is suspended, by 
 which the heart is exhilarated, ideas of hope and 
 
 Coffee, are of the number. These substances essentially differ 
 From each other in their qualities ; and an inquiry into the par- 
 ticular effects of each on the health, morals, and happiness, 
 of those who use them, would be curious and useful. The ef- 
 fects of wine and of opium on the temperament of sensibility, 
 the Editor intended to have discussed in this place at some 
 length ; but he found the subject too extensive and too pro- 
 fessional to be introduced with propriety. The difficulty of 
 abandoning any of these narcotics (if we may so term them), 
 when inclination is strengthened by habit, is well known. John- 
 son, in his distresses, had experienced the cheering but treach- 
 erous influence of wine, and, by a powerful effort, abandoned 
 it. He was obliged, however, to use tea as a substitute, and this 
 was the solace to which he constantly had recourse under his 
 habitual melancholy. The praises of wine form many of the 
 most beautiful lyrics of the poets of Greece and Rome, and of 
 modern Europe. Whether opium, which produces visions still 
 more ecstatic, has been the theme of the eastern poets, I do 
 not know. Wine is taken in small doses at a time, in compa- 
 ny, where, Jbr a time, it promotes harmony and social affec- 
 tion. Opium is swallowed by the Asiatics in full doses at once, 
 and the inebriate retires to the solitary indulgence of his deli- 
 rious imaginations. Hence the wine-drinker appears in a su- 
 perior light to the imbiber of opium, a distinction which he 
 owps more to the form, than to the quality of his liquor. 
 
 R 2
 
 €44 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of happiness are excited in the mind, and the 
 forms of external nature clothed with new beau- 
 ty! 
 
 Elysium opens round, 
 A pleasing frenzy buoys the lighten'd soul, 
 And sanguine hopes dispel your fleeting care; 
 And what was difficult, and what was dire, 
 Yields to your prowess, and superior stars : 
 The happiest you of all that e'er were mad, 
 Or are, or shall be, could this folly last. 
 But soon your heaven is gone ; a heavier gloom 
 Shuts o'er your head- 
 
 Morning comes ; your cares return 
 
 With tenfold rage. An anxious stomach well 
 May be endured : so may the throbbing head : 
 But such a dim delirium, such a dream 
 Involves you ; such a dastardly despair 
 Unmans your soul, as madd'ning Penthcus felt, 
 When, baited round CithaeroiVs cruel sides, 
 He saw two suns and double Thebes ascend. 
 
 Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health, b. iv. /. 163. 
 
 Such are the pleasures and the pains of intoxi- 
 cation, as they occur in the temperament of sen- 
 sibility, described by a genuine poet, with a de- 
 gree of truth and energy which nothing but expe- 
 rience could have dictated. There are, indeed,
 
 IIOBERT BURNS. 245 
 
 some individuals of this temperament on whom 
 wine produces no cheering influence. On some, 
 even in very moderate quantities, its effects are 
 painfully irritating ; in large doses it excites 
 dark and melancholy ideas ; and in doses still lar- 
 ger, the fierceness of insanity itself. Such men 
 are happily exempted from a temptation, to which 
 experience teaches us the finest dispositions often 
 yield, and the influence of which, when strength- 
 ened by habit, it is a humiliating truth, that the 
 most powerful minds have not been able to resist. 
 
 It is the more necessary for men of genius to 
 be on their guard against the habitual use of wine, 
 because it is apt to steal on them insensibly ; and 
 because the temptation to excess usually presents 
 itself to them in their social hours, when they are 
 alive only to warm and generous emotions, and 
 when prudence and moderation are often contemn- 
 ed as selfishness and timidity. 
 
 It is the more necessary for them to guard a- 
 gainst excess in the use of wine, because on them 
 its effects are, physically and morally, in an espe- 
 cial manner injurious. In proportion to its stimu- 
 lating influence on the system (on which the plea- 
 surable sensations depend), is the debility that en- 
 sues ; a debility that destroys digestion, and ter- 
 minates in habitual fever, dropsy, jaundice, para-
 
 246 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lysis, or insanity. As the strength of the body 
 decays, the volition fails ; in proportion as the 
 sensations are soothed and gratified, the sensibi- 
 lity increases ; and morbid sensibility is the pa- 
 rent of indolence, because, while it impairs the 
 regulating power of the mind, it exaggerates all 
 the obstacles to exertion. Activity, perseverance, 
 and self-command, become more and more diffi- 
 cult, and the great purposes of utility, patriotism, 
 or of honourable ambition, which had occupied the 
 imagination, die away in fruitless resolutions, or 
 in feeble efforts. 
 
 To apply these observations to the subject of 
 our memoirs, would be an useless as well as a 
 painful task. It is, indeed, a duty we owe to the 
 living, not to allow our admiration of great genius, 
 or even our pity for its unhappy destiny, to con- 
 ceal or disguise its errors. But there are senti- 
 ments of respect, and even of tenderness, with 
 which this duty should be performed ; there is an 
 awful sanctity which invests the mansions of the 
 dead ; and let those who moralize over the graves 
 of their contemporaries, reflect with humility on 
 their own errors, nor forget how soon they may 
 themselves require the candour and the sympathy 
 they are called upon to bestow.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 247 
 
 Soon after the death of Burns, the following ar- 
 ticle appeared in the Dumfries Journal, from which 
 it was copied into the Edinburgh news-papers, and 
 into various other periodical publications. It is 
 from the elegant pen of a lady already alluded to 
 in the course of these memoirs *, whose exertions 
 for the family of our bard, in the circles of litera- 
 ture and fashion in which she moves, have done 
 her so much honour. 
 
 " It is not probable that the late mournful event, 
 which is likely to be felt severely in the literary 
 world, as well as in the circle of private friend- 
 ship which surrounded our admired poet, should 
 be unattended with the usual profusion of post- 
 humous anecdotes, memoirs, &c. that commonly 
 spring up at the death of every rare and celebrat- 
 ed personage. I shall not attempt to enlist with 
 the numerous corps of biographers, who, it is pro- 
 bable, may, without possessing his genius, arro- 
 gate to themselves the privilege of criticising the 
 character or writings of Mr Burns. " The in- 
 spiring mantle" thrown over him by that tutelary 
 muse who first found him, like the prophet Elisha, 
 
 * See p. 216.
 
 2<iS THE LIFE OF 
 
 " at his plough *," has been the portion of few, 
 may be the portion of fewer still ; and if it is true 
 that men of genius have a claim in their literary 
 capacities to the legal right of the British citizen 
 in a court of justice, that of being tried only by 
 his peers, (I borrow here an expression I have fre- 
 quently heard Burns himself make use of,) God 
 forbid I should, any more than the generality of 
 other people, assume the flattering and peculiar 
 privilege of sitting upon his jury. But the inti- 
 macy of our acquaintance for several years past, 
 may perhaps justify my presenting to the public a 
 few of those ideas and observations 1 have had 
 the opportunity of forming, and which, to the 
 day that closed for ever the scene of his happy 
 qualities and of his errors, I have never had the 
 smallest cause to deviate in, or to recal. 
 
 " It will be the misfortune of Burns's reputa- 
 tion, in the records of literature, not only to fu- 
 ture generations and to foreign countries, but even 
 with his native Scotland and a number of his con- 
 temporaries, that he has been regarded as a poet, 
 
 * " The Poetic genius of my country found me, as the 
 prophetic hard Elijah did Elisha — at the Plough ; and threw 
 her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, 
 the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, 
 
 in my native tongue," &c. &c. Burns Prefatory Address 
 
 to the Noblemen and Gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 249 
 
 and nothing but a poet. It must not be supposed 
 that I consider this title as a trivial one ; no per- 
 son can be more penetrated with the respect due 
 to the wreathe bestowed by the muses than my- 
 self; and much certainly is due to the merit of a 
 self-taught bard, deprived of the advantages of a 
 classical education, and the intercourse of minds 
 congenial to his own, till that period of life, when 
 his native fire had already blazed forth in all its 
 wild graces of genuine simplicity and energetic 
 eloquence of sentiment. But the fact is, that even 
 when all his honours are yielded to him, Burns 
 will perhaps be found to move in a sphere less 
 splendid, less dignified, and, even in his own pas- 
 toral style, less attractive, than several other wri- 
 ters have done ; and that poetry was (I appeal to 
 all who had the advantage of being personally ac- 
 quainted with him) actually not his forte. If others 
 have climbed more successfully to the heights of 
 Parnassus, none certainly ever out-shone Burns in 
 the charms — the sorcery I would almost call it, 
 of fascinating conversation ; the spontaneous elo- 
 quence of social argument, or the unstudied poig- 
 nancy of brilliant repartee. His personal endow- 
 ments were perfectly correspondent with the qua- 
 lifications of his mind. His form was manly; his 
 action energy itself; devoid, in a great measure, 
 however, of those graces, of that polish, acquired 
 only in the refinement of societies, where in earlv
 
 250 THE LIFE OF 
 
 life he had not the opportunity to mix; but where, 
 such was the irresistible power of attraction that 
 encircled him, though his appearance and man- 
 ners were always peculiar, he never failed to de- 
 light and to excel. His figure certainly bore the 
 authentic impress of his birth and original station 
 in life ; it seemed rather moulded by nature for 
 the rough exercises of agriculture, than the gentler 
 cultivation of the belles lettres. His features were 
 stamped with the hardy character of indepen- 
 dence, and the firmness of conscious, though not 
 arrogant pre-eminence. I believe no man was ever 
 gifted with a larger portion of the vivida vis animi: 
 the animated expressions of his countenance were 
 almost peculiar to himself. The rapid lightnings 
 of his eye were always the harbingers of some flash 
 of genius, whether they darted the fiery glances 
 of insulted and indignant superiority, or beamed 
 with the impassioned sentiment of fervent and im- 
 petuous affections. His voice alone could improve 
 upon the magic of his eye ; sonorous, replete with 
 the finest modulations, it alternately captivated 
 the ear with the melody of poetic numbers, the 
 perspicuity of nervous reasoning, or the ardent 
 sallies of enthusiastic patriotism. The keenness 
 of satire was, (I am almost at a loss whether to 
 say hhjbrte or his foible ;) for though nature had 
 endowed him with a portion of the most pointed 
 excellence in that " perilous gift," he suffered it
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 'J51 
 
 too often to be the vehicle of personal, and some- 
 times unfounded animosities. It was not only that 
 sportiveness of humour, that " unwary pleasantry," 
 which Sterne has described to us with touches so 
 conciliatory ; but the darts of ridicule were fre- 
 quently directed as the caprice of the instant sug- 
 gested, or the altercations of parties or of persons 
 happened to kindle the restlessness of his spirit 
 into interest or aversion. This was not, however, 
 unexceptionably the case, his wit (which is no un- 
 usual matter indeed) had always the start of his 
 judgment, and would lead him to the indulgence 
 of raillery uniformly acute, but often unaccompa- 
 nied by the least desire to wound. The suppres- 
 sion of an arch and full pointed bon mot, from the 
 dread of injuring its object, the sage of Zurich 
 very properly classes as a virtue " only to be 
 sought for in the calendar of saints ;" if so, Burns 
 must not be dealt with unconscientiously for being 
 rather deficient in it. He paid the forfeit of his 
 talents as dearly as any one could do. " 'Twas 
 no extravagant arithmetic to say of him, as of Yo- 
 rick, that for every ten jokes he got a hundred 
 enemies ;" and much allowance should be made 
 by a candid mind for the splenetic warmth of a 
 spirit " which distress had often spited with the 
 world," and which, unbounded in its intellectual 
 sallies and pursuits, continually experienced the 
 curbs imposed by the waywardness of his fortune.
 
 252 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The vivacity of his wishes and temper was indeed 
 checked by constant disappointments, which sat 
 heavy on a heart that acknowledged the ruling 
 passion of independence, without having ever been 
 placed beyond the grasp of penury. His soul was 
 never languid or inactive, and his genius was ex- 
 tinguished only with the last sparks of retreating 
 life. His passions rendered him, according as they 
 disclosed themselves in affection or antipathy, the 
 object of enthusiastic attachment, or of decided 
 enmity ; for he possessed none of that negative in- 
 sipidity of character, whose love might be regard- 
 ed with indifference, or whose resentment could 
 be considered with contempt. In this it should 
 seem the temper of his companions took the tinc- 
 ture from his own ; for he acknowledged in the 
 universe but two classes of objects, those of ado- 
 ration the most fervent, or of aversion the most 
 uncontroulable ; and it has been frequently assert- 
 ed of him, that unsusceptible of indifference, often 
 hating where he ought to have despised, he alter- 
 nately opened his heart, and poured forth all the 
 treasures of his understanding to such as were in- 
 capable of appreciating the homage, and elevated 
 to the privileges of an adversary, some who were 
 unqualified in talents, or by nature, for the ho- 
 nour of a contest so distinguished. 
 
 " It is said that the celebrated Dr Johnson
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 253 
 
 professed to " love a good hater," — a tempera- 
 ment that had singularly adapted him to che- 
 rish a prepossession in favour of our bard, who 
 perhaps fell little short even of the surly Doc- 
 tor in this qualification, as long as the dis- 
 position to ill-will continued ; but the fervour 
 of his passions was fortunately tempered by their 
 versatility. He was seldom, never indeed im- 
 placable in his resentments, and sometimes, it 
 has been alleged, not inviolably steady in his en- 
 gagements of friendship. Much indeed has been 
 said of his inconstancy and caprices ; but I am 
 inclined to believe, they originated less from a 
 levity of sentiment, than from an impetuosity of 
 feeling, that rendered him prompt to take um- 
 brage ; and his sensations of pique, where he 
 fancied he had discovered the traces of unkindness, 
 scorn, or neglect, took their measure of asperity 
 from the overflowings of the opposite sentiment 
 which preceded them, and which seldom failed 
 to regain its ascendancy in his bosom on the re- 
 turn of calmer reflection. He was candid and 
 manly in the avowal of his errors, and his avoxcal 
 was a reparation. His native jierte never forsak- 
 ing him a moment, the value of a frank acknow- 
 ledgement was enhanced tenfold towards a gene- 
 rous mind, from its never being attended with servi- 
 lity. His mind, organized only for the stronger and 
 more acute operation of the passions, was imprac-
 
 254 THE LIFE OP 
 
 ticable to the efforts of superciliousness that would 
 have depressed it into humility, and equally supe- 
 rior to the encroachments of venal suggestions 
 that might have led him into the mazes of hypo- 
 crisy. 
 
 " It has been observed, that he was far from 
 averse to the incense of flattery, and could receive 
 it tempered with less delicacy than might have 
 been expected* as he seldom transgressed in that 
 way himself; where he paid a compliment, it 
 might indeed claim the power of intoxication, as 
 approbation from him was always an honest tri- 
 bute from the warmth and sincerity of his heart. 
 It has been sometimes represented by those who 
 it should seem had a view to detract from, though 
 they could not hope wholly to obscure that na- 
 tive brilliancy, which the powers of this extraor- 
 dinary man had invariably bestowed on every 
 thing that came from his lips or pen, that the his- 
 tory of the Ayrshire ploughboy was an ingenious 
 fiction, fabricated for the purposes of obtaining 
 the interests of the great, and enhancing the me- 
 rits of what in reality required no foil. The Cot- 
 ter's Saturday Night, Tarn O'Shanter, and the 
 Mountain Daisy, besides a number of later pro- 
 ductions, where the maturity of his genius will be 
 readily traced, and which will be given the public 
 as soon as his friends have collected and arranged
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 25 J 
 
 them, speak sufficiently for themselves ; and had 
 they fallen from a hand more dignified in the ranks 
 of society than that of a peasant, they had perhaps 
 bestowed as unusual a grace there, as even in the 
 humbler shade of rustic inspiration from whence 
 they really sprung. 
 
 " To the obscure scene of Burns's education, 
 and to the laborious, though honourable station 
 of rural industry, in which his parentage enrolled 
 him, almost every inhabitant in the south of Scot- 
 land can give testimony. His only surviving bro- 
 ther, Gilbert Burns, now guides the ploughshare 
 of his forefathers in Ayrshire, at a small farm near 
 Mauchline * ; and our poet's eldest son, (a lad of 
 nine years of age, whose early dispositions already 
 prove him to be the inheritor of his father's ta- 
 lents as well as indigence), has been destined by 
 his family to the humble employments of the 
 loom t. 
 
 " That Burns had received no classical edu- 
 cation, and was acquainted with the Greek and 
 
 * This very respectable and very superior man is now 
 removed to Dumfries-shire. He rents lands on the estate 
 of Closeburn, and is a tenant of the venerable Dr Mon- 
 teith. 
 
 f This destination is now altered.
 
 256 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Roman authors only through the medium of trans- 
 lations, is a fact that can be indisputably proven, 
 I have seldom seen him at a loss in conversation, 
 unless where the dead languages and their writers 
 were the subjects of discussion. When I have 
 pressed him to tell me why he never took pains 
 to acquire the Latin, in particular, a language 
 which his happy memory had so soon enabled him 
 to be master of, he used only to reply with a 
 smile, that he already knew all the Latin he de- 
 sired to learn, and that was, omnia vincit amor ; 
 a phrase, that from his writings and most favour- 
 ite pursuits, it should undoubtedly seem he was 
 most thoroughly versed in ; but I really believe 
 his classical erudition extended little, if any, fur- 
 ther. 
 
 " The penchant Mr Burns had uniformly ac- 
 knowledged for the festive pleasures of the table, 
 and towards the fairer and softer objects of na- 
 ture's creation, has been the rallying point where 
 the attacks of his censors, both pious and moral, 
 have been directed ; and to these, it must be con- 
 fessed, lie shewed himself no stoic. His poetical 
 pieces blend with alternate happiness of descrip- 
 tion, the frolic spirit of the joy-inspiring bowl, or 
 melt the heart to the tender and impassioned sen- 
 timents in which beauty always taught him to 
 pour forth his own. But who would wish to re- 
 's
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 257 
 
 prove the failings he has consecrated with such 
 lively touches of nature ? And where is the rug- 
 ged moralist who will persuade us so far to " chill 
 the genial current of the soul," as to regret that 
 Ovid ever celebrated his Corinna, or that Ana- 
 creon sung beneath his vine ? 
 
 " I will not, however, undertake to be the apo- 
 logist of the irregularities, even of a man of ge- 
 nius, though I believe it is certainly understood 
 that genius never was free of irregularities, as that 
 their absolution may in a great measure be justly 
 claimed, since it is certain that the world had con- 
 tinued very stationary in its intellectual acquire- 
 ments, had it never given birth to any but men 
 of plain sense. Evenness of conduct, and a due 
 regard to the decorums of the world, have been 
 so rarely seen to move hand in hand with genius, 
 that some have gone as far as to say, though there 
 I cannot acquiesce, that they are even incompa- 
 tible ; besides, the frailties that cast their shade 
 over superior merit, are more conspicuously glar- 
 ing, than where they are the attendants of mere 
 mediocrity ; it is only on the gem we are disturbed 
 to see the dust ; the pebble may be soiled, and we 
 never mind it* The eccentric intuitions of geni- 
 us, too often yield the soul to the wild efferves- 
 cence of desires, always unbounded, and sometimes 
 equally dangerous to the repose of others as fa- 
 
 VOL. 1. S
 
 '258 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lal to its own. No wonder then it' virtue her- 
 self be sometimes lost in the blaze of kindling ani- 
 mation, or that the calm monitions of reason were 
 not found sufficient to fetter an imagination, 
 which scorned the narrow limits and restrictions 
 that would chain it to the level of ordinary minds. 
 The child of nature, the child of sensibility, un- 
 broke to the refrigerative precepts of philosophy, 
 untaught always to vanquish the passions which 
 were the only source of his frequent errors, Burns 
 makes his own artless apology in terms more for- 
 cible, than all the argumentatory vindications in 
 the world could do, in one of his poems, where he 
 delineates, with his usual simplicity, the progress 
 of his mind, and its first expansion to the lessons 
 of the tutelary muse. 
 
 " I saw thy pulses maddening play, 
 
 " Wild send thee Pleasured devious way, 
 
 " Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 
 
 " By Passion driven ; 
 *' But yet the light that led astray, 
 
 '* Was light from Heaven *." 
 
 < c I have already transgressed far beyond the 
 bounds I had proposed to myself, on first com- 
 mitting to paper these sketches, which compre- 
 
 * Vol. in. p. no.
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 259 
 
 hend what at least 1 have been led to deem the 
 leading features of Burns's mind and character. 
 A critique, either literary or moral, I cannot aim 
 at ; mine is wholly fulfilled, if in these paragraphs 
 I have been able to delineate any of those strong 
 traits that distinguished him, of those talents 
 which raised him from the plough, where he past 
 the bleak morning of his life, weaving his rude 
 wreaths of poesy with the wild field-flowers that 
 sprung round his cottage, to that enviable emi- 
 nence of literary fame, where Scotland will long 
 cherish his memory with delight and gratitude ; 
 and proudly remember, that beneath her cold sky, 
 a genius was ripened without care or culture, that 
 would have done honour to the genial temperature 
 of climes better adapted to cherishing its germs ; 
 to the perfectioning of those luxuriances, that 
 warmth of fancy and colouring, in which he so 
 eminently excelled. 
 
 " From several paragraphs I have noticed in 
 the public prints, even since the idea of sending 
 these thither was formed, I find private animosi- 
 ties are not yet subsided, and envy has not yet 
 done her part. I still trust that honest fame will 
 be affixed to Burns's reputation, which he will be 
 found to have merited by the candid of his coun- 
 trymen j and where a kindred bosom is found that 
 
 has been taught to glow with the fires that ani- 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE LIFE OF 
 
 mated Bums, should a recollection of the im- 
 prudences that sullied his brighter qualifications 
 interpose, let him remember at the same time the 
 imperfection of all human excellence ; and leave 
 those inconsistences which alternately exalted his 
 nature to the seraph, and sunk it again into the 
 man, to the tribunal which alone can investigate 
 the labyrinths of the human heart — 
 
 " Where they alike in trembling hope repose ;— 
 " The bosom of his father, and his God." 
 
 Gray's Elegy. 
 " Annandale, Aug. 7y 1796." 
 
 After this account of the life and personal 
 character of Burns, it may be expected that some 
 inquiry should be made into his literary merits. 
 It will not however be necessary to enter very mi- 
 nutely into this investigation. If fiction be, as 
 some suppose, the soul of poetry, no one had ever 
 less pretensions to the name of poet than Burns. 
 Though he has displayed great powers of imagi- 
 nation, yet the subjects on which he has written, 
 are seldom, if ever, imaginary ; his poems, as well 
 as his letters, may be considered as the effusions 
 of his sensibility, and the transcript of his own 
 musings on the real incidents of his humble life. 
 If we add, that they also contain most happy de-
 
 ilOBERT BURNS. 261 
 
 lineations of the characters, manners, and scenery 
 that presented themselves to his observation, we 
 shall include almost all the subjects of his muse. 
 His writings may therefore be regarded as afford- 
 ing a great part of the data on which our account 
 of his personal character has been founded ; and 
 most of the observations we have applied to the 
 man, are applicable, with little variation, to the 
 poet. 
 
 The impression of his birth, and of his original 
 station in life, was not more evident on his form 
 and manners, than on his poetical productions. 
 The incidents which form the subjects of his 
 poems, though some of them highly interesting, 
 and susceptible of poetical imagery, are incidents 
 in the life of a peasant who takes no pains to dis- 
 guise the lowliness of his condition, or to throw 
 into shade the circumstances attending it, which 
 more feeble or more artificial minds would have 
 endeavoured to conceal. The same rudeness and 
 inattention appears in the formation of his rhymes, 
 which are frequently incorrect, while the measure 
 in which many of the poems are written has little 
 of the pomp or harmony of modern versification, 
 and is indeed, to an English ear, strange and un- 
 couth. The greater part of his earlier poems are 
 written in the dialect of his country, -which is ob- 
 scure, if not unintelligible to Englishmen, and
 
 i262 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which, though it still adheres more or less to the 
 speech of almost every Scotchman, all the polite 
 and the amhitious are now endeavouring to banish 
 from their tongues as well as their writings. The 
 use of it in composition naturally therefore calls 
 up ideas of vulgarity in the mind. These singu- 
 larities are increased by the character of the poet, 
 who delights to express himself with a simplicity 
 that approaches to nakedness, and with an un- 
 measured energy that often alarms delicacy, and 
 sometimes offends taste. Hence, in approaching 
 him, the first impression is perhaps repulsive: there 
 is an air of coarseness about him, which is diffi- 
 cultly reconciled with our established notions of 
 poetical excellence. 
 
 As the reader, however, becomes better ac- 
 quainted with the poet, the effects of his peculi- 
 arities lessen, He perceives in his poems, even 
 on the lowest subjects, expressions of sentiment, 
 and delineations of manners, which are highly in- 
 teresting. The scenery he describes is evidently 
 taken from real life; the characters he introduces, 
 and the incidents he relates, have the impression 
 of nature and truth. His humour, though wild 
 and unbridled, is irresistibly amusing, and is some- 
 times heightened in its effects by the introduc- 
 tion of emotions of tenderness, with which genu- 
 ine humour so happily unites. Nor is this the ex*
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 263 
 
 tent of his power. The reader, as he examines 
 farther, discovers that the poet is not confined to 
 the descriptive, the humorous, or the pathetic : 
 he is found, as occasion offers, to rise with ease 
 into the terrible and the sublime. Every where 
 he appears devoid of artifice, performing what he 
 attempts with little apparent effort ; and impress- 
 ing on the offspring of his fancy the stamp of his 
 understanding. The reader, capable of forming a 
 just estimate of poetical talents, discovers in these 
 circumstances marks of uncommon genius, and is 
 willing to investigate more minutely its nature and 
 its claims to originality. This last point we shall 
 examine first. 
 
 That Burns had not the advantages of a classi- 
 cal education, or of any degree of acquaintance 
 with the Greek or Roman writers in their original 
 dress, has appeared in the history of his life, He 
 acquired, indeed, some knowledge of the French 
 language, but it does not appear that he was ever 
 much conversant in French literature, nor is there 
 any evidence of his having derived any of his poe- 
 tical stores from that source. With the English 
 classics he became well acquainted in the course 
 of his life, and the effects of this acquaintance are 
 observable in his latter productions ; but the cha- 
 racter and style of his poetry were formed very 
 early, and the model which he followed, in as far
 
 '164> THE LIFE OF 
 
 as he can be said to have had one, is to be sought 
 for in the works of the poets who have written in 
 the Scottish dialect— in the works of such of them 
 more especially, as are familiar to the peasantry 
 of Scotland. Some observations on these may 
 form a proper introduction to a more particular 
 examination of the poetry of Burns The studies 
 of the Editor in this direction are indeed very re- 
 cent and very imperfect. It would have been im- 
 prudent for him to have entered on this subject at 
 all, but for the kindness of Mr Ramsay of Och- 
 tertyre, whose assistance he is proud to acknow- 
 ledge, and to whom the reader must ascribe what- 
 ever is of any value in the following imperfect 
 sketch of literary compositions in the Scottish 
 idiom* 
 
 It is a circumstance not a little curious, and 
 which does not seem to be satisfactorily explained, 
 that in the thirteenth century, the language of the 
 two British nations, if at all different, differed only 
 in dialect, the Gaelic in the one, like the Welch 
 and Armoric in the other, being confined to the 
 mountainous districts *. The English under the 
 Edwards, and the Scots under Wallace and Bruce, 
 spoke the same language. We may observe also, 
 
 * JJixtoriGal Essay on Scottish Song, p. 20, by Mr Ritson.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 265 
 
 that in Scotland the history ascends to a period 
 nearly as remote as in England. Barbour and 
 Blind Harry, James the First, Dunbar, Douglas, 
 and Lindsay, who lived in the fourteenth, fifteenth, 
 and sixteenth centuries, were coeval with the fa- 
 thers of poetry in England ; and in the opinion of 
 Mr Wharton, not inferior to them in genius or in 
 composition. Though the language of the two 
 countries gradually deviated from each other 
 during this period, yet the difference on the 
 whole was not considerable ; nor perhaps greater 
 than between the different dialects of the different 
 parts of England in our own time. 
 
 At the death of James the Fifth, in 1542, 
 the language of Scotland w T as in a flourishing 
 condition, wanting only writers in prose equal 
 to those in verse. Two circumstances, propi- 
 tious on the whole, operated to prevent this. 
 The first was the passion of the Scots for com* 
 position in Latin ; and the second, the accession 
 of James the Sixth to the English throne. It 
 may easily be imagined, that if Buchanan had 
 devoted his admirable talents, even in part, to 
 the cultivation of his native tongue, as was 
 done by the revivers of letters in Italy, he would 
 have left compositions in that language which 
 might have excited other men of genius to have
 
 l 26Q THE LIFE OF 
 
 followed his example*, and given duration to 
 the language itself. The union of the two 
 crowns in the person of James, overthrew all 
 reasonable expectation of this kind. That mo- 
 narch, seated on the English throne, would no 
 longer suffer himself to be addressed in the rude 
 dialect in which the Scottish clergy had so often 
 insulted his dignity. He encouraged Latin or 
 English only, both of which he prided himself 
 on writing with purity, though he himself never 
 could acquire the English pronunciation, but 
 spoke with a Scottish idiom and intonation to 
 the last. — Scotsmen of talents declined writing 
 in their native language, which they knew was 
 not acceptable to their learned and pedantic mo- 
 narch ; and at a time when national prejudice 
 and enmity prevailed to a great degree, they 
 disdained to study the niceties of the English 
 tongue, though of so much easier acquisition 
 than a dead language. Lord Stirling and Drum- 
 mond of Hawthornden, the only Scotsmen who 
 wrote poetry in those times, were exceptions. 
 They studied the language of England, and com- 
 posed in it with precision and elegance. They 
 were however the last of their countrymen who 
 deserved to be considered as poets in that century. 
 
 • c. g. The Authors of the Delicicc Poetarum Scotorum,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 267 
 
 The muses of Scotland sunk into silence, and did 
 not again raise their voices for a period of eighty 
 years. 
 
 To what causes are we to attribute this ex- 
 treme depression among a people comparatively 
 learned, enterprising, and ingenious ? Shall we 
 impute it to the fanaticism of the covenanters, 
 or to the tyranny of the house of Stuart after 
 their restoration to the throne ? Doubtless these 
 causes operated, but they seem unequal to ac- 
 count for the effect. In England, similar dis- 
 tractions and oppression took place, yet poetry 
 flourished there in a remarkable degree. During 
 this period, Cowley, and Waller, and Dryden 
 sung, and Milton raised his strain of un- 
 paralleled grandeur. To the causes already 
 mentioned, another must be added, in account- 
 ing for the torpor of Scottish literature — the 
 want of a proper vehicle for men of genius to 
 employ. The civil wars had frightened away 
 the Latin muses, and no standard had been 
 established of the Scottish tongue, which was 
 deviating still farther from the pure English 
 idiom. 
 
 The revival of literature in Scotland may be 
 dated from the establishment of the union, or ra- 
 ther from the extinction of the rebellion in 171£.
 
 268 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The nations being finally incorporated, it was 
 clearly seen that their tongues must in the end in- 
 corporate also ; or rather indeed that the Scottish 
 language must degenerate into a provincial idiom, 
 to be avoided by those who would aim at distinc- 
 tion in letters, or rise to eminence in the united 
 legislature. 
 
 Soon after this, a band of men of genius 
 appeared, who studied the English classics, and 
 imitated their beauties, in the same manner as 
 they studied the classics of Greece and Rome. 
 They had admirable models of composition 
 lately presented to them by the writers of the 
 reign of Queen Anne ; particularly in the perio- 
 dical papers published by Steele, Addison, and 
 their associated friends, which circulated widely 
 through Scotland, and diffused every where a taste 
 lor purity of style and sentiment, and for critical 
 disquisition. At length, the Scottish writers suc- 
 ceeded in English composition, and an union was 
 formed of the literary talents, as well as of the 
 legislatures of the two nations. On this occasion 
 the poets took the lead. While Henry Home*, 
 Dr Wallace, and their learned associates, were 
 only laying in their intellectual stores, and stu- 
 dying to clear themselves of their Scottish idioms, 
 
 * Lord Kahus.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 269 
 
 Thomson, Mallet, and Hamilton of Bangour, 
 had made their appearance before the public, and 
 been enrolled on the list of English poets. The 
 writers in prose followed — a numerous and power- 
 ful band, and poured their ample stores into the 
 general stream of British literature. Scotland 
 possessed her four universities before the acces- 
 sion of James to the English throne. Immedi- 
 ately before the union, she acquired her parochial 
 schools. These establishments combining happi- 
 ly together, made the elements of knowledge of 
 easy acquisition, and presented a direct path, by 
 which the ardent student might be carried along 
 into the recesses of science or learning. As civil 
 broils ceased, and faction and prejudice gradually 
 died away, a wider field was opened to literary 
 ambition, and the influence of the Scottish insti- 
 tutions for instruction, on the productions of the 
 press, became more and more apparent. 
 
 It seems indeed probable, that the establishment 
 of the parochial schools produced effects on the 
 rural muse of Scotland also, which have not hi- 
 therto been suspected, and which, though less 
 splendid in their nature, are not however to be 
 regarded as trivial, whether we consider the hap- 
 piness or the morals of the people. 
 
 There is some reason to believe, that the origi-
 
 270 THE LIFE OF 
 
 nal inhabitants of the British isles possessed a pe- 
 culiar and an interesting species of music, which 
 being banished from the plains by the successive 
 invasions of the Saxons, Danes, and Normans, 
 was preserved with the native race, in the wilds 
 of Ireland and in the mountains of Scotland and 
 Wales. The Irish, the Scottish, and the Welch 
 music, differ indeed from each other, but the dif- 
 ference may be considered as in dialect only, and 
 probably produced by the influence of time, like 
 the different dialects of their common language. 
 If this conjecture be true, the Scottish music 
 must be more immediately of a Highland origin, 
 and the Lowland tunes, though now of a character 
 somewhat distinct, must have descended from the 
 mountains in remote ages. Whatever credit may 
 be given to conjectures, evidently involved in 
 great uncertainty, there can be no doubt that the 
 Scottish peasantry have been long in possession of 
 a number of songs and ballads composed in their 
 native dialect, and sung to their native music. 
 The subjects of these compositions were such as 
 most interested the simple inhabitants, and in 
 the succession of time varied probably as the con- 
 dition of society varied. During the separation. 
 and the hostility of the two nations, these songs 
 and ballads, as far as our imperfect documents en- 
 able us to judge, were chiefly warlike ; such as the 
 Irhmth of Cheviot^ and the Battle of Harlaxv. Af-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 271 
 
 ter the union of the two crowns, when a certain 
 degree of peace and of tranquillity took place, the 
 rural muse of Scotland breathed in softer accents. 
 " In the want of real evidence respecting the his- 
 tory of our songs," says Ramsay of Ochtertyre, 
 " recourse may be had to conjecture. One would 
 be disposed to think, that the most beautiful of 
 the Scottish tunes were clothed with new words 
 after the union of the crowns. The inhabitants 
 of the borders, who had formerly been warriors 
 from choice, and husbandmen from necessity, ei- 
 ther quitted the country, or were transformed in- 
 to real shepherds, easy in their circumstances, and 
 satisfied with their lot. Some sparks of that spi- 
 rit of chivalry for which they are celebrated by 
 Froissart, remained, sufficient to inspire elevation 
 of sentiment and gallantry towards the fair sex. 
 The familiarity and kindness which had long sub- 
 sisted between the gentry and the peasantry, could 
 not all at once be obliterated, and this connexion 
 tended to sweeten rural life. In this state of in- 
 nocence, ease, and tranquillity of mind, the love 
 of poetry and music would still maintain its ground, 
 though it would naturally assume a form conge- 
 nial to the more peaceful state of society. The 
 minstrels, whose metrical tales used once to rouse 
 the borderers like the trumpet's sound, had been, 
 by an order of the Legislature (1579,) classed 
 with rogues and vagabonds, and attempted to be
 
 272 THE LIFE OP 
 
 suppressed. Knox and his disciples influenced 
 the Scottish parliament, but contended in vain with 
 her rural muse. Amidst our Arcadian vales, pro- 
 bably on the banks of the Tweed, or some of its 
 tributary streams, one or more original geniuses 
 may have arisen, who were destined to give a new 
 turn to the taste of their countrymen. They would 
 see that the events and pursuits which chequer 
 private life were the proper subjects for popular 
 poetry. Love, which had formerly held a divided 
 sway with glory and ambition, became now the 
 master passion of the soul. To pourtray in lively 
 and delicate colours, though with a hasty hand, 
 the hopes and fears that agitate the breast of the 
 love-sick swain, or forlorn maiden, afford ample 
 scope to the rural poet. Love-songs, of which 
 Tibullus himself would not have been ashamed, 
 might be composed by an uneducated rustic with 
 a slight tincture of letters ; or if in these songs 
 the character of the rustic be sometimes assumed, 
 the truth of character, and the language of na- 
 ture, are preserved. With unaffected simplicity 
 and tenderness, topics are urged, most likely to 
 soften the heart of a cruel and coy mistress, or to 
 regain a fickle lover. Even in such as are of a 
 melancholy cast, a ray of hope breaks through, 
 and dispels the deep and settled gloom which 
 characterizes the sweetest of the Highland luenigs, 
 or vocal airs. Nor are these songs all plaintive j
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 2/3 
 
 many of them are lively and humorous, and some^ 
 appear to us coarse and indelicate. They seem, 
 however, genuine descriptions of the manners of 
 an energetic and sequestered people in their 
 hours of mirth and festivity, though in their por- 
 traits some objects are brought into open view, 
 which more fastidious painters would have thrown 
 into shade." 
 
 " As those rural poets sung for amusement, not 
 for gain, their effusions seldom exceeded a love- 
 song, or a ballad of satire or humour, which, like 
 the words of the elder minstrels, were seldom com- 
 mitted to writing, but treasured up in the memory 
 of their friends and neighbours. Neither known 
 to the learned nor patronised by the great, these 
 rustic bards lived and died in obscurity ; and by 
 a strange fatality, their story, and even their very 
 names have been forgotten *. When proper mo- 
 dels for pastoral songs were produced, there would 
 be no want of imitators. To succeed in this spe- 
 cies of composition, soundness of understanding 
 and sensibility of heart were more requisite than 
 flights of imagination or pomj of numbers. Great 
 
 * In the Pepys collection, there are a few Scottish songs of 
 the last century, but the names of the authors are not preser- 
 ved. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE LIFE OF 
 
 changes have certainly taken place in Scottish 
 song- writing, though we cannot trace the steps of 
 this change j and few of the pieces admired in 
 Queen Mary's time are now to be discovered in 
 modern collections. It is possible, though not 
 probable, that the music may have remained near- 
 ly the same, though the words to the tunes were 
 
 entirely new-modelled *." 
 
 » 
 
 These conjectures are highly ingenious. It can- 
 not, however, be presumed, that the state of ease 
 and tranquillity described by Mr Ramsay took 
 place among the Scottish peasantry immediately 
 on the union of the crowns, or indeed during the 
 greater part of the seventeenth century. The 
 Scottish nation, through all its ranks, was deeply 
 agitated by the civil wars, and the religious per- 
 secutions which succeeded each other in that dis- 
 astrous period ; it was not till after the revolution 
 in 1688, and the subsequent establishment of their 
 beloved form of church government, that the pea- 
 santry of the Lowlands enjoyed comparative re- 
 
 * Extract of a letter from Mr Ramsay q/Ochtertyre to the Edi- 
 tor, Sept. 11, 1799. In the Bee, Vol. iup. 201, is a communi- 
 cation of Mr Ilamsay, under the signature of J. Runcole, 
 which enters into this subject somewhat more at large. In that 
 paper lie gives his reasons for questioning the antiquity of many 
 of the most celebrated Scottish songs.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 275 
 
 pose ; and it is since that period that a great num- 
 ber of the most-admired Scottish songs have been 
 produced, though the tunes to which they are 
 sung, are in general of much greater antiquity. It 
 is not unreasonable to suppose, that the peace and 
 security derived from the Revolution, and the 
 Union, produced a favourable change on the rus- 
 tic poetry of Scotland ; and it can scarcely be 
 doubted, that the institution of parish-schools in 
 1696, by which a certain degree of instruction 
 was diffused universally among the peasantry, con- 
 tributed to this happy effect. 
 
 Soon after this appeared Allan Ramsay, the 
 Scottish Theocritus. He was born on the high 
 mountains that divide Clydesdale and Annandale, 
 in a small hamlet by the banks of Glengonar, a 
 stream which descends into the Clyde. The ruins 
 of this hamlet are still shewn to the inquiring tra- 
 veller *. He was the son of a peasant, and pro- 
 bably received such instruction as his parish-school 
 bestowed, and the poverty of his parents admit- 
 ted!. Ramsay made his appearance in Edinburgh, 
 
 * See Campbell's History of Poetry in Scotland, p. 185. 
 
 ■\ The father of Mr Ramsay was, it is said, a workman in the 
 lead-mines of the Earl of Hopetoun, at Lead-hills. The work- 
 feen at those mines at present are of a very superior character 
 to miners in general. They have only six hours of labour in 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in the beginning of the present century, in the 
 humble character of an apprentice to a barber; he 
 was then fourteen or fifteen years of age. By de- 
 grees he acquired notice for his social disposition, 
 and his talent for the composition of verses in the 
 Scottish idiom ; and, changing his profession for 
 that of a bookseller, he became intimate with many 
 of the literary, as well as of the gay and fashionable 
 characters of his time *. Having published a vo- 
 lume of poems of his own in 1721, which was fa- 
 vourably received, he undertook to make a collec- 
 tion of ancient Scottish poems, under the title of 
 the Ever-Green, and was afterwards encouraged 
 to present to the world a collection of Scot- 
 tish songs. " From what sources he procured 
 them," says Mr Ramsay of Ochtertyre, " whe- 
 ther from tradition or manuscript, is uncertain. 
 
 the day, and have time for reading. They have a common li- 
 brary, supported by contribution, containing several thousand 
 volumes. When this was instituted I have not learned. These 
 miners are said to be of a very sober and moral character. Al- 
 lan Ramsay, when very young, is supposed to have been a 
 washer of ore in these mines. 
 
 * " lie was coeval with Joseph Mitchell, and his club of 
 small wits, who, about 1719, published a very poor miscellany, 
 to which Dr Young, the author of the Night Thoughts, prefix- 
 ed a copy of verses." Extract of a letter from Mr Ramsay (f 
 Ochtcrti/re to the Editor.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 277 
 
 As in the Ever-Green he made some rash attempts 
 to improve on the originals of his ancient poems, 
 he probably used still greater freedom with the 
 songs and ballads. The truth cannot, however, 
 be known on this point, till manuscripts of the 
 songs printed by him, more ancient than the pre- 
 sent century, shall be produced, or access be ob- 
 tained to his own papers, if they are still in exis- 
 tence. To several tunes which either wanted 
 words, or had words that were improper or im- 
 perfect, he or his friends adapted verses worthy 
 of the melodies they accompanied, worthy indeed 
 of the golden age. These verses were perfectly 
 intelligible to every rustic, yet justly admired by 
 persons of taste, who regarded them as the genu- 
 ine offspring of the pastoral muse. In some re- 
 spects Ramsay had advantages not possessed by 
 poets writing in the Scottish dialect in our days. 
 Songs in the dialect of Cumberland or Lancashire, 
 could never be popular, because these dialects have 
 never been spoken by persons of fashion. But 
 till the middle of the present century, every Scots- 
 man, from the peer to the peasant, spoke a truly 
 Doric language. It is true the English moralists 
 and poets were by this time read by every person 
 of condition, and considered as the standards for 
 polite composition. But, as national prejudices 
 were still strong, the busy, the learned, the gay, 
 and the fair, continued to speak their native dia-
 
 218 THE LIFE OV 
 
 lect, and that with an elegance and poignancy, pf 
 which Scotsmen of the present day can have no 
 just notion. I am old enough to have conversed 
 with Mr Spittal, of Leuchat, a scholar and a man 
 of fashion, who survived all the members of the 
 Union Parliament, in which he had a seat. Hiu 
 pronunciation and phraseology differed as much 
 from the common dialect, as the language of St 
 James's from that of Thames Street. Had we re- 
 tained a court and parliament of our own, the 
 tongues of the two sister kingdoms would indeed 
 have differed like the Castilian and Portuguese 5 
 but each would have had its own classics, not in 
 a single branch, but in the whole circle of litera- 
 ture. 
 
 " Ramsay associated with the men of wit and 
 fashion of his day, and several of them attempt- 
 ed to write poetry in his manner. Persons too 
 idle or too dissipated to think of compositions that 
 required much exertion, succeeded very happily 
 in making tender sonnets to favourite tunes in 
 compliment to their mistresses, and, transform- 
 ing themselves into impassioned shepherds, caught 
 the language of the characters they assumed. 
 Thus, about the year 1731, Robert Crawfurd of 
 Auchinames, wrote the modern song of Tweed- 
 side *, which has been so much admired. In 
 
 * Beginning, What beauties does Flora disclose /
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 279 
 
 1 743, Sir Gilbert Elliot, the first of our lawyers 
 who both spoke and wrote English elegantly, com- 
 posed, in the character of a love-sick swain, a 
 beautiful song, beginning, My sheep I neglected, 
 I lost my slieep-hook, on the marriage of his mis- 
 tress, Miss Forbes, with Ronald Crawfurd. And 
 about twelve years afterwards, the sister of Sir 
 Gilbert wrote the ancient words to the tune of the 
 Flowers of the Forest*, and supposed to allude to 
 the battle of Flowden. In spite of the double 
 rhyme, it is a sweet, and though in some parts al- 
 legorical, a natural expression of national son- 
 row. The more modern words to the same tune, 
 beginning, / have seen tlie smiling of fortune beguil- 
 ing, were written long before by Mrs Cockburn, 
 a woman of great wit, who outlived all the first 
 group of literati of the present century, all of 
 whom were very fond of her. I was delighted 
 with her company, though, when I saw her, she 
 was very old. Much did she know that is now 
 lost." 
 
 In addition to these instances of Scottish songs 
 produced in the earlier part of the present cen- 
 tury, may be mentioned the ballad of Hardiknute, 
 by Lady Wardlaw ; the ballad of William and 
 Margaret; and the song entitled the Birks of 
 »■ 
 
 * Beginning, / have heard a lilting at our etves-millcing.
 
 280 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Endermay, by Mallet ; the love-song, beginning, 
 For ever, Fortune, wilt thou 'prove, produced by 
 the youthful muse of Thomson ; and the exquisite 
 pathetic ballad, the Braes of Yarrow, by Hamil- 
 ton of Bangour. On the revival of letters in Scot- 
 land, subsequent to the Union, a very general taste 
 seems to have prevailed for the national songs 
 and music. " For many years," says Mr Ram- 
 say, " the singing of songs was the great delight 
 of the higher and middle order of the people, 
 as well as of the peasantry ; and though a taste 
 for Italian music has interfered with this amuse- 
 ment, it is still very prevalent. Between forty 
 and fifty years ago, the common people were not 
 only exceedingly fond of songs and ballads, 
 but of metrical history. Often have I, in my 
 cheerful morn of youth, listened to them with 
 delight, when reading or reciting the exploits of 
 Wallace and Bruce against the Southro?is. Lord 
 Hailes was wont to call Blind Harry their Bible, 
 he being their great favourite next the Scrip- 
 tures When, therefore, one in the vale of life 
 felt the first emotions of genius, he wanted not 
 models svi generis. But though the seeds of 
 poetry were scattered with a plentiful hand 
 among the Scottish peasantry, the product was 
 probably like that of pears and apples — of a 
 thousand that spring up, nine hundred and fifty 
 are so bad as to set the teeth on edge j forty-five
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 281 
 
 or more are passable and useful ; and the rest of 
 an exquisite flavour. Allan Ramsay and Burns 
 are wildlings of this last description. They had 
 the example of the elder Scottish poets ; they 
 were not without the aid of the best English wri- 
 ters ; and, what was of still more importance, 
 they were no strangers to the book of nature, and 
 to the book of God." 
 
 From this general view, it is apparent that Al- 
 lan Ramsay may be considered as in a great mea- 
 sure the reviver of the rural poetry of his country. 
 His collection of ancient Scottish poems, under 
 the name of The Ever-Green, his collection of 
 Scottish songs, and his own poems, the principal 
 of which is the Gentle Shepherd, have been uni- 
 versally read among the peasantry of his country, 
 and have in some degree superseded the adven- 
 tures of Bruce and Wallace, as recorded by Bar- 
 bour and Blind Harry. Burns was well acquaint- 
 ed with all of these. He had also before him the 
 poems of Fergusson in the Scottish dialect, which 
 have been produced in our own times, and of 
 which it will be necessary to give a short account. 
 
 Fergusson was born of parents who had it in 
 their power to proc^ e him a liberal education, a 
 circumstance, however, which in Scotland implies 
 no very high rank in society. From a well writ-
 
 282 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ten and apparently authentic account of his life*, 
 we learn that he spent six years at the schools of 
 Edinburgh and Dundee, and several years at the 
 Universities of Edinburgh and St Andrew's. It 
 appears that he was at one time destined for the 
 Scottish church ; but, as he advanced towards 
 manhood, he renounced that intention, and at E- 
 dinburgh entered the office of a writer to the sig- 
 net, a title which designates a separate and high- 
 er order of Scottish attorneys. Fergusson had 
 sensibility of mind, a warm and generous heart, 
 and talents for society of the most attractive kind. 
 To such a man no situation could be more dan- 
 gerous than that in which he was placed. The ex- 
 cesses into which he was led, impaired his feeble 
 constitution, and he sunk under them in the 
 month of October, 1774, in his 23d or 24th year. 
 Burns was not acquainted with the poems of 
 this youthful genius when he himself began to 
 write poetry ; and when he first saw them, he had 
 renounced the muses. But while he resided in 
 the town of Irvine, meeting with Fergussori's Scot- 
 tish Poems, he informs us that he " strung his 
 lyre anew with emulating vigour t." Touched by 
 
 * In the Supplement to the Encyclopeedia Britannica. See 
 also, Campbell's Introduction to the History qfPictry in Scot- 
 land, p. 288. 
 
 t See p. 51 of this volume,
 
 EOBEET BURNS. 283 
 
 the sympathy originating in kindred genius, and 
 in the forebodings of similar fortune, Burns re- 
 garded Fergusson with a partial and an affection- 
 ate admiration. Over his grave he erected a mo- 
 nument, as has already been mentioned ; and his 
 poems he has, in several instances, made the sub- 
 jects of his imitation. 
 
 From this account of the Scottish poems known 
 to Burns, those who are acquainted with them 
 will see that they are chiefly humorous or pathe- 
 tic : and under one or other of these descriptions 
 most of his own poems will class. Let us com- 
 pare him with his predecessors under each of these 
 points of view, and close our examination with a 
 few general observations. 
 
 It has frequently been observed, that Scotland 
 has produced, comparatively speaking, few writers 
 who have excelled in humour. But this observa- 
 tion is true only when applied to those who have 
 continued to reside in their own country, and have 
 confined themselves to composition in pure Eng- 
 lish ; and in these circumstances it admits of an 
 easy explanation. The Scottish poets, who have 
 written in the dialect of Scotland, have been at all 
 times remarkable for dwelling on subjects of hu- 
 mour, in which indeed many of them have excel- 
 led. It would be easy to shew, that the dialect of 
 Scotland having become provincial, is now scarce-
 
 284 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ]y suited to the more elevated kinds of poetry. If we 
 may believe that the poem of Christis Kirk of the 
 Grene was written by James the First of Scotland*, 
 this accomplished monarch, who had received an 
 English education under the direction of Henry 
 the Fourth, and who bore arms under his gallant 
 successor, gave the model on which the greater 
 part of the humorous productions of the rustic 
 muse of Scotland had been formed. Christis Kirk 
 of the Grene was reprinted by Ramsay, somewhat 
 modernized in the orthography, and two cantos- 
 were added by him, in which he attempts to carry 
 on the design. Hence the poem of King James 
 is usually printed in Ramsay's works. The royal 
 bard describes, in the first canto, a rustic dance, 
 and afterwards a contention in archery, ending 
 in an affray. Ramsay relates the restoration of 
 concord, and the renewal of the rural sports, 
 with the humours of a country wedding. 
 Though each of the poets describes the man- 
 ners of his respective age, yet in the whole piece 
 til ere is a very sufficient uniformity ; a striking 
 
 * Notwithstanding the evidence produced on this subject 
 by Mr Tytler, the Editor acknowledges his being somewhat, 
 of a sceptic on this point. Sir David Dalrymple inclines to 
 the opinion that it was written by his successor, James the 
 Fifth. There are difficulties attending this supposition also.. 
 But on the subject of Scottish Antiquities the Editor is an in-, 
 competent judge.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 28.7 
 
 proof of the identity of character in the Scottish 
 peasantry at the two periods, distant from each 
 other three hundred years. It is an honourable 
 distinction to this body of men, that their charac- 
 ter and manners, very little embellished, have 
 been found to be susceptible of an amusing and 
 interesting species of poetry ; and it must appear 
 not a little curious, that the single nation of mo- 
 dern Europe which possesses an original rural poe- 
 try, should have received the model, followed by 
 their rustic bards, from the monarch on the throne. 
 
 The two additional cantos to Ckristis Kirk of the 
 Grene, written by Ramsay, though objectionable 
 hi point of delicacy, are among the happiest of his 
 productions. His chief excellence, indeed, lay in 
 the description of rural characters, incidents, and 
 scenery ; for he did not possess any very high pow- 
 ers either of imagination or of understanding. He 
 was well acquainted with the peasantry of Scot- 
 land, their lives, and opinions. The subject w r as 
 in a great measure new ; his talents were equal to 
 the subject; and he has shewn that it may be hap- 
 pily adapted to pastoral poetry. In his Genik 
 Shepherd, the characters are delineations from na- 
 ture, the descriptive parts are in the genuine style 
 of beautiful simplicity, the passions and affections 
 of rural life are finely pourtrayed, and the heart is 
 pleasingly interested in the happiness that is be-
 
 286 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ft 
 
 stowed on innocence and virtue. Throughout the 
 whole there is an air of reality which the most 
 careless reader cannot but perceive ; and in fact 
 no poem ever perhaps acquired so high a reputa- 
 tion, in which truth received so little embellish- 
 ment from the imagination. In his pastoral songs, 
 and his rural tales, Ramsay appears to less advan- 
 tage, indeed, but still with considerable attraction. 
 The story of the Monk and tlie Miller's Wife, 
 though somewhat licentious, may rank with the 
 happiest productions of Prior or La Fontaine, 
 But when he attempts subjects from higher life, 
 and aims at pure English composition, he is feeble 
 and uninteresting, and seldom even reaches medi- 
 ocrity *. Neither are his familiar epistles and ele- 
 gies in the Scottish dialect entitled to much ap- 
 probation. Though Fergusson had higher powers 
 of imagination than Ramsay, his genius was not 
 of the highest order 5 nor did his learning, which 
 was considerable, improve his genius. His poems 
 written in pure English, in which he often follows 
 classical models, though superior to the English 
 poems of Ramsay, seldom rise above mediocrity; 
 but in those composed in the Scottish dialect he is 
 often very successful. He was, in general, however, 
 
 * See The Morning Interview, &c.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 2S7 
 
 less happy than Ramsay in the subjects of his muse. 
 As he spent the greater part of his life in Edin- 
 burgh, and wrote for his amusement in the inter- 
 vals of business or dissipation, his Scottish poems 
 are chiefly founded on the incidents of a town 
 life, which, though they are not susceptible of 
 humour, do not admit of those delineations of 
 scenery and manners, which vivify the rural poe- 
 try of Ramsay, and which so agreeably amuse 
 the fancy and interest the heart. The town 
 eclogues of Fergusson, if we may so denominate 
 them, are however faithful to nature, and often 
 distinguished by a very happy vein of humour. 
 His poems entitled The Daft Days, The King's 
 Birth-day in Edinburgh, Leith Races, and The 
 Hallow Fair, will justify this character. In these, 
 particularly in the last, he imitated Chrislis Kirk 
 qftlie Grene, as Ramsay had done before him. His 
 Address to the Tron-kirk Bell is an exquisite piece 
 of humour, which Burns has scarcely excelled. In 
 appreciating the genius of Fergusson, it ought 
 to be recollected, that his poems are the careless 
 effusions of an irregular though amiable young 
 man, who wrote for the periodical papers of the 
 day, and who died in early youth. Had his life 
 been prolonged under happier circumstances of 
 fortune, he would probably have risen to much 
 higher reputation. He might have excelled in 
 rural poetry, for though his professed pastorals
 
 288 THE LIFE OF 
 
 on the established Sicilian model, are stale and 
 uninteresting, The Farmer's Ingle*, which may 
 be considered as a Scottish pastoral, is the hap-* 
 piest of all his productions, and certainly was the 
 archetype of the Cotter's Saturday Night. Fer- 
 gusson, and more especially Burns, have shewn, 
 that the character and manners of the peasantry 
 of Scotland, of the present times, are as well 
 adapted to poetry, as in the days of Ramsay, or of 
 the author of Chrisiis Kirk of the Grene. 
 
 /The humour of Burns is of a richer vein than 
 that of Ramsay or Fergusson, both of whom, as 
 he himself informs us, he had " frequently in his 
 eye, but rather with a view to kindle at their 
 flame, than to servile imitation t." His de- 
 scriptive pow r ers, whether the objects on which 
 they are employed be comic or serious, ani* 
 mate or inanimate, are of the highest order. — 
 A superiority of this kind is essential to every 
 species of poetical excellence. In one of his 
 earlier poems his plan seems to be to inculcate a 
 lesson of contentment on the lower classes of 
 society, by shewing that their superiors are 
 
 * .The farmer's fire-side. 
 
 7 Vol. iii. Appendix, p. 451.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 289 
 
 neither much better nor happier than themselves ; 
 and this he chooses to execute in the form of a 
 dialogue between two dogs. He introduces this 
 dialogue by an account of the persons and charac- 
 ters of the speakers. The first, whom he has 
 named Ccesar, is a dog of condition : — 
 
 " His locked, letter'd, braw brass-collar, 
 Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar." 
 
 High-bred though he is, he is however full of 
 condescension : 
 
 (C At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
 Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
 But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
 And stroartt on stanes an' hillocks W? him? 
 
 The other, Luath, is a " ploughman's collie," but 
 
 a ci 
 
 ing. 
 
 a cur of a good heart and a sound understand 
 
 " His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
 Ay gat him friends in ilka, place.; 
 His breast was white, his towsie back 
 Weel clad wf coat o' gloss>; black ; 
 His gwwcie tail, isoi' upward, curl, 
 Hung o'er his hurdies *wi' a swirl? 
 
 Never were twa dogs so exquisitely delineated. 
 Their gambols, before they sit down to moralize, 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 THE LIFE OF 
 
 are described with an equal degree of happiness ; 
 and through the whole dialogue, the character, 
 as well as the different condition of the two speak- 
 ers, is kept in view. The speech of Luath, in 
 which he enumerates the comforts of the poor, 
 gives the following account of their merriment on 
 the first day of the year : 
 
 " That merry day the year begins, 
 They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
 The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
 And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
 The luntin pipe, and sneeshin' mill, 
 Are handed round wi* right guid-will ; 
 The canty auld folks crackin crouse, 
 The young anes ran tin thro' the house— 
 My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
 That I for joy hae barJcit ivi 7 them.™ 
 
 Of all the animals who have moralized on 
 human affairs since the days of JEsop, the dog 
 seems best entitled to this privilege, as well 
 from his superior sagacity, as from his being, 
 more than any other, the friend and associate of 
 man. The dogs of Burns, excepting in their 
 talent for moralizing, are downright dogs ; and 
 not like the horses of Swift, or the Hind and 
 Panther of Dryden, men in the shape of brutes. 
 It is this circumstance that heightens the hu- 
 mour of the dialogue. The " twa dogs" are 
 
 3
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 291 
 
 constantly kept before our eyes, and the contrast 
 between their form and character as dogs, and 
 the sagacity of their conversation, heightens the 
 humour, and deepens the impression of the poet's 
 satire. Though in this poem the chief excellence 
 may be considered as humour, yet great talents 
 are displayed in its composition ; the happiest 
 powers of description and the deepest insight into 
 the human heart *. It is seldom, however, that 
 the humour of Burns appears in so simple a form. 
 The liveliness of his sensibility frequently impels 
 him to introduce into subjects of humour, emo- 
 tions of tenderness or of pity : and, where occa- 
 sion admits, he is sometimes carried on to exert 
 the higher powers of imagination. In such in- 
 stances he leaves the society of Ramsay and of 
 
 * When this poem first appeared, it was thought by some 
 very surprising, that a peasant who had not an opportunity of 
 associating even with a simple gentleman, should have been 
 able to pourtray the character of high-life with such accuracy. 
 And when it was recollected that he had probably been at the 
 races of Ayr, where nobility as well as gentry are to be seen, 
 it was concluded that the race-ground had been the field of 
 his observation. This was sagacious enough ; but it did not 
 require such instruction to inform Burns, that human nature 
 is essentially the same in the high and the low ; and a genius 
 which comprehends the human mind, easily comprehends the 
 accidental varieties introduced by situation. 
 
 U 2
 
 292 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Fergusson, and associates himself with the mas- 
 ters of English poetry, whose language he fre- 
 quently assumes. 
 
 Of the union of tenderness and humour, ex- 
 amples may be found in The Death and Dying 
 Words of poor Maillie, in The auld Farmer's New- 
 Year's Morning Salutation to his Mare Maggie, 
 and in many of his other poems. The praise of 
 whisky is a favourite subject with Burns. To 
 this he dedicates his poem of Scotch DrinJc *. 
 After mentioning its cheering influence in a va- 
 riety of situations, he describes, with singular 
 liveliness and power of fancy, its stimulating ef- 
 fects on the blacksmith working at his forge : 
 
 '* Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
 The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
 Brings hard owre-hip, wi' sturdy wheel, 
 
 The strong fore-hammer, 
 Till block an' studdie ring and reel 
 
 Wi 1 dinsome clamour." 
 
 On another occasion t, choosing to exalt 
 whisky above wine, he introduces a compari- 
 
 * Vol. i'u. p. 15. 
 
 t The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch Repre- 
 sentatives in Parliament, Vol. iii.p. 19.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 5293 
 
 son between the natives of more genial climes, to 
 whom the vine furnishes their beverage, and his 
 own countrymen who drink the spirit of malt. 
 The description of the Scotsman is humorous : 
 
 " But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
 Clap in his cheek a Highland gill*, 
 Say, such is royal George's will, 
 
 An' there's the foe ; 
 He has nae thought but how to kill 
 Twa at a blow." 
 
 Here the notion of danger rotrses the imagina- 
 tion of the poet. He goes on thus : 
 
 " Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings teaze him ; 
 Death comes — wi' fearless eye he sees him : 
 Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him, 
 
 And when he fa's, 
 His latest draught o' breathing lea'es him 
 In faint huzzas." 
 
 Again, however, he sinks into humour, and con- 
 cludes the poem with the following most laugh- 
 able, but most irreverent apostrophe : 
 
 " Scotland, my auld, respected roither ! 
 Tho 1 whyles ye moistify your leather, 
 Till where ye sit, on craps o' heather, 
 
 Ye tine your dam : 
 Freedom and Whisky gang thegither, 
 
 Tak 1 an your dram !" 
 
 • Of whisky.
 
 '294 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Of this union of humour with the higher powers 
 of imagination, instances may he found in the 
 poem entitled Death and Dr Hornbook, and in al- 
 most every stanza of the Address to the Deil, one 
 of the happiest of his productions. After reproach- 
 ing this terrible being with all his " doings" and 
 misdeeds, in the course of which he passes through 
 a series of Scottish superstitions, and rises at times 
 into a high strain of poetry ; he concludes this ad- 
 dress, delivered in a tone of great familiarity, not 
 altogether unmixed with apprehension, in the fol- 
 lowing words : 
 
 " But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
 O wad ye tak a thought an 1 men' ! 
 Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 
 
 Still hac a stake — 
 Vm wae to think upo' yon den 
 
 Ev'n for your sake !" 
 
 Humour and tenderness are here so happily in- 
 termixed, that it is impossible to say which pre- 
 ponderates. 
 
 Fergusson wrote a dialogue between the Cause* 
 rcai/ and the Plainstones * of Edinburgh. This pro- 
 bably suggested to Burns his dialogue between the 
 
 * The middle of the street, and the side-way.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 295 
 
 Old and the New Bridge over the river Ayr *. 
 The nature of such subjects requires that they 
 shall be treated humorously, and Fergusson has at- 
 tempted nothing beyond this. Though the Cause- 
 way and the Plainstones talk together, no attempt 
 is made to personify the speakers. A " cadiet" 
 heard the conversation, and reported it to the poet. 
 
 In the dialogue between the Brigs of Ayr, Burns 
 himself is the auditor, and the time and occasion 
 on which it occurred is related with great circum- 
 stantiality. The poet, " pressed by care," or " in- 
 spired by whim," had left his bed in the town of 
 Ayr, and wandered out alone in the darkness and 
 solitude of a winter night, to the mouth of the ri- 
 ver, where the stillness was interrupted only by 
 the rushing sound of the influx of the tide. It was 
 after midnight- The Dungeon-clock t had struck 
 two, and the sound had been repeated by Wallace- 
 Tower ±. All else was hushed. The moon shone 
 brightly, and 
 
 " The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
 
 Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream." 
 
 In this situation, the listening bard hears the 
 
 * The Brigs of Ayr, Vol. iii. p. 50. 
 f A messenger. $ The two steeples of Ayr.
 
 296 THE LIFE OF 
 
 (C clanging sugh" of wings moving through the air, 
 and speedily he perceives two beings, reared, the 
 one on the Old, the other on the New Bridge, 
 whose form and attire he describes, and whose 
 conversation with each other he rehearses. These 
 genii enter into a comparison of the respective edi- 
 fices over which they preside, and afterwards, as 
 is usual between the old and young, compare mo- 
 dern characters and manners with those of past 
 times. They differ, as may be expected, and taunt 
 and scold each other in broad Scotch. This con- 
 versation, which is certainly humorous, may be 
 considered as the proper business of the poem. 
 As the debate runs high, and threatens serious 
 consequences, all at once it is interrupted by a 
 new scene of wonders : 
 
 •" all before their sight 
 
 A fairy train appcar'd in order bright ; 
 Adown the glittering stream they featly dane'd ; 
 Bright to the moon their various dresses glanctf ; 
 They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
 The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet; 
 While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 
 And soul-ennobled Bards heroic ditties sung.'" 
 
 ci The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
 A venerable chief, advance! in years;
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 297 
 
 His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
 His manly leg with garter-tangle bound." 
 
 Next follow a number of other allegorical 
 beings, among whom are the four seasons, Rural 
 Joy, Plenty, Hospitality, and Courage. 
 
 " Benevolence, with mild benignant air, 
 
 A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair : 
 Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, 
 From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 
 Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, 
 To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
 The broken iron instrument of Death ; 
 At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling 
 wrath." 
 
 This poem, irregular and imperfect as it is, dis- 
 plays various and powerful talents, and may serve 
 to illustrate the genius of Burns. In particular, it 
 affords a striking instance of his being carried be- 
 yond his original purpose by the powers of imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 In Fergusson's poem, the Plainstoiies and Cause- 
 way contrast the characters of the different per- 
 sons who walked upon them. Burns probably 
 conceived, that, by a dialogue between the Old 
 and New Bridge, he might form a humorous con- 
 trast between ancient and modern manners in the
 
 298 THE LIFE OF 
 
 town of Ayr. Such a dialogue could only be sup- 
 posed to pass in the stillness of night ; and this led 
 our poet into a description of a midnight scene, 
 which excited in a high degree the powers of his 
 imagination. During the whole dialogue the 
 scenery is present to his fancy, and at length it 
 suggests to him a fairy dance of aerial beings, un- 
 der the beams of the moon, by which the wrath of 
 the Genii of the Brigs of Ayr is appeased. 
 
 Incongruous as the different parts of this poem 
 are, it is not an incongruity that displeases ; and 
 we have only to regret that the poet did not be- 
 stow a little pains in making the figures more cor- 
 rect, and in smoothing the versification. 
 
 The epistles of Burns, in which may be includ- 
 ed his Dedication to G. H. Esq. discover, like his 
 other writings, the powers of a superior under- 
 standing. They display deep insight into hu- 
 man nature, a gay and happy strain of reflec- 
 tion, great independence of sentiment, and ge- 
 nerosity of heart. It is to be regretted, that 
 in his Holy Fair, and in some of his other 
 poems, his humour degenerates into personal 
 satire, and is not sufficiently guarded in other 
 respects. The Halloween of Burns is free from 
 every objection of this sort. It is interesting 
 not merely from its humorous description of
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 299 
 
 manners, but as it records the spells and charms 
 used on the celebration of a festival, now, 
 even in Scotland, falling into neglect, but which 
 was once observed over the greater part of Bri- 
 tain and Ireland *. These charms are suppos- 
 ed to afford an insight into futurity, especially on 
 the subject of marriage, the most interesting event 
 of rural life. In the Halloween, a female, in per- 
 forming one of the spells, has occasion to go out 
 by moonlight to dip her shift-sleeve into a stream 
 running towards tlie South t. It was not necessary 
 for Burns to give a description of this stream. 
 But it was the character of his ardent mind to 
 pour forth not merely what the occasion required, 
 but what it admitted ; and the temptation to de- 
 scribe so beautiful a natural object by moonlight, 
 was not to be resisted — 
 
 " Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 
 
 As through the glen it wimpl't; 
 Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 
 
 Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
 Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 
 
 Wi' bickering dancing dazzle ; 
 Whyles cookit underneath the braes. 
 
 Beneath the spreading hazel, 
 
 Unseen that night. 
 
 * In Ireland it is still celebrated. It is not quite in disuse 
 in Wales. 
 
 f See Vol. in. p. 136.
 
 C300 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Those who understand the Scottish dialect will 
 allow this to be one of the finest instances of de- 
 scription whicli the records of poetry afford. — 
 Though of a very different nature, it may be com- 
 pared, in point of excellence, with Thomson's de- 
 scription of a river swollen by the rains of winter, 
 bursting through the streights that confine its tor- 
 rent, " boiling, wheeling, foaming, and thunder-, 
 ing along *." 
 
 In pastoral, or, to speak more correctly, in rural 
 poetry of a serious nature, Burns excelled equally 
 as in that of a humorous kind, and, using less of 
 the Scottish dialect in his serious poems, he be- 
 comes more generally' intelligible* It is difficult 
 to decide whether the Address to a Mouse whose 
 7iest was turned up with the plough t, should be con- 
 sidered as serious or comic. Be this as it may, 
 the poem is one of the happiest and most finished 
 of his productions. If we smile at the " bickering 
 brattle" of this little flying animal, it is a smile of 
 tenderness and pity. The descriptive part is ad- 
 mirable ; the moral reflections beautiful, and aris- 
 ing directly out of the occasion ; and in the con- 
 clusion there is a deep melancholy, a sentiment of 
 doubt and dread, that arises to the sublime. The 
 Address to a Mountain Daisy, turned down with 
 
 * Sec Thomson's Winter. f Vol. iii. p. H6.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 301 
 
 tlie plough *, is a poem of the same nature, though 
 somewhat inferior in point of originality, as well 
 as in the interest produced. To extract out of 
 incidents so common, and seemingly so trivial as 
 these, so fine a train of sentiment and imagery, is 
 the surest proof, as well as the most brilliant tri- 
 umph, of original genius. The Vision, in two can- 
 tos, from which a beautiful extract is taken by Mr 
 Mackenzie, in the 97th number of the Lounger, 
 is a poem of great and various excellence. The 
 opening, in which the poet describes his own state 
 of mind, retiring in the evening, wearied, from 
 the labours of the day, to moralize on his conduct 
 and prospects, is truly interesting. The cham- 
 ber, if we may so term it, in which he sits down 
 to muse, is an exquisite painting : 
 
 " There, lanely, b) r the ingle-cheek, 
 I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 
 That fill'd wi 1 hoast-provoking smeek 
 
 That auld clay biggin' ; 
 An 1 heard the restless rations squeak 
 
 About the riegin. 11 
 
 CO 
 
 To reconcile to our imagination the entrance 
 of an aereal being into a mansion of this kind, 
 required the powers of Burns — he, however, suc- 
 ceeds. Coila enters, and her countenance, at- 
 
 * Vol in. p. 201.
 
 302 THE LIFE OF 
 
 titude, and dress, unlike those of other spiritual 
 beings, are distinctly pourtrayed. To the paint- 
 ing on her mantle, on which is depicted the most 
 striking scenery, as well as the most distinguish- 
 ed characters, of his native county, some excep- 
 tions may be made. The mantle of Coila, like 
 the cup of Thyrsis *, and the shield of Achilles, is 
 too much crowded with figures, and some of the 
 objects represented upon it are scarcely admissible, 
 according to the principles of design. The gene- 
 rous temperament of Burns led him into these ex- 
 uberances. In his second edition he enlarged the 
 number of figures originally introduced, that he 
 might include objects to which he was attached by 
 sentiments of affection, gratitude, or patriotism. 
 The second Dua?i, or canto of this poem, in which 
 Coila describes her own nature and occupations, 
 particularly her superintendence of his infant ge- 
 nius, and in which she reconciles him to the cha- 
 racter of a bard, is an elevated and solemn strain 
 of poetry, ranking in all respects, excepting the 
 harmony of numbers, with the higher productions 
 of the English muse. The concluding stanza, 
 compared with that already quoted, will show to 
 what a height Burns rises in this poem, from the 
 point at which he set out : — 
 
 * See the first Idyllium of Theocritus.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 303 
 
 if And wear thou this — she solemn said, 
 And bound the holly round my head ; 
 The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 
 
 Did rustling play ; 
 And, like a passing thought, she fled 
 In light away." 
 
 In various poems Burns has exhibited the pic- 
 ture of a mind under the deep impressions of real 
 sorrow. The Lament, the Ode to Ruin, Despon- 
 dency, and Winter, a Dirge, are of this character. 
 In the first of these poems the eighth stanza, which 
 describes a sleepless night from anguish of mind, 
 is particularly striking. Burns often indulged in 
 those melancholy views of the nature and condi- 
 tion of man, which are so congenial to the tem- 
 perament of sensibility. The poem entitled Man 
 *was made to Mourn, affords an instance of this 
 kind, and The Winter Night * is of the same de- 
 scription. The last is highly characteristic, both of 
 the temper of mind, and of the condition of Burns. 
 It begins with a description of a dreadful storm on 
 a night in winter. The poet represents himself as 
 lying in bed, and listening to its howling. In this si- 
 tuation, he naturally turns his thouglitsto the ouriei 
 
 See Vol. Hi. p. 149. 
 -j- Ouric, out-lying. Ourie Cattle, Cattle that are unhoused 
 all winter.
 
 304? THE LIFE OF 
 
 Cattle, and the silly * Sheep, exposed to all the 
 violence of the tempest. Having lamented their 
 fate, he proceeds in the following : 
 
 " Ilk happing bird — wee, helpless thing ! 
 That, in the merry months o* spring, 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing, 
 
 What comes o' thee ? 
 Whare wilt thou cowV thy chittering wing, 
 
 An 1 close thy e'e ?" 
 
 Other reflections of the same nature occur to 
 his mind ; and as the midnight moon, " muffled 
 with clouds," casts her dreary light on his window, 
 thoughts of a darker and more melancholy nature 
 croud upon him. In this state of mind, he hears 
 a voice pouring through the gloom, a solemn and 
 plaintive strain of reflection. The mourner com- 
 pares the fury of the elements with that of man 
 to his brother man, and finds the former light in 
 the balance. 
 
 " See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
 
 Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
 Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
 
 Woe, want, and murder, o'er the land. 1 ' 
 
 He pursues this train of reflection through a 
 variety of particulars, in the course of which he 
 introduces the following animated apostrophe : 
 
 * Silly is in this, as in other places, a term of compassion 
 and endearment.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 305 
 
 ** O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
 
 Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
 Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
 
 Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
 Ill-satisfy'd keen Nature's clam'rous call, 
 
 Stretch'd on his straw he lays him down to sleep, 
 While thro'' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
 
 Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap." 
 
 The strain of sentiment which runs through this 
 poem is noble, though the execution is unequal, 
 and the versification is defective. 
 
 Among the serious poems of Burns, The Cot- 
 ter's Saturday Night is perhaps entitled to the 
 first rank. The Farmer's Ingle of Fergusson evi- 
 dently suggested the plan of this poem, as has 
 been already mentioned ; but after the plan was 
 formed, Burns trusted entirely to his own powers 
 for the execution. Fergusson's poem is certainly 
 very beautiful. It has all the charms which de- 
 pend on rural characters and manners happily 
 pourtrayed, and exhibited under circumstances 
 highly grateful to the imagination. The Farmer's 
 Ingle begins with describing the return of even- 
 ing. The toils of the day are over, and the far- 
 mer retires to his comfortable fire-side. The re- 
 ception which he and his men-servants receive 
 from the careful house-wife, is pleasingly describ- 
 ed. After their supper is over, they begin to talk 
 
 on the rural events of the day. 
 vol. i. \
 
 306 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " 'Bout kirk and market eke their tales gae on, 
 How Jock vvoo'd Jenny here to be his bride ; 
 And there how Marion for a bastard son, 
 Upo' the cutty-stool was forced to ride, 
 The waefu' scauld o' our Mess John to bide." 
 
 The " Guidame" is next introduced as form- 
 ing a circle round the fire, in the midst of her 
 grand-children, and while she spins from the rock, 
 and the spindle plays on her " russet lap," she is 
 relating to the young ones tales of witches and 
 ghosts. The poet exclaims, 
 
 " O mock na this my friends ! but rather mourn, 
 Ye in life's brawest spring wi' reason clear, 
 
 "YVT eild our idle fancies a' return, 
 
 And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly fear ; 
 
 The mind's aye cradled when the grave is near." 
 
 In the mean time the farmer, wearied with the 
 fatigues of the day, stretches himself at length 
 on the settle, a sort of rustic couch, which ex- 
 tends on one side of the fire, and the cat and 
 house-dog leap upon it to receive his caresses. 
 Here, resting at his ease, he gives his directions 
 to his men-servants for the succeeding day. The 
 house-wife follows his example, and gives her 
 orders to the maidens. By degrees the oil in the 
 cruise begins to fail ; the fire runs low ; sleep 
 steals on his rustic group ; and they move off 
 to enjoy their peaceful slumbers. The poet con-
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 307 
 
 eludes by bestowing his blessing on the " hus- 
 bandman and all his tribe." 
 
 This is an original and truly interesting pasto- 
 ral. It possesses every thing required in this species 
 of composition. We might have perhaps said, 
 every thing that it admits, had not Burns written 
 his Cotter's Saturday Night. 
 
 The cottager returning from his labours, has 
 no servants to accompany him, to partake of his 
 fare, or to receive his instructions. The circle 
 which he joins, is composed of his wife and chil- 
 dren only j and if it admits of less variety, it af- 
 fords an opportunity for representing scenes that 
 more strongly interest the affections. The younger 
 children running to meet him, and clambering 
 round his knee ; the elder, returning from their 
 weekly labours with the neighbouring farmers, 
 dutifully depositing their little gains with their pa- 
 rents, and receiving their father's blessing and in- 
 structions; the incidents of the courtship of Jenny, 
 their eldest daughter, " woman grown j" are cir- 
 cumstances of the most interesting kind, which 
 are most happily delineated : and after their fru- 
 gal supper, the representation of these humble 
 cottagers forming a wider circle round their hearth, 
 and uniting in the worship of God, is a picture 
 the most deeply affecting of any which the rural 
 
 X 2
 
 308 THE LIFE OF 
 
 muse has ever presented to the view. Burns was 
 admirably adapted to this delineation. Like all 
 men of genius he was of the temperament of de- 
 votion, and the powers of memory co-operated in 
 this instance with the sensibility of his heart, and 
 the fervour of his imagination *. The Cotter's Sa- 
 turday Night is tender and moral, it is solemn and 
 devotional, and rises at length into a strain of gran- 
 deur and sublimity, which modern poetry has not 
 surpassed. The noble sentiments of patriotism 
 with which it concludes, correspond with the rest 
 of the poem. In no age or country have the pas- 
 toral muses breathed such elevated accents, if the 
 Messiah of Pope be excepted, which is indeed a 
 pastoral in form only. It is to be regretted that 
 Burns did not employ his genius on other subjects 
 of the same nature, which the manners and cus- 
 toms of the Scottish peasantry would have amply 
 supplied. Such poetry is not to be estimated by 
 the degree of pleasure which it bestows ; it sinks 
 deeply into the heart, and is calculated, far be- 
 yond any other human means, for giving perma- 
 nence to the scenes and the characters it so exqui- 
 sitely describes t. 
 
 * The reader will recollect that the Cotter was Burns's fa- 
 ther. See p. 83. 
 
 f See Appendix, No. II. Note D.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 309 
 
 Before we conclude, it will be proper to offer 
 a few observations on the lyric productions of 
 Burns. His compositions of this kind are chiefly 
 songs, generally in the Scottish dialect, and always 
 after the model of the Scottish songs, on the ge- 
 neral character and moral influence of which, 
 some observations have already been offered *. We 
 may hazard a few more particular remarks. 
 
 Of the historic or heroic ballads of Scotland it 
 is unnecessary to speak. Burns has no where imita- 
 ted them, a circumstance to be regretted, since in 
 this species of composition, from its admitting the 
 more terrible, as well as the softer graces of poetry, 
 he was eminently qualified to have excelled. The 
 Scottish songs which served as a model to Burns, 
 are almost without exception pastoral, or rather 
 rural. Such of them as are comic, frequently treat 
 of a rustic courtship, or a country wedding ; or 
 they describe the differences of opinion which a- 
 rise in married life. Burns has imitated this spe- 
 cies, and surpassed his models. The song begin- 
 ning, " Husband, husband, cease your strife t," 
 may be cited in support of this observation t. His 
 
 * See;;. 15, 16, 17- f See Vol. iv.p. 145. 
 
 % The dialogues between husbands and their wives, which 
 
 form the subjects of the Scottish songs, are almost all ludicrous
 
 S10 THE LIFE OF 
 
 other comic songs are of equal merit. In the ru- 
 ral songs of Scotland, whether humorous or ten- 
 der, the sentiments are given to particular charac- 
 ters, and very generally, the incidents are referred 
 to particular scenery. This last circumstance may 
 be considered as the distinguishing feature of the 
 Scottish songs, and on it a considerable part of 
 their attraction depends. On all occasions the 
 sentiments, of whatever nature, are delivered in 
 the character of the person principally interested. 
 If love be described, it is not as it is observed, but 
 as it is felt ; and the passion is delineated under a 
 particular aspect. Neither is it the fiercer impulses 
 of desire that are expressed, as in the celebrated 
 ode of Sappho, the model of so many modern 
 songs ; but those gentler emotions of tenderness 
 and affection, which do not entirely absorb the 
 lover ; but permit him to associate his emotions 
 with the charms of external nature, and breathe 
 the accents of purity and innocence, as well as of 
 love. In these respects the love-songs of Scotland 
 are honourably distinguished from the most ad- 
 
 and satirical, and in these contests the lady is generally victo- 
 rious. From the collections of Mr Pinkerton, we find that the 
 comic muse oi' Scotland delighted in such representations from 
 very early times, in her rude dramatic efforts, as well as in her 
 
 rustic sonjrs.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 311 
 
 mired classical compositions of the same kind ; 
 and by such associations, a variety as well as live- 
 liness, is given to the representation of this pas- 
 sion, which are not to be found in the poetry of 
 Greece or Rome, or perhaps of any other nation. 
 Many of the love-songs of Scotland describe scenes 
 of rural courtship ; many may be considered as in- 
 vocations from lovers to their mistresses. On such 
 occasions a degree of interest and reality is given 
 to the sentiments, by the spot destined to these 
 happy interviews being particularized. The lovers 
 perhaps meet at the Bush aboon Traquoir, or on 
 the Banks of Ettrich ; the nymphs are invoked to 
 wander among the wilds of RosUn, or the woods of 
 Irwermay. Nor is the spot merely pointed out ; 
 the scenery is often described as well as the cha- 
 racter, so as to represent a complete picture to the 
 fancy*. Thus the maxim of Horace, ut pictura 
 poesis, is faithfully observed by these rustic bards, 
 
 * One or two examples may illustrate this observation. A 
 Scottish song, written about a hundred years ago, begins 
 thus : — 
 
 i: On Ettrick banks, on a summer's night 
 
 At gloaming, when the sheep drove hame, 
 I met my lassie, braw and tight, 
 Come wading barefoot a' her lane ;
 
 312 THE LIFE OF 
 
 who are guided by the same impulse of nature and 
 sensibility which influenced the father of epic poe- 
 try, on whose example the precept of the Roman 
 poet was perhaps founded. By this means the ima- 
 gination is employed to interest the feelings. When 
 we do not conceive distinctly, we do not sympa- 
 
 My heart grew light, I ran, I rlang 
 
 My arms about her lily-neck, 
 And kiss'd and clasped there fu' lang — 
 
 My words they were na mony feck." 
 
 The lover, who is a Highlander, goes on to relate the lan- 
 guage he employed with his Lowland maid to win her heart, 
 and to persuade her to fly with him to the Highland hills, there 
 to share his fortune. The sentiments are in themselves beau- 
 tiful. But we feel them with double force, while we conceive 
 that they were addressed by a lover to his mistress, whom he 
 met all alone, on a summer's evening, by the banks of a beauti- 
 ful stream, which some of us have actually seen, and which all 
 of us can paint to our imagination. Let us take another ex- 
 ample. It is now a nymph that speaks. Hear how she ex- 
 presses herself — 
 
 " How blythe each morn was I to see 
 My swain come o'er the hill ? 
 He skipt the burn, and flew to me, 
 I met him with good will.''
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 313 
 
 thize deeply in any human affection ; and we con- 
 ceive nothing in the abstract. Abstraction, so use- 
 ful in morals, and so essential in science, must be 
 abandoned when the heart is to be subdued by 
 the powers of poetry or of eloquence. The bards 
 of a ruder condition of society paint individual 
 objects ; and hence, among other causes, the easy 
 access they obtain to the heart. Generalization 
 is the vice of poets, whose learning overpowers 
 their genius j of poets of a refined and scientific 
 age. 
 
 The dramatic style which prevails so much in 
 the Scottish songs, while it contributes greatly to 
 
 Here is another picture drawn by the pencil of Nature. We 
 see a shepherdess standing by the side of a brook, watching 
 her lover as he descends the opposite hill. He bounds lightly 
 along ; he approaches nearer and nearer ; he leaps the brook, 
 and flies into her arms. In the recollection of these circum- 
 stances, the surrounding scenery becomes endeared to the fair 
 mourner, and she bursts into the following exclamation; 
 
 " O the broom, the bonnie bonnie broom, 
 The broom of the Cowden-Knowes ! 
 I wish I were with my dear swain, 
 With his pipe and his ewes." 
 
 Thus the individual spot of this happy interview is point- 
 ed out, and the picture is completed. 
 
 v
 
 314 THE LIFE OP 
 
 the interest they excite, also shews that they have 
 originated among a people in the earlier stages of 
 society. Where this form of composition appears 
 in songs of a modern date, it indicates that they 
 have been written after the ancient model *. 
 
 The Scottish songs are of very unequal poetical 
 merit, and this inequality often extends to the 
 different parts of the same song. Those that are 
 humorous, or characteristic of manners, have in 
 general the merit of copying nature ; those that 
 
 * That the dramatic form of writing characterizes the pro- 
 ductions of an early, or, what amounts to the same thing, of a 
 rude stage of society, may be illustrated by a reference to the 
 most ancient compositions that we know of, the Hebrew scrip- 
 tures, and the writings of Homer. The form of dialogue is 
 adopted in the old Scottish ballads even in narration, whenever 
 the situations described become interesting. This sometimes 
 produces a very striking effect, of which an instance maybe 
 given from the ballad of Edom d Gordon, a composition ap- 
 parently of the sixteenth century. The story of the ballad is, 
 .shortly this — The castle of Rhodes, in the absence of its lord, 
 is attacked by the robber Edom o' Gordon. The lady stands 
 on her defence, heats off' the assailants, and wounds Gordon, 
 who in his rage orders the castle to be set on fire. That his 
 orders arc carried into effect, we learn from the expostulation 
 »\ the lady, who is represented as standing on the battlements, 
 mhI remonstrating on this barbarity. She is interrupted—
 
 ROBERT BURKS. 315 
 
 are serious are tender, and often sweetly interest- 
 ing, but seldom exhibit high powers of imagina- 
 tion, which indeed do not easily find a place in 
 this species of composition. The alliance of the 
 words of the Scottish songs with the music, has 
 in some instances given to the former a populari- 
 ty, which otherwise they would not have obtain- 
 ed. 
 
 The association of the words and the music 
 of these songs, with the more beautiful parts of 
 the scenery of Scotland, contributes to the same 
 effect. It has given them not merely popularity, 
 
 O then bespake her little son, 
 
 Sate on his nourice' knee ; 
 Says, ' mither dear, gi' owre this house, 
 
 ' For the reek it smithers me.' 
 " I wad gie a' my gowd, my childc, 
 
 " Sae wad I a' my fee, 
 " For ae blast o' the westlin wind, 
 
 " To blaw the reek frae thee." 
 
 The circumstantiality of the Scottish love-songs, and the 
 dramatic form which prevails so generally in them, proba- 
 bly arises from their being the descendants and successors 
 of the ancient ballads. In the beautiful modern song of 
 Mary of Castle-Cary, the dramatic form has a very happy ef- 
 fect. The same may be said of Donald and Flora, and Come 
 under my plaidie, by the same author, Mr Macniel.
 
 £1(3 . THE LIFE OF 
 
 but permanence ; it has imparted to the works of 
 man some portion of the durability of the works 
 of nature. If, from our imperfect experience of 
 the past, we may judge with any confidence re- 
 specting the future, songs of this description are 
 of all others least likely to die. In the changes 
 of language they may no doubt suffer change ; 
 but the associated strain of sentiment and of mu- 
 sic will perhaps survive, while the clear stream 
 sweeps down the vale of Yarrow, or the yellow 
 broom waves on the Cowden-Knowes. 
 
 The first attempts of Burns in song-writing 
 were not very successful. His habitual inatten- 
 tion to the exactness of rhymes, and to the har- 
 mony of numbers, arising probably from the 
 models on which his versification was formed, 
 were faults likely to appear to more disadvantage 
 in this species of composition, than in any other ; 
 and we may also remark, that the strength of his 
 imagination, and the exuberance of his sensibi- 
 lity, were with difficulty restrained within the 
 limits of gentleness, delicacy, and tenderness, 
 which seem to be assigned to the love-songs of 
 his nation. Burns was better adapted by nature 
 for following, in such compositions, the model of 
 the Grecian than of the Scottish muse. By study 
 and practice he, however, surmounted all these 
 obstacles. In his earlier songs, there is some.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. SI7 
 
 rtiggedness ; but this gradually disappears in bis 
 successive efforts ; and some of his latter compo- 
 sitions of this kind may be compared, in polished 
 delicacy, with the finest songs in our language, 
 while in the eloquence of sensibility they surpass 
 them all. 
 
 The songs of Burns, like the models he follow- 
 ed and excelled, are often dramatic, and for the 
 greater part amatory ; and the beauties of rural 
 nature are every where associated with the pas- 
 sions and emotions of the mind. Disdaining to 
 copy the works of others, he has not, like some 
 poets of great name, admitted into his descrip- 
 tions exotic imagery. The landscapes he has 
 painted, and the objects with which they are em- 
 bellished, are, in every single instance, such as are 
 to be found in his own country. In a mountain- 
 ous region, especially when it is comparatively 
 rude and naked, the most beautiful scenery will 
 always be found in the vallevs, and on the banks 
 of the wooded streams. Such scenery is peculiar- 
 ly interesting at the close of a summer day. As 
 we advance northwards, the number of the days 
 of summer, indeed, diminishes ; but from this 
 cause, as well as from the mildness of the tempe- 
 rature, the attraction of the season increases, and 
 the summer ni^lit becomes still more beautiful.
 
 ,'318 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The greater obliquity of the sun's path on the 
 ecliptic, prolongs the grateful season of twilight 
 to the midnight hours, and the shades of the even- 
 ing seem to mingle with the morning's dawn. 
 The rural poets of Scotland, as may be expected, 
 associate in their songs the expressions of passion, 
 with the most beautiful- of their scenery, in the 
 fairest season of the year, and generally in those 
 hours of the evening when the beauties of nature 
 are most interesting*. 
 
 * A lady, of whose genius the editor entertains high admira- 
 lion (Mrs Barbauld), has fallen into an error in this respect. 
 In her prefatory address to the works of Collins, speaking of 
 the natural objects that may be employed to give interest to 
 the descriptions of passion, she observes, " they present an 
 inexhaustible variety, from the Song of Solomon, breathing of 
 cassia, myrrh, and cinnamon, to the Gentle Shepherd of Ram- 
 say, whose damsels carry their milking pails through the frosts 
 and snows of their less genial, but not less pastoral country." 
 The damsels of Ramsay do not walk in the midst of frost and 
 snow. — -Almost all the scenes of the Gentle Shepherd are laid 
 in the open air, amidst beautiful natural objects, and at the 
 most genial season of the year. Ramsay introduces all his acts 
 with a prefatory description to assure us of this. The fault of 
 the climate of Britain is not, that it does not afford us the beau- 
 ties of summer, but that the season of such beauties is compa- 
 ratively short, and even uncertain. There are days and nights, 
 even in the northern division of the island, which equal, or per- 
 haps, surpass what are to be found in the latitude of Sicily or
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 319 
 
 To all these adventitious circumstances, on 
 which so much of the effect of poetry depends, 
 great attention is paid by Burns. There is scarce- 
 ly a single song of his in which particular scenery 
 is not described, or allusions made to natural ob- 
 jects, remarkable for beauty or interest j and 
 though his descriptions are not so full as are 
 sometimes met with in the older Scottish songs, 
 they are in the highest degree appropriate and 
 interesting. Instances in proof of this might be 
 quoted from the Lea Rig *, Highland Mary f , 
 the Soldier's Return %, Logan Water §, from that 
 beautiful pastoral, Bonnie JeanW, and a great 
 number of others. Occasionally the force of his 
 genius carries him beyond the usual boundaries 
 of Scottish song, and the natural objects intro- 
 
 of Greece. Buchanan, when he wrote his exquisite Ode to 
 May, felt the charm as well as the transientness of these hap- 
 py days : 
 
 Salve fugacis gloria seculi, 
 Salve secunda digna dies nota, 
 
 Salve vetustae vitae imago, 
 
 Et specimen venientis iEvi ! 
 
 * Vol. iv. p. 8. § Vol. iv. p. 74, 
 
 t Ibid. p. 17. ' 11 Ibid. p. 79. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 50.
 
 320 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tluced have more of the character of sublimity. 
 An instance of this kind is noticed by Mr Syme *, 
 and many others might be adduced : 
 
 • { Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
 
 Where the winds howl to the wave's dashing roar ^ 
 There would I weep my woes, 
 There seek my lost repose, 
 Till grief my eyes should close, 
 Ne'er to wake more f." 
 
 In one song, the scene of which is laid in a 
 winter night, the " wan moon" is described as 
 u setting behind the white waves t ;" in another* 
 the " storms" are apostrophized, and commanded 
 to <c rest in the cave of their slumbers §." On 
 several occasions, the genius of Burns loses sight 
 entirely of his archetypes, and rises into a strain 
 of uniform sublimity. Instances of this kind ap- 
 pear in Liber lie, a Vision ||, and in his two war- 
 songs, Brace to his Troops**, and the Song of 
 Death if. These last are of a description of which 
 we have no other in our language. The martial 
 
 • See p. 204 of this volume, 
 f Vol. iv. p. 92. § Vol. iv. p. 50. 
 
 $ Ibid. p. 4-5. || Ibid. p. 346". 
 
 ** Vol. iv. p. 125. 
 
 ff See p. ?A2 of this volume.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 321 
 
 songs of our nation are not military, but naval. 
 If we were to seek a comparison of these songs of 
 Burns with others of a similar nature, we must 
 have recourse to the poetry of ancient Greece, or 
 of modern Gaul. 
 
 Burns has made an important addition to the 
 songs of Scotland. In his compositions, the poetry 
 equals and sometimes surpasses the music. He 
 has enlarged the poetical scenery of his country. 
 Many of her rivers and mountains, formerly un- 
 known to the muse, are now consecrated by his 
 immortal verse. The Doon, the Lugar, the Ayr, 
 the Nith, and the Cluden, will in future, like the 
 Yarrow, the Tweed, and the Tay, be considered 
 as classic streams, and their borders will be trod 
 with new and superior emotions. 
 
 The greater part of the songs of Burns were 
 written after he removed into the county of Dum- 
 fries. Influenced, perhaps, by habits formed in 
 early life, he usually composed while walking in 
 the open air. When engaged in writing these 
 songs, his favourite walks were on the banks of 
 the Nith, or of the Cluden, particularly near 
 the ruins of Lincluden Abbey ; and this beau- 
 tiful scenery he has very happily described 
 under various aspects, as it appears during the 
 softness and serenity of evening, and during 
 
 VOL. i. y
 
 322 THE LIFE Or 
 
 the stillness and solemnity of the moon-light 
 night *. 
 
 There is no species of poetry, the productions 
 of the drama not excepted, so much calculated to 
 influence the morals, as well as the happiness of 
 a people, as those popular verses which are asso- 
 ciated with the national airs, and which being 
 learnt in the years of infancy, make a deep im- 
 pression on the heart before the evolution of the 
 powers of the understanding. The compositions 
 of Burns, of this kind, now presented in a collect- 
 ed form to the world, make a most important ad- 
 dition to the popular songs of his nation- Like 
 all his other writings, they exhibit independence 
 of sentiment ; they are peculiarly calculated to 
 increase those ties which bind generous hearts to 
 their native soil, and to the domestic circle of 
 their infancy ; and to cherish those sensibilities 
 which, under due restriction, form the purest hap- 
 piness of our nature. If in his unguarded mo- 
 ments he composed some songs on which this 
 praise cannot be bestowed, let us hope that they 
 will speedily be forgotten. In several instances, 
 where Scottish airs were allied to words objec- 
 tionable in point of delicacy, Burns has substi- 
 tuted others of a purer character. On such oc- 
 
 * See Vol. iv. p. 16'0, p. 346.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 323 
 
 casions, without changing the subject, he has 
 changed the sentiments. A proof of this may- 
 be seen in the air of John Anderson my Joe, which 
 is now united to words that breathe a strain of 
 conjugal tenderness, that is as highly moral as 
 it is exquisitely affecting. 
 
 Few circumstances could afford a more strik- 
 ing proof of the strength of Burns's genius, than 
 the general circulation of his poems in England, 
 notwithstanding the dialect in which the greater 
 part are written, and which might be supposed 
 to render them here uncouth or obscure. In 
 some instances he has used this dialect on sub- 
 jects of a sublime nature ; but in general he 
 confines it to sentiments or description of a ten- 
 der or humorous kind ; and, where he rises into 
 elevation of thought, he assumes a purer Eng- 
 lish style. The singular faculty he possessed of 
 mingling in the same poem humorous senti- 
 ments and descriptions, with imagery of a sub- 
 lime and terrific nature, enabled him to use this 
 variety of dialect on some occasions with strik- 
 ing effect. His poem of Tarn o' Shanter affords 
 an instance of this. There he passes from a 
 scene of the lowest humour, to situations of the 
 most awful and terrible kind. He is a musician 
 that runs from the lowest to the highest of his 
 
 keys ; and the use of the Scottish dialect en- 
 y 2
 
 324 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ables him to add two additional notes to the 
 bottom of his scale. 
 
 Great efforts have been made by the inha- 
 bitants of Scotland, of the superior ranks, to ap- 
 proximate in their speech to the pure English 
 standard ; and this has made it difficult to write 
 in the Scottish dialect, without exciting in them 
 some feelings of disgust, which in England are 
 scarcely felt. An Englishman who understands 
 the meaning of the Scottish words, is not of- 
 fended, nay, on certain subjects, he is perhaps 
 pleased with the rustic dialect, as he may be 
 with the Doric Greek of Theocritus. 
 
 But a Scotchman inhabiting his own coun- 
 try, if a man of education, and more especially 
 if a literary character, has banished such words 
 from his writings, and has attempted to banish 
 them from his speech ; and being accustomed 
 to hear them from the vulgar daily, does not 
 easily admit of their use in poetry, which re- 
 quires a style elevated and ornamental. A dis- 
 like of this kind is, however, accidental, not 
 natural. It is of the species of disgust which 
 we feel at seeing a female of high birth in the 
 dress of a, rustic ; which if she be really young 
 and beautiful, a little habit will enable us to 
 overcome. A lady who assumes such a dress
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 325 
 
 puts her beauty, indeed, to a severer trial. She 
 rejects — she, indeed, opposes the influence of 
 fashion ; she, possibly, abandons the grace of 
 elegant and flowing drapery ; but her native 
 charms remain, the more striking perhaps, be- 
 cause the less adorned ; and to these she trusts 
 for fixing her empire on those affections over 
 which fashion has no sway. If she succeeds, a 
 new association arises. The dress of the beauti- 
 ful rustic becomes itself beautiful, and esta- 
 blishes a new fashion for the young and the gay. 
 And when* in after ages, the contemplative ob- 
 server shall view her picture in the gallery that 
 contains the portraits of the beauties of succes- 
 sive centuries, each in the dress of her respective 
 day, her drapery will not deviate, more than 
 that of her rivals, from the standard of his taste, 
 and he will give the palm to her who excels in 
 the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Burns wrote professedly for the peasantry of 
 his country, and by them their native dialect 
 is universally relished. To a numerous class 
 of the natives of Scotland of another descrip- 
 tion, it may also be considered as attractive in 
 a different point of view. Estranged from their 
 native soil, and spread over foreign lands, the 
 idiom of their country unites with the senti- 
 ments and the descriptions on which it is em- 
 ployed, to recal to their minds the interesting 
 
 V>
 
 326 THE LIFE OF 
 
 scenes of infancy and youth— to awaken many 
 pleasing, many tender recollections. Literary 
 men, residing at Edinburgh or Aberdeen, can- 
 not judge on this point for one hundred and 
 fifty thousand of their expatriated country- 
 men *. 
 
 To the use of the Scottish dialect in one 
 species of poetry, the composition of songs, the 
 taste of the public has been for some time re- 
 conciled. The dialect in question excels, as 
 has already been observed, in the copiousness 
 and exactness of its terms for natural objects : 
 and in pastoral or rural songs, it gives a Doric 
 simplicity, which is very generally approved. 
 Neither does the regret seem well founded 
 
 * These observations are excited by some remarks 
 of respectable correspondents of the description alluded 
 to. This calculation of the number of Scotchmen living 
 out of Scotland is not altogether arbitrary, and it is 
 probably below the truth. It is, in some degree, founded 
 on the proportion between the number of the sexes in 
 Scotland, as it appears from the invaluable Statistics of 
 Sir John Sinclair. — For Scotchmen of this description 
 more particularly, Burns seems to have written his song 
 beginning, Their groves o sioeet myrtle (Vol. iv. p. 228), 
 a beautiful strain, which, it may be confidently predicted, 
 will be sung with equal or superior interest, on the banks 
 of the Ganges or of the Mississippi, as on those of the Tay 
 or the Tweed.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. S27 
 
 which some persons of taste have expressed, that 
 Burns used this dialect in so many other of his 
 compositions. His declared purpose was to paint 
 the manners of rustic life among his " humble 
 compeers," and it is not easy to conceive, that 
 this could have been done with equal humour and 
 effect, if he had not adopted their idiom. There 
 are some, indeed, who will think the subject too 
 low for poetry. Persons of this sickly taste will 
 find their delicacies consulted in many a polite 
 and learned author ; let them not seek for gratifi- 
 cation in the rough and vigorous lines, in the un- 
 bridled humour, or in the overpowering sensibili- 
 ty of this bard of nature. 
 
 To determine the comparative merit of Burns 
 would be no easy task. Many persons afterwards 
 distinguished in literature, have been born in as 
 humble a situation of life ; but it would be diffi- 
 cult to find any other who, while earning bis sub- 
 sistence by daily labour, has written verses which 
 have attracted and retained universal attention, 
 and which are likely to give the author a perma- 
 nent and distinguished place among the followers 
 of the muses. If he is deficient in grace, he is 
 distinguished for ease as well as energy ; and 
 these are indications of the higher order of ge- 
 nius. The father of epic poetry exhibits one of 
 his heroes as excelling in strength, another in
 
 328 THE LIFE OF 
 
 swiftness — to form his perfect warrior, these at- 
 tributes are combined. Every species of intel- 
 lectual superiority admits, perhaps, of a similar 
 arrangement. One writer excels in force — an- 
 other in ease j he is superior to them both, in 
 whom both these qualities are united. Of Homer 
 himself it may be said, that, like his own Achilles, 
 he surpasses his competitors in mobility as well as 
 strength. 
 
 The force of Burns lay in the powers of his 
 understanding, and in the sensibility of his heart, j 
 and these will be found to infuse the living prin- 
 ciple into all the works of genius which seem des- 
 tined to immortality. His sensibility had an un- 
 common range. He was alive to every species 
 of emotion. He is one of the few poets that can 
 be mentioned, who have at once excelled in hu- 
 mour, in tenderness, and in sublimity ; a praise 
 unknown to the ancients, and which in modern 
 times is only due to Ariosto, to Shakespeare, and 
 perhaps to Voltaire. To compare the writings 
 of the Scottish peasant with the works of these 
 giants in literature, might appear presumptuous ; 
 yet it may be asserted that he has displayed the 
 foot of Hercules. How near he might have ap- 
 proached them by proper culture, with lengthen- 
 ed years, and under happier auspices, it is not 
 tortus to calculate. But while we run over the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. iJ29 
 
 melancholy story of his life, it is impossible not 
 to heave a sigh at the asperity of his fortune ; 
 and a3 we survey the records of his mind, it is 
 easy to see, that out of such materials have been 
 reared the fairest and the most durable of the 
 monuments of genius.
 
 tsi 
 
 A great number of poems have been writ- 
 ten on the death of Burns, some of them of con- 
 siderable poetical merit. To have subjoined all 
 of them to the present edition, would have been 
 to have enlarged it to another volume at least ; 
 and to have made a selection, would have been a 
 task of considerable delicacy. 
 
 The Editor, therefore, presents one poem 
 only on this melancholy subject ; a poem which 
 has not before appeared in print. It is from the 
 pen of one who has sympathized. deeply in the 
 fate of Burns, and will not be found unworthy 
 of its author — the Biographer of Lorenzo de' Me- 
 dici. Of a person so well known, it is wholly un- 
 necessary for the Editor to speak ; and, if it were 
 necessary, it would not be easy for him to find 
 language that would adequately express his re- 
 spect and his affection.
 
 333 
 
 Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
 
 Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
 But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign. 
 Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead, 
 
 That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? 
 
 As green thy towering pines may grow, 
 
 As clear thy streams may speed along, 
 As bright thy summer suns may glow, 
 
 As gaily charm thy feathery throng ; 
 But now, unheeded is the song, 
 
 And dull and lifeless all around, 
 For his wild harp lies all unstrung, 
 
 And cold the hand that wak'd its sound,
 
 334 
 
 What tho' thy vigorous offspring rise 
 
 In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
 Tho' beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 
 
 And health in every feature dwell ; 
 Yet who shall now their praises tell, 
 
 In strains impassion'd, fond and free, 
 Since he no more the song shall swell 
 
 To love, and liberty, and thee. 
 
 With step -dame eye and frown severe 
 
 His hapless youth why didst thou view ? 
 For all thy joys to him were dear, 
 
 And all his vows to thee were due : 
 Nor greater bliss his bosom knew, 
 
 In opening youth's delightful prime, 
 Than when thy favouring ear he drew 
 
 To listen to his chanted rhyme. 
 
 Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 
 
 To him were all with rapture fraught ; 
 He heard with joy the tempest rise 
 
 That wak'd him to sublimer thought ; 
 And oft thy winding dells he sought, 
 
 Where wild flow'rs pour'd their rathe perfume, 
 And with sincere devotion brought 
 
 To thee the summer's earliest bloom.
 
 335 
 
 But ah ! no fond maternal smile 
 
 His unprotected youth enjoy xl ; 
 His limbs inur'd to early toil, 
 
 His days with early hardships tried ; 
 And more to mark the gloomy void, 
 
 And bid him feel his misery, 
 Before his infant eyes would glide 
 
 Day-dreams of immortality. 
 
 Yet, not by cold neglect depress'd, 
 
 With sinewy arm he turn'd the soil, 
 Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 
 
 And met at morn his earliest smile. 
 Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile 
 
 The powers of fancy came along, 
 And sooth'd his lengthened hours of toil 
 
 With native wit and sprightly song. 
 
 — Ah ! days of bliss, too swiftly fled, 
 
 When vigorous health from labour springs, 
 And bland contentment smooths the bed, 
 
 And sleep his ready opiate brings ; 
 And hovering round on airy wings 
 
 Float the light forms of young desire. 
 That of unutterable things 
 
 The soft and shadowy hope inspire.
 
 386 
 
 Now spells of mightier power prepare, 
 
 Bid brighter phantoms round him dance ; 
 Let Flattery spread her viewless snare, 
 
 And Fame attract his vagrant glance ; 
 Let sprightly Pleasure too advance, 
 
 Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone, 
 Till, lost in love's delirious trance, 
 
 He scorn the joys his youth has known. 
 
 Let Friendship pour her brightest blaze, 
 
 Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
 And Mirth concentre all her rays, 
 
 And point them from the sparkling bowl ; 
 And let the careless moments roll 
 
 In social pleasures unconfined, 
 And confidence that spurns control 
 
 Unlock the inmost springs of mind : 
 
 And lead his steps those bowers among, 
 
 Where elegance with splendour vies, 
 Or Science bids her favour'd throng, 
 
 To more refin'd sensations rise : 
 Beyond the peasant's humbler joys, 
 
 And freed from each laborious strife, 
 There let him learn the bliss to prize 
 
 TIi at waits the sons of polish'd life.
 
 337 
 
 Then whilst his throbbing veins beat high 
 
 With every impulse of delight, 
 Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 
 
 And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
 And let Despair, with wizard light, 
 
 Disclose the yawning gulf below, 
 And pour incessant on his sight 
 
 Her specter'd ills and shapes of woe : 
 
 And shew beneath a cheerless shed, 
 
 With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes, 
 In silent grief where droops her head, 
 
 The partner of his early joys ; 
 And let his infants' tender cries 
 
 His fond parental succour claim, 
 And bid him hear in agonies 
 
 A husband's and a father's name. 
 
 Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds ; 
 
 His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
 In bitterness of soul he bleeds, 
 
 Nor longer with his fate contends. 
 An idiot laugh the welkin rends 
 
 As genius thus degraded lies ; 
 Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 
 
 That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes. 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 383 
 
 —Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
 
 Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
 But never more shall poet tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
 Since he the sweetest bard is dead 
 
 That ever breath'd the soothing strain
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 z 2
 
 341 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. I. — Note A. See p. 5. 
 
 The importance of the national establishment of 
 parish Schools in Scotland will justify a short ac- 
 count of the legislative provisions respecting it, 
 especially as the subject has escaped the notice of 
 all the historians. 
 
 By an act of the king (James Vlth) and privy 
 council, of the 10th of December, 1616, it was 
 recommended to the bishops to deal and travel 
 with the heritors (landed proprietors), and inhabi- 
 tants of the respective parishes in their respec- 
 tive dioceses, towards the fixing upon " some 
 certain, solid, and sure course" for settling 
 and entertaining a school in each parish. This 
 was ratified by a statute of Char. I. (the 
 act, T633, chap. 5.) which empowered the
 
 342 APPENDIX, NO. i* [NOTE A. 
 
 bishop, with the consent of the heritors of a 
 parish, or of a majority of the inhabitants, if 
 the heritors refused to attend the meeting, to 
 assess every plough of land (that is, every farm 
 in proportion to the number of ploughs upon it) 
 with a certain sum for establishing a school. 
 This was an ineffectual provision, as depending 
 on the consent and pleasure of the heritors and 
 inhabitants. Therefore a new order of things 
 was introduced by Stat. 1646, chap. 17, which 
 obliges the heritors and minister of each parish 
 to meet and assess the several heritors with the 
 requisite sum for building a school-house, and to 
 elect a schoolmaster, and modify a salary for 
 him in all time to come. The salary is ordered 
 not to be under one hundred, nor above two hun- 
 dred merks, that is, in our present sterling mo- 
 ney, not under L.5, lis. lid. noraboveL.il, 
 2s. 3d. and the assessment is to be laid on the 
 land in the same proportion as it is rated for 
 the support of the clergy, and as it regulates 
 the payment of the land-tax. But in case the 
 heritors of any parish, or the majority of them, 
 should fail to discharge this duty, then the per- 
 sons forming what is called the Committee of 
 Supply of the county (consisting of the prin- 
 cipal landholders), or any Jive of them, are 
 authorized by the statute to impose the assess- 
 ment instead of them, on the representation of
 
 NOTE A.] APPENDIX, NO. I. 343 
 
 the presbytery in which the parish is situated. 
 To secure the choice of a proper teacher, the 
 right of election by the heritors, by a statute 
 passed in 1693, cJiap. 22, is made subject to the 
 review and control of the presbytery of the 
 district, who have the examination of the per- 
 son proposed committed to them, both as to his 
 qualifications as a teacher, and as to his proper 
 deportment in the office when settled in it. 
 The election of the heritors is therefore only a 
 presentment of a person for the approbation of 
 the presbytery, who, if they find him unfit, may 
 declare his incapacity, and thus oblige them to 
 elect anew. So far is stated on unquestionable 
 authority. 
 
 The legal salary of the schoolmaster was not 
 inconsiderable at the time it was fixed ; but by 
 the decrease in the value of money, it is now 
 certainly inadequate to its object ; and it is 
 painful to observe, that the landholders of 
 Scotland resisted the humble application of 
 the schoolmasters to the legislature for its in- 
 crease, a few years ago. The number of pa- 
 rishes in Scotland is 877 ; and if we allow the 
 salary of a schoolmaster in each to be, on an 
 average, seven pounds sterling, the amount of 
 the legal provision will be L.6,139 Sterling. If 
 we suppose the wages paid by the scholars to
 
 344 APPENDIX, NO. I. [NOTE A. 
 
 amount to twice this sum, which is probably 
 beyond the truth, the total of the expenses a- 
 mong 1,526,492 persons (the whole population of 
 Scotland), of this most important establishment, 
 will be L. 18,41 7. But on this, as well as on' other 
 subjects respecting Scotland, accurate information 
 may soon be expected from Sir John Sinclair's A- 
 nalysis of his Statistics, which will complete the im- 
 mortal monument he has reared to his patriotism. 
 
 The benefit arising in Scotland from the in- 
 struction of the poor, was soon felt ; and by an 
 act of the British Parliament, 4 Geo. I. chap. 6, 
 it is enacted, " that of the moneys arising from 
 the sale of the Scottish estates forfeited in the 
 rebellion of 1715, L.2000 Sterling shall be con- 
 verted into a capital stock, the interest of which 
 shall be laid out in erecting and maintaining 
 schools in the Highlands. The Society for pro- 
 pagating Christian Knowledge, incorporated in 
 1709, have applied a large part of their fund for 
 the same purpose. By their report, 1st May, 
 1795, the annual sum employed by them, in 
 supporting their schools in the Highlands and 
 Islands, was L.3,913, 19s. 10d., in which are 
 taught the English language, reading' and 
 writing, and the principles of religion. The 
 schools of the society are additional to the le- 
 gal schools, which from the great extent of
 
 NOTE A.] APPENDIX, NO. I. 34J 
 
 many of the Highland parishes, were found in- 
 sufficient. Besides these established schools, 
 the lower classes of people in Scotland, where 
 the parishes are large, often combine together, 
 and establish private schools of their own, at 
 one of which it was that Burns received the 
 principal part of his education. So convinced 
 indeed are the poor people of Scotland, by ex- 
 perience, of the benefit of instruction to their 
 children, that, though they may often find it 
 difficult to feed and clothe them, some kind of 
 school instruction they almost always procure 
 them. 
 
 The influence of the school-establishment of 
 Scotland on the peasantry of that country, seems 
 to have decided by experience a question of le- 
 gislation of the utmost importance — whether a 
 system of national instruction for the poor be 
 favourable to morals and good government. In 
 the year 1698, Fletcher of Salton declared as 
 follows : " There are at this day in Scotland, 
 two hundred thousand people begging from door 
 to door. And though the number of them be 
 perhaps double- to what it was formerly, by 
 reason of this present great distress (a famine 
 then prevailed), yet in all times there have been 
 about one hundred thousand of those vagabonds, 
 who have lived without any regard or subjec- 
 tion, either to the laws of the land, or even
 
 346 APPENDIX, NO. L [NOTE A. 
 
 those of God and Nature ; fathers incestuously 
 accompanying with their own daughters, the 
 son with the mother, and the brother with the 
 sister." He goes on to say, that no magistrate 
 ever could discover that they had ever been 
 baptised, or in what way one in a hundred 
 went out of the world. He accuses them as 
 frequently guilty of robbery, and sometimes of 
 murder : " In years of plenty," says he, " many 
 thousands of them meet together in the moun- 
 tains, where they feast and riot for many days : 
 and at country weddings, markets, burials, and 
 other public occasions, they are to be seen, both 
 men and women, perpetually drunk, cursing, 
 blaspheming, and fighting together*." This 
 high-minded statesman, of whom it is said by a 
 contemporary, " that he would lose his life 
 readily to save his country, and would not do 
 a base thing to serve it," thought the evil so 
 great, that he proposed as a remedy the revival 
 of domestic slavery, according to the practice 
 of his adored republics in the classic ages ! A 
 better remedy has been found, which in the si- 
 lent lapse of a century has proved effectual. 
 The statute of 1696, the noble legacy of the 
 Scottish Parliament to their country, began soon 
 after this to operate j and happily, as the minds 
 
 * Political Works of Andrew Fletcher, octavo, London, 
 17H7; p. 144-.
 
 NOTE A-3 APPENDIX, NO. I. 347 
 
 of the poor received instruction, the Union 
 opened new channels of industry, and new 
 fields of action to their view. 
 
 At the present day there is perhaps no coun- 
 try in Europe, in which, in proportion to its 
 population, so small a number of crimes fall un- 
 der the chastisement of the criminal law, as 
 Scotland. We have the best authority for assert- 
 ing, that on an average of thirty years, preced- 
 ing the year 1797, the executions in that divi- 
 sion of the island did not amount to six annu- 
 ally ; and one quarter sessions for the town of 
 Manchester only, has sent, according to Mr 
 Hume, more felons to the plantations than all 
 the judges of Scotland usually do in the space of 
 a year*. It might appear invidious to attempt 
 a calculation of the many thousand individuals 
 in Manchester and its vicinity who can neither 
 read nor write. A majority of those who suffer 
 the punishment of death for their crimes in 
 every part of England, are, it is believed, in this 
 miserable state of ignorance. 
 
 There is now a legal provision for parochial 
 schools, or rather for a school in each of the 
 different townships into which the country is 
 
 * Hume's Commentaries on the Laws of Scotland, 
 Tnlrod. p. 50.
 
 348 APPENDIX, NO. I. [NOTE A. 
 
 divided, in several of the northern states of 
 North America. They are, however, of recent 
 origin there, excepting in New England, where 
 they were established in the last century, pro- 
 bably about the same time as in Scotland, and 
 by the same religious sect. In the Protestant 
 Cantons of Switzerland, the peasantry have the 
 advantage of similar schools, though established 
 and endowed in a different manner. This is also 
 the case in certain districts in England, particu- 
 larly in the northern parts of Yorkshire and of 
 Lancashire, and in the counties of Westmoreland 
 and Cumberland. 
 
 A law, providing for the instruction of the 
 poor, was passed by the Parliament of Ireland ; 
 but the fund was diverted from its purpose, and 
 the measure was entirely frustrated. Proh 
 pudor. 
 
 The similarity of character between the 
 Swiss and the Scotch, and between the Scotch 
 and the people of New England, can scarcely 
 be overlooked. That it arises in a great mea- 
 sure from the similarity of their institutions for 
 instruction, cannot be questioned. It is no 
 doubt increased by physical causes. With a 
 superior degree of instruction, each of these 
 nations possesses a country that may be said to 
 be sterile, in the neighbourhood of countries
 
 NOTE B.] APPENDIX, NO. I. 349 
 
 comparatively rich. Hence emigrations, and 
 the other effects on conduct and character 
 which such circumstances naturally produce. 
 This subject is in a high degree curious. The 
 points of dissimilarity between these nations 
 might be traced to their causes also, and the 
 whole investigation would perhaps admit of an 
 approach to certainty in our conclusions, to 
 which such inquiries seldom lead. How much 
 superior in morals, in intellect and in happi- 
 ness, the peasantry of those parts of England 
 are, who have opportunities of instruction, to 
 the same class in other situations ; those who 
 inquire into the subject will speedily discover. 
 The peasantry of Westmoreland, and of the 
 other districts mentioned above, if their physi- 
 cal and moral qualities be taken together, are, 
 in the opinion of the Editor, superior to the 
 peasantry of any part of the island. 
 
 Note B. See p. 7. 
 
 It has been supposed that Scotland is less 
 populous and less improved on account of this 
 emigration ; but such conclusions are doubtful, 
 if not wholly fallacious. The principle of po- 
 pulation acts in no country to the full extent 
 of its power : marriage is every where retarded 
 beyond the period pointed out by nature, by 
 the difficulty of supporting a family; and this
 
 350 APPENDIX, NO. I, [NOTE B. 
 
 obstacle is greatest in long-settled communi- 
 ties. The emigration of a part of a people faci- 
 litates the marriage of the rest, by producing 
 a relative increase in the means of subsistence. 
 The arguments of Adam Smith, for a free ex- 
 port of corn, are perhaps applicable with less 
 exception to the free export of people. The 
 more certain the vent, the greater the cultiva- 
 tion of the soil. This subject has been well in- 
 vestigated by Sir James Stewart, whose prin- 
 ciples have been expanded and farther illustrated 
 in a late truly philosophical Essay on Popula- 
 tion. In fact, Scotland has increased in the 
 number of its inhabitants in the last forty years, 
 as the Statistics of Sir John Sinclair clearly 
 prove, but not in the ratio that some had sup- 
 posed. The extent of the emigration of the 
 Scotch may be calculated with some degree of 
 confidence from the proportionate number of 
 the two sexes in Scotland ; a point that may be 
 established pretty exactly by an examination of 
 the invaluable Statistics already mentioned. If 
 we suppose that there is an equal number of 
 male as female natives of Scotland, alive some- 
 where or other, the excess by which the females 
 exceed the males in their own country, may be 
 considered to be equal to the number of Scotch- 
 men living out of Scotland. But though the 
 males born in Scotland be admitted to be as 
 13 to 12, and though some of the females emi-
 
 NOTE C.J APPENDIX, NO. J, 351 
 
 grate as well as the males, this mode of calcu- 
 lating would probably make the number of ex- 
 patriated Scotchmen, at any one time alive, 
 greater than the truth. The unhealthy climates 
 into which they emigrate, the hazardous ser- 
 vices in which so many of them engage, render 
 the mean life of those who leave Scotland (to 
 speak in the language of calculators) not per- 
 haps of half the value of the mean life of those 
 who remain. 
 
 Note Q. See p. 20. 
 
 In the punishment of this offence the Church 
 employed formerly the arm of the civil power. 
 During the reign of James the Vlth (James 
 the 1st of England), criminal connection be- 
 tween unmarried persons was made the subject 
 of a particular statute (see Hume's Commenta- 
 ries on the Laws of Scotland, Vol. ii. p. 332.), 
 which, from its rigour, was never much enforced, 
 and which has long fallen into disuse, When, 
 in the middle of the last century, the Puritans 
 succeeded in the overthrow of the monarchy in 
 both divisions of the island, fornication was a 
 crime against which they directed their utmost 
 zeal. It was made punishable with death in the 
 second instance (see Blackstone, b. iv. chap. 4. 
 No. 11.). Happily this sanguinary statute was 
 swept away along with the other acts of the 
 Commonwealth, on the restoration of Charles II,
 
 352 ' APPENDIX, NO. I. [NOTE D. 
 
 to whose temper and manners it must have been 
 peculiarly abhorrent. And after the Revolu- 
 tion, when several salutary acts, passed during 
 the suspension of the monarchy, were re-enact- 
 ed by the Scotch Parliament, particularly that 
 for the establishment of parish-schools, the sta- 
 tute, punishing fornication with death, was suf- 
 fered to sleep in the grave of the stern fanatics 
 who had given it birth. 
 
 Note D. See p. 21. 
 The legitimation cf children, by subsequent 
 marriage, became the Roman law under the 
 Christian Emperors. It was the canon law of 
 modern Europe, and has been established in 
 Scotland from a very remote period. Thus a 
 child born a bastard, if his parents afterwards 
 marry, enjoys all the privileges of seniority over 
 his brothers afterwards born in wedlock. In the 
 Parliament of Merton, in the reign of Henry III. 
 the English clergy made a vigorous attempt to 
 introduce this article into the law of England, 
 and it was on this occasion that the Barons 
 made this noted answer, since so often appealed 
 to : Quod nolunt leges Anglicc mutare ; qua? hue 
 usque usitatce sunt et approbate?. With regard 
 to what constitutes a marriage, the law of Scot- 
 land, as explained, p. 21, differs from the Ro- 
 man law, which required the ceremony to be 
 performed in facie ecclesice.
 
 353 
 
 No. II. 
 
 Note A. See p. 42. 
 
 It may interest some persons to peruse the 
 first poetical production of our Bard, and it is 
 therefore extracted from a kind of common- 
 place book, which he seems to have begun in 
 his twentieth year ; and which he entitled, 
 " Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Po- 
 etry, <$c. by Robert Burness, a man who had 
 little art in making money, and still less in 
 keeping it ; but was, however, a man of some 
 sense, a great deal of honesty, and unbounded 
 good-will to every creature, rational or irra- 
 rional. As he was but little indebted to a scho- 
 lastic education, and bred at a plough-tail, his 
 performances must be strongly tinctured with 
 his unpolished rustic way of life ; but as, I be- 
 lieve, they are really his own, it may be some 
 entertainment to a curious observer of human 
 nature, to see how a ploughman thinks and 
 feels, under the pressure of love, ambition, 
 anxiety, grief, with the like cares and passions, 
 vol. r. a a
 
 854 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE A. 
 
 which, however diversified by the modes and 
 manners of life, operate pretty much alike, I 
 believe, in all the species." 
 
 " Pleasing, when youth is long expir'd, to trace 
 The forms our pencil or our pen design'd, 
 Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face, 
 Such the soft image of the youthful mind. 1 ' 
 
 Shenstone. 
 
 This MS. book, to which our poet prefixed 
 this account of himself, and of his intention in 
 preparing it, contain several of his earlier 
 poems, some as they were printed, and others 
 in their embryo state. The song alluded to is 
 as follows. 
 
 Tune — " I am a Man Unmarried." 
 
 O once I lov'd a bonnie lass, 
 
 Ay, and I love her still, 
 And whilst that virtue warms my breast 
 
 I'll love my handsome Nell. 
 
 Tal lal tie ral, $-c* 
 
 As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 
 
 And mony full as braw, 
 But for a modest gracefu 1 mien 
 
 The like I never saw. 
 
 A bonnie lass, I will confess, 
 
 Is pleasant to the e'e, 
 But without some better qualities 
 
 She's no a lass for me.
 
 VOTE B.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 355 
 
 But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet, 
 
 And what is best of a*, 
 Her reputation is complete, 
 
 And fair without a flaw. 
 
 She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 
 
 Both decent and genteel : 
 And then there's something in her gait 
 
 Gars ony dress look weel. 
 
 A gaudy dress and gentle air 
 
 May slightly touch the heart, 
 But it's innocence and modesty 
 
 That polishes the dart. 
 
 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
 
 'Tis this enchants my soul ; 
 For absolutely in my breast 
 
 She reigns without control. 
 
 Tal lal de ral, $c. 
 
 It must be confessed that these lines give no 
 indication of the future genius of Burns j but he 
 himself seems to have been fond of them, proba- 
 bly from the recollections they excited. 
 
 Note B. See p. 52. 
 
 At the time that our poet took the resolution 
 of becoming wise, he procured a little book of 
 blank paper, with the purpose (expressed on the 
 first . page) of making farming memorandums 
 
 a a 2
 
 356 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE B. 
 
 upon it. These farming memorandums are cu- 
 rious enough ; many of them have been written 
 with a pencil, and are now obliterated, or at least 
 illegible. A considerable number are however 
 legible, and a specimen may gratify the reader. 
 It must be premised, that the poet kept the 
 book by him several years — that he wrote upon 
 it, here and there, with the utmost irregularity, 
 and that on the same pgae are notations very 
 distant from each other as to time and place. 
 
 April, 1782. 
 EXTEMPORE. 
 
 why the deuce should I repine, 
 And be an ill foreboder ; 
 
 I'm twenty-three, and five-feet nine, 
 I'll go and be a sodger. 
 
 1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
 
 I held it weel thegither ; 
 But now it's gane, and something mair, 
 I'll go and be a sodger. 
 
 » * ^P 4£ % %: 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 Tunc — " Donald Blue." 
 
 O leave novels, yc Mauchline belles, 
 Yc're safer at your spinning-wheel ;
 
 NOTE B.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 357 
 
 Such witching books are baited hooks, 
 For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel. 
 Sing tal lal lay, fyc. 
 
 Your fine Tom Jones, and Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel, 
 
 They heat your brains, and fire your veins, 
 And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung : 
 
 A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
 That feeling heart but acts a part, 
 
 'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 The frank address, the soft caress, 
 
 Are worse than poison'd darts of steel ; 
 
 The frank address, and politesse, 
 Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 ###### 
 
 For he's far aboon Dunkel the night 
 Maun white the stick and a' that. 
 
 Mem. To get for Mr Johnston these two 
 songs. 
 
 * Molly, Molly, my dear honey.'' — * The cock 
 and the hen, tlve deer in her den, 1 fyc. 
 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran, 
 the author. Note. He married her — the heiress 
 of Pitferran. 
 
 Colonel George Crawford the author of Doxm 
 the Burn Davy.
 
 358 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE B. 
 
 Pinkey-house, by J. Mitchell. 
 
 My apron Deary! afid Amynta, by Sir G. 
 Elliot. 
 
 Willie was a wanton Wag, was made on Wal- 
 kinshaw of Walkinshaw, near Paisley.- 
 
 / he na a laddie but ane, Mr Clunzee. 
 
 The bonnie wee thing — beautiful— -—Lundie's 
 Dream — very beautiful. 
 
 He tiirt and she tilVt — assez bien. 
 
 Armstrong's Farewell — fine. 
 
 The author of the Highland Queen was a Mr 
 M'lver, purser of the Solboy. 
 
 Fife and a? the land about it, R. Fergusson. 
 
 The author of The Bush aboon Traquair was 
 a Dr Stewart. 
 
 Polwart on the Green, composed by Captain 
 John Dnimmond M'Gregor of Boehaldie. 
 
 Mem. To inquire if Mr Cockburn was the 
 author of / hae seen the smiling, &c. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The above may serve as a specimen. All the 
 notes on farming are obliterated.
 
 NOTE C.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 359 
 
 Note C. See p. 107. 
 
 Rules and Regulations to be observed in the 
 Bachelor's Club. 
 
 1st. The club shall meet at Tarbolton every 
 fourth Monday night, when a question on any 
 subject shall be proposed, disputed points of re- 
 ligion only excepted, in the manner hereafter 
 directed ; which question is to be debated in 
 the club, each member taking whatever side he 
 thinks proper. 
 
 2d. When the club is met, the president, 
 or, he failing, some one of the members till he 
 come, shall take his seat ; then the other mem- 
 bers shall seat themselves, those who are for one 
 side of the question on the president's right 
 hand ; and those who are for the other side, on 
 his left ; which of them shall have the right 
 hand is to be determined by the president. The 
 president and four of the members, being pre 
 sent, shall have power to transact any ordinary 
 part of the society's business. 
 
 3d. The club met and seated, the president 
 shall read the question out of the club's book of 
 records (which book is always to be kept by 
 the president), then the two members nearest 
 the president shall cast lots who of them shall
 
 360 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE C. 
 
 speak first, and according as the lot shall de- 
 termine, the member nearest the president on 
 that side shall deliver his opinion, and the mem- 
 ber nearest on the other side shall reply to him ; 
 then the second member of the side that spoke 
 first ; then the second member of the side that 
 spoke second ; and so on to the end of the com- 
 pany ; but if there be fewer members on one side 
 than on the other, when ail the members of the 
 least side have spoken according to their places, 
 any of them, as they please among themselves, 
 may reply to the remaining members of the op- 
 posite side : when both sides have spoken the 
 president shall give his opinion, after which they 
 may go over it a second or more times, and so 
 continue the question. 
 
 4th. The club shall then proceed to the choice 
 of a question for the subject of next night's 
 meeting. The president shall first propose one, 
 and any other member who chooses may propose 
 more questions ; and whatever one of them is 
 most agreeable to the majority of the members, 
 shall be the subject of debate next club-night. 
 
 5th. The club shall, lastly, elect a new presi- 
 dent for the next meeting : the president shall 
 first name one, then any of the club may name 
 another, and whoever of them has the majority
 
 NOTE C.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 361 
 
 of votes shall be duly elected ; allowing the pre- 
 sident the first vote, and the casting vote upon a 
 par, but none other. Then after a general toast 
 to the mistresses of the club, they shall dismiss. 
 
 6th. There shall be no private conversation 
 carried on during the time of debate, nor shall 
 any member interrupt another while he is speak- 
 ing, under the penalty of a reprimand from the 
 president for the first fault, doubling his share of 
 the reckoning for the second, trebling it for the 
 third, and so on in proportion for every other 
 fault, provided always however that any member 
 may speak at any time after leave asked, and given 
 by the president. All swearing and profane lan- 
 guage, and particularly all obscene and inde- 
 cent conversation, is strictly prohibited, under 
 the same penalty as aforesaid in the first clause of 
 this article. 
 
 7th. No member, on any pretence whatever, 
 shall mention any of the club's affairs to any 
 other person but a brother member, under the 
 pain of being excluded ; and particularly, if any 
 member shall reveal any of the speeches or affairs 
 of the club, with a view to ridicule or laugh at 
 any of the rest of the members, he shall be for 
 ever excommunicated from the society ; and the 
 rest of the members are desired, as much as pos- 
 sible, to avoid, and have no communication with 
 him as a friend or comrade.
 
 36% APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE C. 
 
 8th. Every member shall attend at the meet r 
 ings, without he can give a proper excuse for 
 not attending ; and it is desired that every one 
 who cannot attend, will send his excuse with 
 some other member ; and he who shall be ab- 
 sent three meetings without sending such ex- 
 cuse, shall be summoned to the next club-night, 
 when, if he fail to appear, or send an excuse, he 
 shall be excluded. 
 
 9th. The club shall not consist of more than 
 sixteen members, all bachelors, belonging to the 
 parish of Tarbolton : except a brother member 
 marry, and in that case he may be continued, 
 if the majority of the club think proper. No 
 person shall be admitted a member of this so- 
 ciety, without the unanimous consent of the 
 club ; and any member may withdraw from the 
 club altogether, by giving a notice to the presi- 
 dent in writing of his departure. 
 
 10th. Every man proper for a member of this 
 society, must have a frank, honest, open heart ; 
 above any thing dirty or mean ; and must be a 
 professed lover of one or more of the female 
 sex. No haughty, self-conceited person, who 
 looks upon himself as superior to the rest of the 
 club, and especially no mean-spirited, worldly 
 Mortal, whose only will L is to heap up money,
 
 NOTE D»3 APPENDIX, NO. II. 363 
 
 shall upon any pretence whatever be admitted. 
 In short, the proper person for this society 
 is, a cheerful, honest-hearted lad, who, if he 
 has a friend that is true, and a mistress thixt is 
 kind, and as much wealth as genteelly to make 
 both ends meet — is just as happy as this world 
 can make him. 
 
 Note D. See p. 308. 
 
 A great number of manuscript poems were 
 found among the papers of Burns, addressed to 
 him by admirers of his genius, from different parts 
 of Britain, as well as from Ireland and America. 
 Among these was a poetical epistle from Mr 
 Telford, of Shrewsbury, of superior merit. It is 
 written in the dialect of Scotland (of which 
 country Mr Telford is a native), and in the ver- 
 sification generally employed by our poet himself. 
 Its object is to recommend to him other subjects 
 of a serious nature, similar to that of the Cot- 
 ter's Saturday Night ; and the reader will find 
 that the advice is happily enforced by example. 
 It w r ould have given the editor pleasure to have 
 inserted the whole of this poem, which he hopes 
 will one day see the light : he is happy to have 
 obtained, in the mean time, his friend Mr Tel- 
 ford's permission to insert the following extracts :
 
 364 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE D. 
 
 Pursue, O Burns ! thy happy style, 
 " Those manner-painting strains," that while 
 They bear me northward mony a mile, 
 « Recal the days, 
 
 When tender joys, with pleasing smile, 
 Blest my young ways. 
 
 I see my fond companions rise, 
 
 I join the happy village joys, 
 
 I see our green hills touch the skies, 
 
 And thro' the woods* 
 T hear the river's rushing noise, 
 
 Its roaring floods*. 
 
 No distant Swiss with warmer glow, 
 E'er heard his native music flow, 
 Nor could his wishes stronger grow, 
 
 Than still have mine, 
 When up this ancient mount f I go, 
 
 With songs of thine. 
 
 O happy Bard ! thy gen'rous flame 
 Was given to raise thy country's fame, 
 
 * The banks of the Esk, in Dumfries-shire, are here al- 
 luded to. 
 
 f A beautiful little mount, which stands immediately before, 
 or rather forms a part of Shrewsbury castle, a seat of Sir Wil- 
 Jium Pu'.tcncv, Bart.
 
 NOTE D.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 365 
 
 For this thy charming numbers came, 
 
 Thy matchless lays ; 
 Then sing, and save her virtuous name, 
 
 To latest days. 
 ###*## # 
 But mony a theme awaits thy muse, 
 Fine as thy Cotter's sacred views, 
 Then in such verse thy soul infuse, 
 
 With holy air, 
 And sing the course the pious choose, 
 
 With all thy care. 
 
 How with religious awe imprest, 
 They open lay the guileless breast, 
 And youth and age with fears distrest, 
 
 All due prepare, 
 The symbols of eternal rest 
 
 Devout to share *. 
 
 How down ilk lang withdrawing hill, 
 Successive crowds the valleys fill, 
 While pure religious converse still 
 
 Beguiles the way, 
 And gives a cast to youthful will, 
 
 To suit the day. 
 
 How placed along the sacred board, 
 Their hoary pastor's looks ador'd, 
 
 * The Sacrament, generally administered in the country 
 parishes of Scotland in the open air.
 
 366 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE D. 
 
 His voice with peace and blessing stor'd, 
 
 Sent from above, 
 And faith, and hope, and joy afford, 
 
 And boundless love. 
 
 O'er this, with warm seraphic glow, 
 Celestial beings, pleased, bow, 
 And, whisper'd, hear the holy vow, 
 
 'Mid grateful tears ; 
 And mark amid such scenes below, 
 
 Their future peers. 
 ####### 
 
 O mark the awful solemn scene * ! 
 When hoary winter clothes the plain, 
 Along the snowy hills is seen * 
 
 Approaching slow, 
 In mourning weeds, the village train, 
 
 In silent woe. 
 
 Some much-respected brother's bier, 
 (By turns in pious task they share) 
 With heavy hearts they forward bear 
 
 Along the path ; 
 Where nei'bours saw, in dusky air t, 
 
 The light of death. 
 
 * A Scottish funeral. 
 
 f This alludes to a superstition prevalent in Eskdale, and 
 Annandale, that a light precedes in the night every funeral, 
 marking the precise path it is to pass.
 
 NOTE D.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 367 
 
 And when they pass the rocky how, 
 Where binwood bushes o'er them flow, 
 And move around the rising knowe, 
 
 Where far away 
 The kirk-yard trees are seen to grow, 
 
 By th' water brae. 
 
 Assembled round the narrow grave, 
 While o'er them wintry tempests rave, 
 In the cold wind their grey locks wave, 
 
 As low they lay 
 Their brother's body 'mongst the lave 
 
 Of parent clay. 
 
 Expressive looks from each declare 
 The griefs within, their bosoms bear, 
 One holy bow devout they share, 
 
 Then home return, 
 And think o'er all the virtues fair 
 
 Of him they mourn. 
 
 Say how by early lessons taught, 
 (Truth's pleasing air is willing caught) 
 Congenial to th' untainted thought, 
 
 The shepherd boy, 
 Who tends his flocks on lonely height, 
 
 Feels holy jo v.
 
 368 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTEDL 
 
 Is aught on earth so lovely known, 
 On Sabbath morn, and far alone, 
 His guileless soul all naked shown 
 
 Before his God — 
 Such pray'rs must welcome reach the throne, 
 
 And blest abode. 
 
 O tell ! with what a heartfelt joy, 
 The parent eyes the virtuous boy ; 
 And all his constant kind employ, 
 
 Is how to give 
 The best of lear he can enjoy, 
 
 As means to live. 
 
 The parish-school, its curious site, 
 The master who can clear indite, 
 And lead him on to count and write, 
 
 Demand thy care ; 
 Nor pass the ploughman's school at night, 
 
 Without a share. 
 
 Nor yet the tenty curious lad, 
 Who o'er the ingle hings his head, 
 And begs o* nei'bours books to read ; 
 
 For hence arise 
 Thy country's sons, who far are spread, 
 
 Baith bauld and wise.
 
 NOTE D.] APPENDIX, NO. II. 369 
 
 The bonny lasses, as they spin, 
 
 Perhaps wi* Allan's sangs begin, 
 
 How Tay and Tweed smooth flowing rin 
 
 Thro' flowery hows ; 
 Where Shepherd-lads their sweethearts win 
 
 With earnest vows. 
 
 Or may be, Burns, thy thrilling page 
 May a' their virtuous thoughts engage, 
 While playful youth and placid age 
 
 In concert join, 
 To bless the bard, who, gay or sage, 
 
 Improves the mind. 
 
 Long may their harmless, simple ways, 
 Nature's own pure emotions raise ; 
 May still the dear romantic blaze 
 
 Of purest love, 
 Their bosoms warm to latest days, 
 
 And ay improve. 
 
 May still each loud attachment glow, 
 
 O'er woods, o'er streams, o'er hills of snow ; 
 
 May rugged rocks still dearer grow, 
 
 And may their souls 
 F.ven love the warlock glens which through 
 
 The tempest howls. 
 vol. r. b b
 
 S70 APPENDIX, NO. II. [NOTE D. 
 
 To eternize such themes as these, 
 And all their happy manners- seize* 
 Will every virtuous bos un please, 
 
 And high in fame 
 To future times will justly raise 
 
 Thy patriot name. 
 
 While all the venal tribes decay, 
 That bask in flattery's flaunting ray, 
 The noisome vermin of a day, 
 
 Thy works shall gairt 
 O'er every mind a boundless sway, 
 
 And lasting reign. 
 
 When winter binds the harden'd plains, 
 Around each hearth, the hoary swains 
 Shall teach the rising youth thy strains-, 
 
 And anxious say, 
 Our blessing with our sons remains, 
 
 And Buuns's Lay I 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
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