THE HEROINES OF BURNS INTRODUCTORY MANY, doubtless, have wondered, as I have often doneand it is a matter that calls for curious and interesting consideration-how many of the even eminent people of his time, who were in any way associated with Robert Burns in his career-the men of whom he wrote, or to whom he wrote, or who ever acted towards him the part of friend or foe-would be known at all to the present generation, except for the fact that the poet set his name against theirs in one way or another. It is hardly necessary, I should think, to cite examples, but a few names may be mentioned, though taken merely haphazard, and but to suggest others. That such a man as Basil, Lord Daer, for instance, was in existence anywhere, in one condition or another, in the year 1786, is known to-day wholly and solely because "October twenty-third— a ne'er-to-be-forgotten day"-Robert Burns "dinnered" with him, and afterwards celebrated the occasion in a few hurried complimentary stanzas. The Earl of Glencairn of the poet's time, too—amiable and accomplished though he may have been-would not be claiming individual esteem in the present generation, and would not be the outstanding figure which he is in the line of his noble house, we may be sure, except for the fact that he was the patron of Robert Burns, and that when he died the poet could write of him in sincerity and truth, giving heart and soul to the issue : : "The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; And a' that thou hast done for me!" Professor Adam Ferguson, Professor Dugald Stewart, Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, and quite a number besides, in Edinburgh and elsewhere, though less dependent some of them than Daer and Glencairn, have yet each added lustre to their names by the mere fact that they hobnobbed with the poet, and were accepted by him as friends, from their previously being his openly avowed admirers. To come lower down, neither John Lapraik nor David Sillar, assuredly, would be known even as "Crambo-Clinkers" in this century had not the "Maestro" addressed rhymed epistles to them and praised their humble efforts. Tam Samson, of Kilmarnock; "Daddy” Auld, of Mauchline; Gavin Hamilton, the writer; Captain Grose, the antiquary, and scores of men besides, owe it entirely to Robert Burns and his notice of them, in song or satire, that their names have ever been in men's mouths in Scotland for more than fifty years, and that they did not perish from memory, indeed, with the generation in which they lived. Even poor, drunken Jamie Humphrey whilst in his later life he solicited alms on the score of it-claims immortal notoriety as Burns's "bletherin' b-h,” as equally hypocritical William Fisher is pilloried to bear the scorn of contempt through all time as Holy Willie." And while it is so with the men-lords and commoners of them-on whom the poet was pleased to bestow the light of his countenance, or chose, in whim or earnest, to string up in verse, yet more emphatically is it true that the women on whom he bestowed the benison of his muse, and selected as the heroines of his songs, have place and power in the world of thought, and are cherished in the popular imagination to-day solely from that fact. Who in these days, may it be asked, would know that Ellison Begbie ever existed had Robert Burns not celebrated her, perhaps, jimp charms, in his song, "The Lass of Cessnock Banks," and with superior fire given her to the world later as "Bonnie Peggy Allison"? Few out of Mauchline town even in her own day-certainly none anywhere since"flower" of all the local "belles" as she was, perhaps, would have known anything of Jean Armour, whose name for more than a hundred years has been sweet in every mouth, had she not been first the poet's sweetheart, and then his wife, and had he not embalmed her charms in half a dozen songs, which men and women everywhere find delight in singing. Mary Campbell, simple Highland servant lass-of whose personnel little else is known that has not been questioned -from being the poet's "spiritualised ideal of peasant womanhood," his sweetheart of a day, and the heroine of some of his most impassioned lyrics, enjoys universal favour, and will continue for all time a "dear, departed shade." As with these, almost equally it has been, is, and will be, with Charlotte Hamilton, the "Fairest Maid on Devon Banks"; bonnie Peggy Chalmers; with poor, unfortunate Mrs. M'Lehose, the poet's "Clarinda"; with Jean Lorimer, 66 his "Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks"; and with Jessie Lewars, who nursed the poet on his deathbed, and to whom he addressed that tenderest of all his lyrics, "O wert thou in the cauld blast"; and also with the other thirty and more women whose names he embalmed in song. Hitherto, no serious attempt has been made, in the individual sense, to treat, in chronological order, or otherwise, of the heroines of Burns. Why, I cannot say, for many volumes of Burnsiana have been compacted of less entertaining and instructive matter. I cannot say that I approach the subject without some dread of failure-or without misgivings, at least, of being able to do it the justice it deserves, and for the obvious reason that biographical particulars are in many instances perplexingly meagre. With such as are available, however-setting warranted against seemingly unwarranted deduction — I shall endeavour to strike in every case a fair balance. They were not all beauties. Most of the earlier captivators of the poet's fancy rather were plain, everyday-looking lasses; for we learn from Gilbert, his brother, that Burns was no Platonic lover, whatever he might pretend or suppose of himself. Given, however, a healthy, happy, rosy lass, with a frank manner and an agreeable name, and he would soon load her, in song, with every desirable charm from the wealthy store of his fertile imagination. Some of his later heroines, Bess Burnet and Peggy Chalmers, in particular, certainly were beautiful women. But, beautiful or plain, they are all alike interesting to us now, as they are, and will remain, only such as they appeared to or were represented by the poet in his songs. I do not believe, of course, that Burns was really in love with every lass to whom he addressed a love song, or of whom he sang in the rapturous language of the devout lover. In his earlier career, doubtless, the emotion prompted the song with almost unvarying regularity. But later, when song-making became, in large measure, the business of his life, the emotion was sometimes-yea, was very often, perhaps-whipped up to give vim to the song. His own words, in a letter to George Thomson, written as late as 1794, are eloquent on this point. He had been referring to "Craigieburn Wood," his first song in praise of Jean Lorimer ("Chloris "), which, he confessed, was a great favourite of his own, as well as of his friend Clarke, and, continuing, he says:-"The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland; and in fact (entre nous) is, in a manner, to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him -a Mistress, or Friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now, don't put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaiver about it among our acquaintances). I assure you that to my lovely Friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that the sober gin-horse routine of existence could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy-could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos equal to the genius of your Book? No, no! Whenever I want to be more than ordinary in song-to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs-do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emination? Tout au contraire! I have a glorious recipe: the very one that for his own use was invented by the Divinity of Healing and Poesy, when erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in the regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightening of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon!" To the narrower critics of the poet, |