BURNS AS A LION OF THE SEASON.

57

TO MRS DUNLOP.

EDINBURGH, 15th April 1787.

MADAM-There is an affectation of gratitude which I dislike. The periods of Johnson and the pauses of Sterne may hide a selfish heart. For my part, madam, I trust I have too much pride for servility, and too little prudence for selfishness. I have this moment broken open your letter, but

'Rude am I in speech,

And therefore little can I grace my cause

In speaking for myself'—

so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and hunted figures. I shall just lay my hand on my heart, and say, I hope I shall ever have the truest, the warmest sense of your goodness.

I come abroad, in print, for certain on Wednesday. Your orders I shall punctually attend to; only, by the way, I must tell you that I was paid before for Dr Moore's and Miss Williams's copies, through the medium of Commissioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can settle when I have the honour of waiting on you.

Dr Smith was just gone to London the morning before I received your letter to him. R. B.

It has already been sufficiently intimated that the Ayrshire Ploughman was the lion of the season in Edinburgh. Upon the strength of the few extracts from his poems which had been circulated by magazines and newspapers, he had been received into the highest circles of society. Here, by the general propriety of his demeanour, and the charms of his conversation, he had deepened the interest which his poetry had awakened in his behalf. It was a wonderful transition for one who, only in last autumn, had been restrained for some time at home to help in the labours of a humble farm. He had been received with courtesy by the remains of that brilliant circle of Scottish literati who adorned the latter half of the eighteenth century. He had been entertained with sincere respect for his talents by such examples of patrician dignity as made Edinburgh their winter haunt. Men of the middle rank had given Burns a society the more dangerous, in as far as it came to him in greater pressure, and set him freer from restraint. Yet it does not appear that the bard was materially affected in any respect by this singular change of circumstances.

Elegant society in Edinburgh formed in those days, as it does still, a limited circle. From the large infusion of the professions of the law and physic, and of the class connected with the university, it had a tone of enlightenment and refinement much

1 The author of the Wealth of Nations.'

more remarkable than any gaiety or splendour in which it indulged. There was also, however, an infusion of bacchanalianism, producing occasionally scenes of uproar even in the public dancing assemblies. At this particular crisis, the usual simplicity was disturbed in no small degree by the Duchess of Gordon, a person who might be said to spend on mere gay life an energy, personal grace, and genius, which might have been expected, with a good direction, to produce the most brilliant results. A letter is before us, written by a member of the bar to a friend in India in the February preceding Burns's arrival in Edinburgh, and containing a striking recital of the habits of this lady, and her influence over society. "The good town,' says Mr Drummond, 'is uncommonly crowded and splendid at present. The example of dissipation set by her Grace the Duchess of Gordon is far from shewing vice her own image. It is really astonishing to think what effect a single person will have on public manners, when supported by high rank and great address. She is never absent from a public place, and the later the hour, so much the better. It is often four o'clock in the morning before she goes to bed, and she never requires more than five hours' sleep. Dancing, cards, and company, occupy her whole time.'1 Such was the leader of bon-ton in Edinburgh at the crisis when our Scottish Tityrus plunged into it. It evidently was not a happy accident for a person of his peculiar circumstances and prospects.

It must also be observed that the general tone of middleclass life at this epoch was convivial. Lawyers of good repute, merchants, topping tradesmen, teachers of the High School, all frequented taverns in the evening, very generally in clubs, or it might be in masonic capacity, for the social pleasures which they had not yet learned to enjoy under the decenter sanctions of the home circle. Men dined early in those days, and attended to business afterwards till about eight o'clock, by which time they considered themselves at liberty to see after their festive pleasures. Either a private supper-party invited them, with their wives, or they knew of some misty snuggery in John Dowie's or Daniel Douglas's taverns, in certain alleys of the High Street, where they could calculate upon meeting a little gleesome group, with which to spend three, or it might be four hours, over ale or punch. Into these coteries Burns was often drawn by his social temper and good-nature; and here also lay for him a great danger.

It really does not appear, however-although the contrary has been asserted or insinuated-that the bard was either spoilt for the common drudgeries of life by aristocratic attentions, or

1 This letter is in the possession of Neil Fergusson Blair, Esq., Balthayock House, Perthshire.

BURNS'S FAVOURITE SOCIETY.

59

depraved in any appreciable extent by contact with the somewhat over-festive citizens. The general bearing of his letters all through this spring is remarkable, on the contrary, for soberness in all applications of the word. He coolly surveyed his present and prospective position, estimated at their due weight the flatteries bestowed upon him, and prepared with a full share of the national foresight for the struggle which he was to encounter as soon as he should have to apply his literary gains in helping out a livelihood. There really is no broad or glaring trace in the traditions of Edinburgh society of any bacchanalianism indulged in by Burns. Every insinuation of such a nature, when carefully inquired into, vanishes into air. Professor Stewart, writing with a reference to the summer of 1787, says—' Notwithstanding various reports I heard during the preceding winter of Burns's predilection for convivial and not very select society, I should have concluded in favour of his habits of sobriety, from all of him that fell under my own observation. He told me indeed himself that the weakness of his stomach was such as to deprive him entirely of any merit in his temperance.'

The allusion to 'not very select society' looks at first somewhat startling; but let it be recollected that Professor Stewart, who lived in the purest and most exalted circle, would be apt to regard in this light men who were far from being either vicious or of mean grade. He probably alludes to such men as Smellie, Dunbar, Mr William Nicol of the High School, Mr Alexander Cunningham, W.S., and others, who, though not members of Professor Stewart's set, and though perhaps of over-indulgent habits, were yet men of honourable character and respectable position. Amongst them Burns felt himself at his proper level. With them his comic genius indulged in freer flights than in the stiff society of the New Town. He found in these men kind and genial hearts, much wit and cleverness, and a hearty appreciation of his own talents. It is not surprising that he entered into and enjoyed their society. There is, however, no reason to believe that Burns was thus exposed to any demoralising influence beyond what would have been found in middle-class society in every countrytown in Scotland.

Of all the descriptions of Burns during this season, there is none which can pretend to the authority of Professor Walker's, for this gentleman saw him frequently, and was, on the whole, impartial towards him. After remarking that Burns, in good society, never struggled to put on, for a moment, a better manner than was natural to him, he goes on to say-Though he took his full share in conversation, not only from a perception that it was expected, but from a consciousness that it would gratify expectation, yet he did

so in a manner that was dignified and manly, and altogether remote from petulant vanity, or offensive exultation in an importance so new to him. His deportment was plain without vulgarity, and though it had little softness, and shewed him ready to repel any insult with decision at least, if not with roughness, yet he soon made it evident that those who behaved to him with propriety were in no danger of any unprovoked or boorish rudeness.'

Professor Walker first met Burns at Dr Blacklock's at breakfast. I was not much struck with his first appearance, as I had previously heard it described. His person, though strong and well knit, and much superior to what might be expected in a ploughman, was still rather coarse in its outline. His stature, from want of setting up, appeared to be only of the middle size, but was rather above it. His motions were firm and decided, and though without any pretensions to grace, were at the same time so free from clownish constraint, as to shew that he had not always been confined to the society of his profession. His countenance was not of that elegant cast which is most frequent among the upper ranks, but it was manly and intelligent, and marked by a thoughtful gravity which shaded at times into sternness. In his large dark eye the most striking index of his genius resided. It was full of mind, and would have been singularly expressive, under the management of one who could employ it with more art, for the purpose of expression.

'He was plainly, but properly dressed, in a style midway between the holiday costume of a farmer and that of the company with which he now associated. His black hair, without powder, at a time when it was very generally worn, was tied behind, and spread upon his forehead. Upon the whole, from his person, physiognomy, and dress, had I met him near a seaport, and been required to guess his condition, I should have probably conjectured him to be the master of a merchant vessel of the most respectable class.

'In no part of his manner was there the slightest degree of affectation; nor could a stranger have suspected, from anything in his behaviour or conversation, that he had been for some months the favourite of all the fashionable circles of a metropolis.

'In conversation he was powerful. His conceptions and expression were of corresponding vigour, and on all subjects were as remote as possible from commonplaces. Though somewhat authoritative, it was in a way which gave little offence, and was readily imputed to his inexperience in those modes of smoothing dissent and softening assertion which are important characteristics of polished manners. After breakfast I requested him to communicate some of his unpublished pieces. I paid particular

PROFESSOR WALKER'S ACCOUNT OF BURNS.

61

attention to his recitation, which was plain, slow, articulate, and forcible, but without any eloquence or art. He did not always lay the emphasis with propriety, nor did he humour the sentiment by the variations of his voice. He was standing, during the time, with his face towards the window, to which, and not to his auditors, he directed his eye; thus depriving himself of any additional effect which the language of his composition might have borrowed from the language of his countenance. In this he resembled the generality of singers in ordinary company, who, to shun any charge of affectation, withdraw all meaning from their features, and lose the advantage by which vocal performers on the stage augment the impression and give energy to the sentiment of the song.

'The day after my first introduction to Burns, I supped in company with him at Dr Blair's. The other guests were very few, and as each had been invited chiefly to have an opportunity of meeting with the poet, the doctor endeavoured to draw him out, and to make him the central figure of the group. Though he therefore furnished the greatest proportion of the conversation, he did no more than what he saw evidently was expected. Men of genius have often been taxed with a proneness to commit blunders in company, from that ignorance or negligence of the laws of conversation which must be imputed to the absorption of their thoughts in a favourite subject, or to the want of that daily practice in attending to the petty modes of behaviour which is incompatible with a studious life. From singularities of this sort Burns was unusually free; yet on the present occasion he made a more awkward slip than any that are reported of the poets or mathematicians most noted for absence. Being asked from which of the public places he had received the greatest gratification, he named the High Church, but gave the preference as a preacher to the colleague of our worthy entertainer, whose celebrity rested on his pulpit eloquence, in a tone so pointed and decisive, as to throw the whole company into the most foolish embarrassment. The doctor, indeed, with becoming self-command, endeavoured to relieve the rest by cordially seconding the encomium so injudiciously introduced; but this did not prevent the conversation from labouring under that compulsory effort which was unavoidable, while the thoughts of all were full of the only subject on which it was improper to speak. Of this blunder Burns must instantly have been aware, but he shewed the return of good sense by making no attempt to repair it. His secret mortification was indeed so great, that he never mentioned the circumstance until many years after, when he told me that his silence had proceeded from the pain which he felt in recalling it to his memory.'