No. IX. To JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. Edinburgh, Jan. 14, 1787. MY HONORED FRIEND, Ir. T. gives me a secret comfort to observe in myself that I am not yet so far gone as Willie Gaw's Skate," past redemption ;”* for I have still this favorable symptom of grace, that when my conscience, as in the case of this letter, tells me I am leaving something undone that I ought to do, it teazes me eternally till I do it. I am still "dark as was Chaos" in respect to futurity. My generous friend, Mr. Patrick Miller, has been talking with me about a lease of some farm or other in an estate called Dalswinton, which he has lately bought near Dumfries. Some *This is one of a great number of old saws that Burns, when a lad, had picked up from his mother, of which the good old woman had a vast collection. This venerable and most respectable person is still living, under the sheltering roof of her son Gilbert, on his farm, near Dumfries. E. Some life-rented embittering recollections whisper me that I will be happier any where than in my old neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller is no judge of land; and though I dare say he means to favor me, yet he may give me, in his opinion an advantageous bargain, that may ruin me. I am to take a tour by Dumfries as I return, and have promised to meet Mr. Miller on his lands some time in May. I went to a Mason-lodge yesternight, where the most Worshipful-Grand Master Charters, and all the Grand-Lodge of Scotland visited.— The meeting was numerous and elegant; all the different Lodges about town were present, in all their pomp. The Grand Master, who presided with great solemnity and honor to himself as a gentleman and Mason, among other general toasts gave "Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, Brother B," which rung through the whole assembly with multiplied honors and repeated acclamations. As I had no idea such a thing would happen, I was downright thunder-struck, and trembling in every nerve made the best return in my power. Just as I had finished, some of the grand officers said, so loud that I could hear, with a most comforting accent, "Very well indeed!" which set me something to rights again. 1 I have WHILE here I sit, sad and solitary, by the side of a fire in a little country inn, and drying my wet clothes, in pops a poor fellow of a sodger and tells me he is going to Ayr. By heavens! say I to myself, with a tide of good spirits which the magic of that sound, Auld Toon o' Ayr, conjured up, I will send my last song to Mr. Ballantine.-Here it is Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,* How can ye chant, ye little birds, Thou'll * The reader will perceive that the measure of this copy of the "Banks o' bonie Doon," differs from that which is Thou'll break my heart thou bonie bird Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose And my fause luver staw the rose, No. already published. Burns was obliged to adapt his words to a particular air, and in so doing he lost much of the simplicity and beauty which the song possesses in its present state. E. No. XI. TO THE SAME. Edinburgh, Feb. 24, 1787. MY HONORED FRIEND, I WILL soon be with you now in guid black prent; in a week or ten days at farthest-I am obliged, against my own wish, to print subscribers' names, so if any of my Ayr friends have subscription bills, they must be sent in to Creech directly.—I am getting my phiz done by an eminent engraver; and if it can be ready in time, I will appear in my book looking like other fools, I have the honor to be, Ever your grateful, &c. No. This portrait is engraved by Mr. Beugo, an artist who well merits the epithet bestowed on him by the poet, after a picture of Mr. Nasmyth, which he painted con amore, and liberally presented to Burns. This picture is of the cabinet size, and is now in the possession of Mr. Alex. Cunningham, of Edinburgh. C 2 E. |