No. XV. TO MRS Dunlop. observation, with all my imperfections of awkward rusticity and crude unpolished ideas on my head-I assure you, madam, I do not dissemble when I tell you I tremble for the consequences. The novelty of a poet in my ob. scure situation, without any of those advantages which are reckoned necessary for that character, at least at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of public notice, which has borne me to a height where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my abilities are inadequate to support me; and too surely do I see that time when the same tide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far below the mark of truth. MADAM, Edinburgh, 15th January, 1787. YOURS of the 9th current, which I am this moment honoured with, is a deep reproach to me for ungrateful neglect. I will tell you the real truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib: I wished to have written to Dr Moore before I wrote to you; but though, every day since I received yours of December 30th, the idea, the wish to write him, has constantly pressed on my thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set about it. I know his fame and character, and I am one of "the sons of little men." To write him a mere matter-of-fact affair, like a merchant's order, would be disgracing the little character I have; and to write the author of The View of Society and Manners a letter of sentiment-I declare every artery runs cold at the thought. I shall try, however, to write him to-morrow or next day. His kind interposition in my behalf I have al-immortal Wallace? ready experienced, as a gentleman waited on me the other day, on the part of Lord Eglinton, with ten guineas by way of subscription for two copies of my next edition. The word you object to in the mention I have made of my glorious countryman and your immortal ancestor, is indeed borrowed from Thomson; but it does not strike me as an improper epithet. I distrusted my own judgment on your finding fault with it, and applied for the opinion of some of the Literati here, who honour me with their critical strictures, and they all allow it to be proper. The song you ask I cannot recollect, and I have not a copy of it. I have not composed any thing on the great Wallace, except what you have seen in print, and the enclosed, which I will print in this edition.* You will see I have mentioned some others of the name. When I composed my Vision, long ago, I had attempt. ed a description of Kyle, of which the additional stanzas are a part, as it originally stood. My heart glows with a wish to be able to do justice to the merits of the Saviour of his Country, which, sooner or later, I shall at least attempt. You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet. Alas! madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do not inean any airs of affected modesty; I am will ing to believe that my abilities deserved some notice; but in a most enlightened, informed age and nation, when poetry is and has been the study of men of the first natural genius, aided with all the powers of polite learning, polite books, and polite company-to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned and polite * Stanzas in the Vision, beginning third stanza, "By stately tower or palace fair," and ending with the first duan. and Your patronising me, and interesting your self in my fame and character as a poet, I rejoice in; it exalts me in my own idea; whether you can or cannot aid me in my subscription is a trifle. Has a paltry subscriptionbill any charms to the heart of a bard, compared with the patronage of the descendant of the No. XVI. TO DR MOORE. 1787. SIR, MRS DUNLOP has been so kind as to send me extracts of letters she has had from you, where you do the rustic bard the honour of noticing him and his works. Those who have felt the anxieties and solicitudes of authorship, can only know what pleasure it gives to be noticed in such a manner by judges of the first characYour criticisms, sir, I receive with reverter. ence; only, I am sorry they mostly came too late; a peccant passage or two, that I would certainly have altered, were gone to the press. For The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far the greater part of those even who are authors of repute, an unsubstantial dream. my part, my first ambition was, and still my strongest wish is, to please my compeers, the rustic inmates of the hamlet, while ever changing language and manners shall allow me to be relished and understood. I am very willing to admit that I have some poetical abilities; and as few, if any writers, either moral or poetical, are intimately acquainted with the classes of mankind among whom I have chiefly mingled, I may have seen men and manners in a different phasis from what is common, which may assist originality of thought. Still I know very well the novelty of my character has by far the greatest share in the learned and polite notice I have lately had; and in a language where Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh, and Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear -where Thomson and Beattie have painted the landscape, and Lyttleton and Collins de 11 scribed the heart, I am not vain enough to hope | The "Mountain-Daisy," cherished by the ray for distinguished poetic fame. SIR, No. XVII. FROM DR MOORE. A poet drew from heaven, shall never die. Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale; On nature with impassion'd look he gazed; No. XVIII. TO DR MOORE. Clifford Street, January 23, 1787. I HAVE just received your letter, by which I find I have reason to complain of my friend Mrs Dunlop for transmitting to you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, in consideration of her good intention, as you will forgive me, I hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consideration of my admiration of the poems in general. If I may judge of the author's disposition from his works, with REVEREND SIR, Edinburgh, 15th February, 1787. all the other good qualities of a poet, he has PARDON my seeming neglect in delaying so not the irritable temper ascribed to that race long to acknowledge the honour you have done of men by one of their own number, whom me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d. you have the happiness to resemble in ease Not many months ago, I knew no other emand curious felicity of expression. Indeed the ployment than following the plough, nor could poetical beauties, however original and bril- boast any thing higher than a distant acliant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I ad-quaintance with a country clergyman. Mere mire in your works; the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing the author last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I have been for many years. I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage of Dr Blair, who, I am informed, interests himself very much for you. I beg to be remembered to him: nobody can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory of our common friend, the late Mr George B. -e. Before I received your letter, I sent inclosed in a letter to a sonnet by Miss Williams, a young poetical lady, which she wrote on reading your Mountain-Daisy; perhaps it may not displease you.* I have been trying to add to the number of your subscribers, but I find many of my acI have quaintance are already among them. only to add, that with every sentiment of esteem, and most cordial good wishes, I am, Your obedient humble servant, *The sonnet is as follows: greatness never embarrasses me: I have nothing to ask from the great, and I do not fear their judgment; but genius, polished by learning, and at its proper point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I frequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see, with frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of my character, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my abilities. For the honour Miss W. has done me, please, Sir, return her in my name, my most I have more than once grateful thanks. thought of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before heard of her; but the other day I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore: there are, I think, two characteristic features in her poetry-the unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre tenderness of "time-settled sorrow." I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why. DEAR SIR, No. XIX. FROM DR MOORE. Clifford Street, 28th February, 1797. WHILE Soon the garden's flaunting flowers decay, YOUR letter of the 15th gave me a great deal And scattered on the earth neglected lie, of pleasure. It is not surprising that you im. prove in correctness and taste, considering where you have been for some time past. And I dare swear there is no danger of your admitting any polish which might weaken the vigour of your native powers. I am glad to perceive that you disdain the nauseous affectation of decrying your own merit as a poet-an affectation which is dis played with most ostentation by those who have the greatest share of self-conceit, and which only adds undeceiving falsehood to disgusting vanity. For you to deny the merit of your poems would be arraigning the fixed opinion of the public. As the new edition of my View of Society is not yet ready, I have sent you the former edition, which, I beg you will accept as a small mark of my esteem. It is sent by sea, to the care of Mr Creech; and, along with these four volumes for yourself, I have also sent my Medical Sketches, in one volume, for my friend Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop this you will be so obliging as to transinit, or if you chance to pass soon by Dunlop, to give to her. I am happy to hear that your subscription is so ample, and shall rejoice at every piece of good fortune that befalls you: for you are a very great favourite in my family; and this is a higher compliment than perhaps you are aware of. It includes almost all the professions, and of course is a proof that your writings are adapted to various tastes and situations. My youngest son who is at Winchester school, writes to me that he is translating some stanzas of your Hallowe'en into Latin verse, for the benefit of his comrades. This union of taste partly proceeds, no doubt, from the cement of Scottish partiality, with which they are all somewhat tinctured. Even your translator, who left Scotland too early in life for recollection, is not without it. ed to have something like a material object for my gratitude; I wanted to have it in my power to say to a friend, There is my noble patron, my generous benefactor. Allow me, my lord, to publish these verses. I conjure your lordship by the honest throe of gratitude, by the generous wish of benevolence, by all the powers and feelings which compose the magnanimous mind, do not deny me this petition. I owe to your lordship; and what has not in some other instances always been the case with me, the weight of the obligation is a pleasing load. I trust, I have a heart as independent as your lordship's, than which I can say nothing more and I would not be beholden to favours that would crucify my feelings. Your dignified character in life, and manner of supporting that character, are flattering to my pride; and I would be jealous of the purity of my grateful attachment, where I was under the patronage of one of the much favoured sons of fortune. Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, particularly when they were names dear to fame, and illustrious in their country; allow me, then, my lord, if you think the verses have intrinsic merit, to tell the world how much I have the honour to be Your lordship's highly indebted, No. XXI. TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. MY LORD, THE honour your lordship has done me, by your notice and advice in yours of the 1st instant, I shall ever gratefully remember: "Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast, They best can give it who deserve it most." Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart, when you advise me to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scottish scenes. I wish for nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through my native country; to sit and muse on those once hard-contended fields, where Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through broken ranks to victory and fame; and, catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry, moral-looking phantom strides across my imagination, and pronounces these emphatic words, "I, Wisdom, dwell with prudence." *It does not appear that the earl granted this request, nor have the verses alluded to been found among the MSS. This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the ploughtail. Still, my lord, while the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to that dear-loved country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those her distinguished sons, who have honoured me so much with their patronage and approbation, shall, while stealing through my humble shades, ever distend my bosom, and at times draw forth the swelling tear. Ext. Property in favour of MR ROBERT BURNS, to erect and keep up a Headstone in memory of Poet FERGUSSON, 1787. MY DEAR SIR, No. XXIII. TO You may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish ungrateful fellow, having received so many repeated instances of kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to paper to say→→→ thank you; but if you knew what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that account, your good heart would think yourself too much avenged. By the bye, there is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to me so unaccountable as that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of Session-house, within the Kirk of Ca- use but at the beginning of the business, his nongate, the twenty-second day of Fe-feeble efforts are to the workings of passion as bruary, one thousand seven hundred the infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the and eighty-seven years. unclouded fervour of the rising sun: and no sooner are the tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter native consequences of folly, in the very vortex of our horrors, up starts conscience, and harrows us with the feelings of the d Sederunt of the managers of the Kirk and Kirkyard Funds of Canongate. WHICH day, the treasurer to the said funds produced a letter from Mr Robert Burns, of date the sixth current, which was read, and appointed to be engrossed in their sederuntbook, and of which letter the tenor follows: "To the Honourable Bailies of Canongate, Edinburgh. Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains of Robert Fergusson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man whose talents, for ages to come, will do honour to our Caledonian name, lie in your church-yard, among the ignoble dead, unnoticed and unknown. "Some memorial to direct the steps of the lovers of Scotish song, when they wish to shed a tear over the "narrow house" of the bard who is no more, is surely a tribute due to Fergusson's memory; a tribute I wish to have the honour of paying. "I petition you, then, Gentlemen, to permit me to lay a simple stone over his revered ashes, to remain an unalienable property to his deathless fame. I have the honour to be, Gentlemen, your very humble servant, (sic subscribitur), "ROBERT BURNS." Thereafter the said managers, in consideration of the laudable and disinterested motion of Mr Burns, and the propriety of his request, did, and hereby do, unanimously grant power and liberty to the said Robert Burns to erect a headstone at the grave of the said Robert Fergusson, and to keep up and preserve the same to his memory in all time coming. Ex tracted forth of the records of the managers, by WILLIAM SPROTT, Clerk. I have enclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose, that, if they merit a place in your truly entertaining miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr Sprott sent it me. The Inscription on the Stone is as follows: HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSson, POET. Born September 5th, 1751-Died, 16th October, 1774. No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust. On the other side of the Stone is as follows: "By special grant of the Managers to Robert Burns, who erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson." No. XXIV. EXTRACT OF A LETTEK 8th March, 1787. I AM truly happy to know you have found a friend in ; his patronage of you does him great honour. He is truly a good man; by far the best I ever knew, or, perhaps, ever shall know, in this world. But I must not speak all I think of him, lest I should be thought partial. ; So you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect a stone over Fergusson's grave? I do not doubt it; such things have been, as Shakspeare says, "in the olden-time:" "The poet's fate, is here in emblem shown, He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone. It is, I believe, upon poor Butler's tomb that this is written. But how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and poor Fergusson, have asked for bread, and been served with the same sauce! No. XXV. TO MRS DUNLOP. MADAM, Edinburgh, March 22, 1787. I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom; now I am distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Your friendly advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures: his hints with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; there I can give you no light; it is all "Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams The magistrates gave you liberty, did they? O generous magistrates! ***, celebrated over the three kingdoms for his public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet's memory!-most generous! *** once upon a time gave that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But then it must be considered that the poet was at this time absolutely starving, and besought his aid with all the earnestness of hunger; and, over and above, he received a worth, at least one-third of the value, in exchange, but which, I believe, the poet afterwards very ungratefully expunged. Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edinburgh; and as my stay will be for eight or ten days, wish you or would take a snug, well-aired bed-room for me, where I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of tea. But by all accounts, it will be a matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week before-hand. There is a great rumour here concerning your great intimacy with the Duchess of and other ladies of distinction. I am really told that "cards to invite fly by thousands each night;" and, if you had one, I suppose there would also be bribes to your old secretary." It seems you But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have are resolved to make hay while the sun shines, dallied long enough with life: 'tis time to be and avoid, if possible, the fate of poor Fer- in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to gusson, Quærenda pecare for ; and some other bosom ties perhaps cunia primum est, virtus post nummos, is a good equally tender. Where the individual only maxim to thrive by: you seemed to despise it suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtwhile in this country; but probably some phi-lessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excuslosopher in Edinburgh has taught you better The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. able: nay, shining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half-sanctify a heedless character: but where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care; where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse to exertion. I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my authorship; with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to ing the magistrates of Edinburgh had any share in the transaction respecting the monument erected for Fergusson by our bard; this, it is evident, passed between Burns and the Kirk Session of the Canongate. Neither at Edinburgh, nor anywhere else, do magistrates usually trouble themselves to inquire how the house of a poor poet is furnished, or how his grave is adorned, |