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 income 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 1791.

Hitherto 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 bis irregularities grew by degrees into habits. These temptations unhappily occurred during his en

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 received 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, after the manner of Scotland, of which they partook heartily. After dinner, the bard told them ingenuously that he had no wine to offer them, nothing better than Highland whiskey, a bottle of which Mrs Burns set on the board. He produced at the same time his punch-bowl made of Inverary 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 whiskey to their south-gagements in the business of his office, as well ron 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 conversation were altogether fascinating. He ranged over a great variety of topics, illuminating whatever he touched. He related the tales of his infancy 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 whiskey 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 prudence: at the hour of midnight they lost their way in returning to Dumfries, and could scarcely distinguish it when assisted by the morning's dawn.†

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 all 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 mastery. Besides his engagements in the Excise, and the society 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 Dumfries 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 someBesides his duties in the Excise and his so- times provoked, and was seldom able to resist. cial pleasures, other circumstances interfered And among the inhabitants of Dumfries and with the attention of Burns to his farm. He its vicinity, there were never wanting persons engaged in the formation of a society for pur- to share his social pleasures; to lead or accomchasing and circulating books among the far-pany him to the tavern; to partake in the mers of his neighbourhood, of which he undertook the management ; 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 abstraction of his thoughts from the business of agriculture.

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 Excise had originally produced about fifty pounds per annum. Having acquitted himself to the satisfaction of the Board, he had been

*This bowl was made of the stone of which Inverary house is built, the mansion of the family of Argyle. + Given from the information of one of the party. + See p. 52.

wildest sallies of his wit; to witness the strength and degradation of his genius.

Still, however, he cultivated the society of persons of taste and respectability, and in their company could impose on himself the restraints of temperance and decorum. Nor was his muse dormant. In the four years which he lived in Dumfries, 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 neighbouring country, of one of which, through Galloway, an account is preserved in a letter of Mr Syme, written soon after; which, as it gives an animated picture of him by a correct and masterly hand, we shall present to the reader.

Alpine scenery as can well be imagined. A delightful soft evening showed all its wilder as well as its grander graces. Immediately 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.

For three hours did the wild elements rumble their belly-full upon our defenceless heads. Oh, oh! 'twas foul. We got utterly wet; and to revenge ourselves, Burns insisted at Gatehouse on our getting utterly drunk.

"From Gatehouse, we went next day to Kirkcudbright, 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 whifling vexation of this sort is more trying to the temper than a serious calamity. We were going to Saint Mary's Isle, the seat of the Earl of Sel

"Here is a genuine baron's seat. The cas tle, an old building, stands on a large natural moat. In front, the river Ken winds for several miles through the most fertile and beauti-kirk, and the forlorn Burns was discomfited ful 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 terribly romantic than the castle of Kenmore. Burns thinks so highly of it, that he meditates a description of it in poetry. Indeed, I believe he has begun the work. We spent three days with Mr Gordon, whose polished hospitality is of an original and endearing kind. Mrs Gordon's lap-dog, Echo, 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 sub

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 attempt.
ed to reason with him. Mercy on us, how he
did fume and rage! Nothing could reinstate
him in temper, I tried various expedients, and
at last hit on one that succeeded. I showed
him the house of⚫
Wigton. Against
, with whom he
was offended, he expectorated his spleen, and
regained a most agreeable temper.
He was
in a most epigrammatic humour indeed! He
afterwards fell on humbler game. There is
.. whom he does not love,

one

, across the bay of

He had a passing blow at him.

When

down,

, deceased, to the devil went

ject; but, to please the lady, he would try. Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own 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.

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 desolate regions extended wide around. The sky was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil, it became lowering and dark. The hollow winds sighed, the lightnings gleamed, the thunder rolled. 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.

crown:

Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never,

I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.

"Well, 1 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 appear. ances; and what is more, Lord Selkirk carried them in his coach to Dumfries. He insisted they were worth mending.

"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, therefore, 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 re

* A beautiful and well-known ballad, which begins gained the milkiness of good temper, and it

thus:

The moon had climb'd the highest hill
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And, from the eastern summit, shed

Its silver light on tower and tree.

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 of natural objects.

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 form

sumed the features of a demon, and vanished in a shower of blood.

Though previously a jacobite and a cavalier, Burns had shared in the original hopes entertained of this astonishing revolution, by ardent and benevolent minds. The novelty and the

ed by the assemblage 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 Scot-hazard of the attempt meditated by the First, tish 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 opportunity of calling on Burns to recite his ballad to 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 banishes every other thought but the contemplation and indulgence of the sympathy produced. Burns' 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 composition; 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 than felt.

"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 admiration. 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 Kenmore, Burns was wrapt 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 ha'e wi' Wallace bled,' &c."

Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in the Excise; but circumstances occurred which retarded their fulfilment, and which, in his own mind, destroyed all expectation of their being ever fulfilled. The extraordinary events which ushered in the revolution of France, interested the feelings, and excited the hopes of men in every corner 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 as

or Constituent Assembly, served rather, it is probable, to recommend it to his daring temper; and the unfettered scope proposed to be given to every kind of talents, was doubtless gratifying to the feelings of conscious but indignant genius. Burns foresaw not the mighty ruin that was to be the immediate 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 immediately, it may be presumed, withdraw his partial gaze from a people who had so lately breathed the sentiments of universal peace and benignity, 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 seemed to demand. He engaged indeed in no popular 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 and unjustifiable vehemence. Information of this was given to the Board of Excise, with the exaggerations so general in such cases. A superior officer in that department was authorized to inquire into his conduct. Burns defended himself in a letter addressed to one of the board, written with great independence of spirit, and with more than his accustomed eloquence. The officer appointed to inquire into his conduct gave a favourable report. His steady friend, Mr Graham of Fintra, interposed his good offices in his behalf; and the imprudent gauger was suffered to retain his situation, but given to understand that his promotion was deferred, and must depend on his future behaviour.

The

This circumstance made a deep impression on the mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his misconduct, and represented him as actually dismissed from his office: and this report induced a gentleman of much respectability to propose a subscription in his favour. offer was refused by our poet in a letter of great elevation of sentiment, in which he gives an account of the whole of this transaction, and defends himself from 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 char

acter.

"The partiality of my countrymen," he observes, "has brought me forward as a man of genius, and has given me a character to sup

Alpine scenery as can well be imagined. A delightful soft evening showed all its wilder as well as its grander graces. Immediately 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.

For three hours did the wild elements rumble their belly-full upon our defenceless heads. Oh, oh! 'twas foul. We got utterly wet; and to revenge ourselves, Burns insisted at Gatehouse on our getting utterly drunk.

"From Gatehouse, we went next day to Kirkcudbright, 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 whifling vexa"Here is a genuine baron's seat. The cas. tion of this sort is more trying to the temper tle, an old building, stands on a large natural than a serious calamity. We were going to moat. In front, the river Ken winds for se- Saint Mary's Isle, the seat of the Earl of Selveral miles through the most fertile and beauti-kirk, and the forlorn Burns was discomfited ful 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 terribly romantic than the castle of Kenmore. Burns thinks so highly of it, that he meditates a description of it in poetry. Indeed, I believe he has begun the work. We spent three days with Mr Gordon, whose polished hospitality is of an original and endearing kind. Mrs Gordon's lap-dog, Echo, 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 sub

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 attempt.
ed to reason with him. Mercy on us, how he
did fume and rage! Nothing could reinstate
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 epigrammatic humour indeed! He
afterwards fell on humbler game. There is
whom he does not love,

one •

He had a passing blow at him.

When

down,

, deceased, to the devil went

ject; but, to please the lady, he would try. Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own 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,

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 desolate regions extended wide around. The sky was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil; it became lowering and dark. The hollow winds sighed, the lightnings gleamed, the thunder rolled. 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.

crown:

Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never,

I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.

"Well, 1 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 appear. ances; and what is more, Lord Selkirk carried them in his coach to Dumfries. He insisted they were worth mending.

"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, therefore, 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 re

* A beautiful and well-known ballad, which begins gained the milkiness of good temper, and it

thus:

The moon had climb'd the highest hill
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And, from the eastern summit, shed

Its silver light on tower and tree.

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 de-. nominations of natural objects.

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 form

sumed the features of a demon, and vanished in a shower of blood.

Though previously a jacobite and a cavalier, Burns had shared in the original hopes entertained of this astonishing revolution, by ardent and benevolent minds. The novelty and the

ed by the assemblage 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 Scot-hazard of the attempt meditated by the First, tish songs, accompanied with instrumental or Constituent Assembly, served rather, it is music. The two young ladies of Selkirk sung probable, to recommend it to his daring temalso. We had the song of Lord Gregory, per; and the unfettered scope proposed to be which I asked for, to have an opportunity of given to every kind of talents, was doubtless calling on Burns to recite his ballad to that gratifying to the feelings of conscious but intune. He did recite it; and such was the dignant genius. Burns foresaw not the mighty effect, that a dead silence ensued. It was such ruin that was to be the immediate consequence a silence as a mind of feeling naturally pre- of an enterprise, which, on its commencement, serves when it is touched with that enthusiasm promised so much happiness to the human which banishes every other thought but the race. And even after the career of guilt and contemplation and indulgence of the sympathy of blood commenced, he could not immediately, produced. Burns' Lord Gregory is, in my it may be presumed, withdraw his partial gaze opinion, a most beautiful and affecting ballad.* from a people who had so lately breathed the The fastidious critic may perhaps say, some sentiments of universal peace and benignity, of the sentiments and imagery are of too ele- or obliterate in his bosom the pictures of hope vated a kind for such a style of composition; and of happiness to which those sentiments for instance," Thou bolt of Heaven that pass-had given birth. Under these impressions, he est by ;" and, "Ye mustering thunder," &c.; but this is a cold-blooded objection, which will be said rather than felt.

did not always conduct himself with the circumspection and prudence which his dependent situation seemed to demand. He engaged "We enjoyed a most happy evening at Lord indeed in no popular associations, so common Selkirk's. We had, in every sense of the word, at the time of which we speak; but in coma feast, in which our minds and our senses pany he did not conceal his opinions of public were equally gratified. The poet was delight- measures, or of the reforms required in the ed with his company, and acquitted himself to practice of our government; and sometimes, in admiration. The lion that had raged so vio-his social and unguarded moments, he uttered lently 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 Kenmore, Burns was wrapt 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 ha'e wi' Wallace bled,' &c."

Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in the Excise; but circumstances occurred which retarded their fulfilment, and which, in his own mind, destroyed all expectation of their being ever fulfilled. The extraordinary events which ushered in the revolution of France, interested the feelings, and excited the hopes of men in every corner 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 as

them with a wild and unjustifiable vehemence. Information of this was given to the Board of Excise, with the exaggerations so general in such cases. A superior officer in that department was authorized to inquire into his conduct. Burns defended himself in a letter addressed to one of the board, written with great independence of spirit, and with more than his accustomed eloquence. The officer appointed to inquire into his conduct gave a favourable report. His steady friend, Mr Graham of Fintra, interposed his good offices in his behalf; and the imprudent gauger was suffered to retain his situation, but given to understand that his promotion was deferred, and must depend on his future behaviour.

This circumstance made a deep impression on the mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his misconduct, and represented him as actually dismissed from his office: and this report induced a gentleman of much respectability to propose a subscription in his favour. The offer was refused by our poet in a letter of great elevation of sentiment, in which he gives an account of the whole of this transaction, and defends himself from 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 char

acter.

"The partiality of my countrymen," he observes, "has brought me forward as a man of genius, and has given me a character to sup