No. XXX.

To MRS. DUNLOP, of DUNLOP.

Mauchline, 27th Sept. 1788.

I HAVE received twins, dear madam, more than once; but scarcely ever with more pleasure than when I received yours of the 12th instant. To make myself understood; I had wrote to Mr. Graham, enclosing my poem addressed to him, and the same post which favored me with yours, brought me an answer from him. It was dated the very day he had received mine; and I am quite at a loss to say whether it was most polite or kind.

Your criticisms, my honored benefactress, are truly the work of a friend. They are not the blasting depredations of a canker-toothed, caterpillar critic; nor are they the fair statenient of cold impartiality, balancing with unfeeling exactitude, the pro and con of an author's merits; they are the judicious observations of animated friendship, selecting the beauties of the

piece.* I have just arrived from Nithsdale, and will be here a fortnight. I was on horseback this morning by three o'clock; for between my wife and my farm is just forty-six miles. As I jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a poetic fit, as follows:

"Mrs.

* From a letter which is printed in Dr. Currie's collection, it appears that Burns entertained no great respect for what may be styled technical criticism. He loved the man who judged of poetical compositions from the heart-but looked with an evil eye upon those who decided by the cold decisions of the head. This is evinced by the following anecdote.

At a private breakfast, in a literary circle at Edinburgh, to which he was invited, the conversation turned on the poetical merit and pathos of Gray's Elegy, a poem of which he was enthusiastically fond. A clergyman present, remarkable for his love of paradox, and for his eccentric notions on every subject, distinguished himself by an injudicious and ill-timed attack on this exquisite poem, which Burns, with a generous warmth for the reputation of Gray, manfully defended. As this gentleman's remarks were rather general than specific, Burns urged him to bring forward the passages which he thought exceptionable. He made several attempts to quote the poem, but always in a blundering, inaccurate manner. Burns bore all this for a considerable time with his usual good-nature and forbearance, till, at length, goaded by the fastidious criticisms

and

"Mrs. F of C's lamentation for the death of her son; an uncommonly promising youth of eighteen or nineteen years of age."

Here follow the verses, entitled, “ A Mother's Lament for the loss of her Son."

Dr. Currie's Ed. vol. iv. p. 388.

You will not send me your poetic rambles, but, you see, I am no niggard of mine. I am sure your impromptu's give me double pleasure; what falls from your pen, can neither be unentertaining in itself, nor indifferent to me.

The one fault you found, is just; but I cannot please myself in an emendation.

What a life of solicitude is the life of a parent! You interested me much in your young couple.

I would not take my folio paper

for this epistle,

and wretched quibblings of his opponent, he roused himself, and with an eye flashing contempt and indignation, and with great vehemence of gesticulation, he thus addressed the cold critic. "Sir,-I now perceive a man may be an "excellent judge of poetry by square and rule, and after "all,-be a dd blockhead!" G

E.:

tle, and now I repent it. I am so jaded with my dirty long journey that I was afraid to drawl into the essence of dulness with any thing larger than a quarto, and so I must leave out another rhyme of this morning's manufacture.

I will pay the sapientipotent George most cheerfully, to hear from you ere I leave Ayrshire.

No. XXXI.

TO MR. JAMES JOHNSON,

ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH.

Mauchline, Nov. 15, 1788.

MY DEAR SIR,

I HAVE sent you two more songs.—If you have got any tunes, or any thing to correct, please send them by return of the carrier.

I can easily see, my dear friend, that you will very probably have four volumes. Perhaps you may not find your account lucratively, in this bu

siness;

siness; but you are a patriot for the music of your country; and I am certain, posterity will look on themselves as highly indebted to your public spirit. Be not in a hurry; let us go on correctly; and your name shall be immortal.

I am preparing a flaming preface for your third volume. I see every day, new musical publications advertised; but what are they? Gaudy, hunted butterflies of a day, and then vanish for ever: but your work will outlive the momentary neglects of idle fashion, and defy the teeth of time.

Have you never a fair goddess that leads you a wild-goose chase of amorous devotion? Let me know a few of her qualities, such as, whether she be rather black, or fair; plump, or thin; short, or tall, &c.; and chuse your air, and I shall task my Muse to celebrate her.