II. He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, III. A weel-stocked mailen-himsel' for the laird- But thought I might hae waur offers, waur IV. But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less— Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. V. But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, * [In the original copy of this song sent to Thomson, this line runs thus: "He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess." To Gateslack, as well as to Dalgarnock in the next verse, Thomson objected; they were not sufficiently soft and suitable for the voice. To which Burns replied, "Gateslack is the name of a particular place-a kind of passage up among the Lowther hills on the confines of this country. Dalgarnock is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where are still a ruined church and a burial ground. However, let the first line run 'He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess."" "It is always a pity," says Currie, "to throw out anything that gives locality to our Poct's verses." In this case, to have expelled Dalgarnock would have been an injury. It is the very place where Old Mortality is represented by Scott repairing cherubs' heads and defaced inscriptions on the grave-stones of the Cameronian worthies. It is one of the loveliest spots too on Nithside. The kirk and kirk-yard belonged to the old parish of Dalgarnock when it was incorporated with Closeburn; the affections of the people linger about the spot where their fathers' ashes lie, and it is still used as place of interment.] The reader will observe the nature of the alterations which Burns thought this song required, by comparing the first version communicated to the Museum, with that sent to Thomson: Air.-The Lothian Lassie. Ar day a braw wooer came down the lang glen, A weel stocket mailen, himself o't the laird, I never loot on that I kenn'd or I car'd, But I thought I might get a waur offer, waur offer, He spake o' the darts o' my bonnie black een, But I said he might die when he likit for Jean, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there! I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. VI. But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, VII. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet, But, heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin', But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'! VIII. He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, I think I maun wed him to-morrow.† But what do ye think! in a fortnight or less- An' a' the niest week, as I fretted wi' care, But owre my left shouther I gied him a blink, I spier'd for my cousin fou couthie an' sweet, An' how my auld shoon suited her shauchled feet, He begged me for Gudesake that I'd be his wife, I think I will wed him to morrow, to-morrow, ["This is, in some respects, a better version of the song than the copy sent to Thomson. The third line in the seventh verse of the latter is altogether wrong, and cannot surely be as Burns wrote it. It is nonsense to ask 'And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet?' The satiric allusion is preserved in Johnson's version ;— And how my auld shoon suited her shauchled feet.' 'Auld shoon,' in the language of rustic wooing, represent a discarded lover. Thus, in the old song, 'Ye may tell the coof that gets her It was this-and well it might-which made the wooer fall a swearin';' the transposition too of the verses lets us a little into the character of the lady; she puts that sarcastic question after bestowing the blink owre her left shouther :' -she was desirous of showing her lover that the conquest was not quite achieved."-CUNNINGHAM.] No. LXXXIV. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 5th Feb. 1796 O Robby Burns, are ye sleeping yet? THE pause you have made, my dear Sir, is awful! Am I never to hear from you again? I know and I lament how much you have been afflicted of late, but I trust that returning health and spirits will now enable you to resume the pen, and delight us with your musings. I have still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs that I wish "married to immortal verse." We have several true-born Irishmen on the Scottish list; but they are now naturalized and reckoned our own good subjects: indeed, we have none better. I believe I before told you that I had been much urged by some friends to publish a collection of all our favourite airs and songs in octavo, embellished with a number of etchings by our ingenious friend Allan: what is your opinion of this?* G. T. No. LXXXIII. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. MY DEAR SIR: 3rd June, 1795. No. LXXXV. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. February 17, 1796. MANY thanks, my dear Sir, for your handsome, elegant present to Mrs. Burns, and for my remaining volume of Peter Pindar.-Peter YOUR English verses to "Let me in this ae is a delightful fellow, and a first favourite of night," are tender and beautiful; and your mine. I am much pleased with your idea of ballad to the "Lothian Lassie", is a master-publishing a collection of our songs in octavo, piece for its humour and naïveté. The fragment of the "Caledonian Hunt" is quite suited to the original measure of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the fragment must content it. I would rather, as I said before, have had Bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the Poet; but, nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord, make us thankful! G. T. [It was not without reason that Thomson wrote in this gentle and conciliatory strain: the Poet was suffering from ill health and depressed fortune, and that slow consuming illness which arrested him in his bright career was more than beginning to manifest itself.] ["Burns had made a pause in his correspondence from June, 1795, to February, 1796; and Thomson, feeling alarm, as much for the Poet's sake as for the dozen of Scotch and Irish airs' which he wished wedded to immortal verse,' wrote to make inquiries. Something in the tone of the letter, and the circumstance of pressing a sick man to write songs, seem to indicate that Thomson did not imagine that Burns was in a dangerous state. Nor is this surprising :-he was wildly gay or gloomily downcast by fits and starts: Professor Walker, who had an interview with him in the latter end of the with etchings. I am extremely willing to lend every assistance in my power. The Irish airs I shall cheerfully undertake the task of finding verses for. I have, already, you know, equipt three with words, and the other day I strung up a kind of rhapsody to another Hibernian melody, which I admire much : Hep for a Lass wi' a Tocher. Tune-Balinamona Ora. I. AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, year, failed to perceive in his fierce tone of conversation, and the almost convulsive resolution to abide by the wine, the presence of that twofold sickness of mind and body which was soon to carry him to the grave. He was, nevertheless, to use the words of a Scottish song, 'Fading in his place;' and his wearing away was observed by all who took any interest in his fortunes."-CUNNINGHAM.] O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, The nice yellow guineas for me. II. Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows; But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, [yowes. Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white III. And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest; But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae them-the mair they're carest. Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, The nice yellow guineas for me. If this will do, you have now four of my Irish engagement. In my by-past songs, I dislike one thing; the name Chloris-I meant it as the fictitious name of a certain lady; but, on second thoughts, it is a high incongruity to have a Greek appellation to a Scottish pastoral ballad. Of this, and some things else, in my next: I have more amendments to propose.What you once mentioned of "flaxen locks" is just they cannot enter into an elegant description of beauty. Of this also again-God bless you! * No. LXXXVI. R. B. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. YOUR "Hey for a lass wi' a tocher," is a most excellent song, and with you the subject is ["Burns, it is believed, not only determined to remove Chloris with the flaxen tresses, and Anna with the golden locks, from his songs, but to eschew their allurements and avoid their company. He began, when it was too late, to perceive that, in erring against domestic ties and forsaking his household gods, he was sinning not only against his own fame, but furnishing his heart with matter for future repentance and remorse. In the complete revisal which he desired to give his songs, he had no wish to abate the humour or lessen even the occasional levities of expression in which he indulged. His aim appears to have been to change foreign names for native ones, and rely upon the Jeans, the Marys, the Phemies, the Ediths, and the Berthas of his own isle for exercising influence over the hearts of men. Whatever his resolutions were respecting his songs or himself, he lived not to fulfil them."-CUNNINGHAM.] [Like the Boar's Head in Eastcheap, and the Mermaid in Friday-street, London, immortalized as these have been by something new indeed. It is the first time I have seen you debasing the god of soft desire into an amateur of acres and guineas. I am happy to find you approve of my proposed octavo edition. Allan has designed and etched about twenty plates, and I am to have my choice of them for that work. Independently of the Hogarthian humour with which they abound, they exhibit the character and costume of the Scottish peasantry with inimitable felicity. In this respect, he himself says, they will far exceed the aquatinta plates he did for the Gentle Shepherd, because in the etching he sees clearly what he is doing, but not so with the aquatinta, which he could not manage to his mind. ALAS! my dear Thomson, I fear it will be some time ere I tune my lyre again! "By Babel streams I have sat and wept," almost ever istence by the pressure of the heavy hand of since I wrote you last: I have only known exsickness; and have counted time by the repercussions of pain! Rheumatism, cold, and fever, have formed to me a terrible combination. I close my eyes in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the vernal day, and say with poor Fergusson— "Say, wherefore has an all-indulgent Heaven This will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyslop, landlady of the Globe Tavern here, which for these many years has been my howff, and where our friend Clarke and I have had many a merry squeeze. I am highly delighted with the genius and wit of Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, and Ben Jonson, and many other of the prime spirits of their age, so the Globe Tavern in Dumfries, the favourite haunt of our Poet, while resident in that town, appears to be destined to a similar acceptation in the eyes of posterity. "The 'howff' of which Burns speaks was a small, comfortable tavern, situated in the mouth of the Globe close, and it held at that time the rank as third among the houses of public accommodation in Dumfries. The excellence of the drink and the attentions of the proprietor were not, however, all its attractions. Anna with the gowden locks' was one of the ministering damsels of the establishment; customers loved to be served by one who was not only cheerful, but whose charms were celebrated by the Bard of Kyle. On one of the last visits paid by the Poet, the wine of the 'howff' was more than commonly strong-or, served by Anna, it went more glibly over than usual; and when he rose to be gone, he found he could do no more than keep his balance. The Mr. Allan's etchings. "Woo'd and married an' a'," is admirable; The grouping is beyond all praise. The expression of the figures, conformable to the story in the ballad, is absolutely faultless perfection. I next admire, “Turnimspike." What I like least is, "Jenny said to Jocky." Besides the female being in her appearance if you take her stooping into the account, she is at least two inches taller than her lover. Poor Cleghorn! I sincerely sympathize with him! Happy I am to think that he yet has a well-grounded hope of health and enjoyment in this world. As for me -but that is a sad subject! No. LXXXVIII. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. R. B. 4th May, 1796. I NEED not tell you, my good Sir, what concern the receipt of your last gave me, and how much I sympathise in your sufferings. But do not, I beseech you, give yourself up to despondency, nor speak the language of despair. The vigour of your constitution, I trust, will soon set you on your feet again; and then, it is to be hoped, you will see the wisdom and the necessity of taking due care of a life so valuable to your family, to your friends, and to the world. Trusting that your next will bring agreeable accounts of your convalescence and returning good spirits, I remain, with sincere regard, yours. G. T. P. S.-Mrs. Hyslop, I doubt not, delivered the gold seal to you in good condition. [On this gold seal the Poet caused his coat of arms to be engraven, viz., a small bush; a bird singing; the legend "wood-notes wild," with the motto "better hae a wee bush than nae bield." This precious relic is now in the proper keeping of the Poet's brother-in-law, Robert Armour, of Old 'Change, London.] No. LXXXIX. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. I ONCE mentioned to you an air which I have long admired, "Here's a health to them that's night was frosty and the hour late; the Poet sat down on the steps of a door between the tavern and his own house, fell asleep, and did not awaken till he was almost dead with cold. To this exposure his illness has been imputed; and no doubt it contributed, with disappointed hope and insulted pride, to bring him to an early grave."-CUNNINGHAM. On the panes of glass in the Globe, Burns was frequently in the habit of writing many of his witty jeux d'esprit, as well as fragmentary portions of his most celebrated songs. fear these precious relics have now been wholly abstracted by We awa, hiney," but I forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses; and I beg leave to recommend the air to your attention once more. I have only | begun it :— Jessy. Tune-Here's a Health to them that's awa. I. HERE'S a health to ane I lo'e dear! II. Altho' thou maun never be mine, Than aught in the world beside-Jessy! III. I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, IV. I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e'e; But why urge the tender confession, 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree!-Jessy! Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear! Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear! [meet. Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers And soft as their parting tear-Jessy! ["In the letter to Thomson," says Currie, "the first three stanzas only are given, and it was supposed that the Poet had gone no farther: among his manuscripts, however, the fourth stanza was found, which completes this exquisite song, the last finished offspring of his muse." The heroine is Jessie Lewars, now Mrs. Thomson of Dumfries: her tender attentions soothed the last days of the departing Poet; and, if inmortality in song can be considered a recompence, she has been rewarded.— the lovers and collectors of literary rarities. John Speirs. Esq of Elderslie, has in his possession one of these panes of glas upon which is written in Burns' autograph, the following verse of Sae flaxen were her ringlets,' given in Letter LVIL of this Correspondence : Hers are the willing chains of love, By conquering Beauty's sovereign law; No. XC. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. I THIS will be delivered by a Mr. Lewars, a young fellow of uncommon merit. As he will be a day or two in town, you will have leisure, if you chuse, to write me by him; and if you have a spare half hour to spend with him, I shall place your kindness to my account. have no copies of the songs I have sent you,and I have taken a fancy to review them all, and possibly may mend some of them; so, when you have complete leisure, I will thank you for either the originals or copies.* rather be the author of five well-written songs than of ten otherwise. I have great hopes that the genial influence of the approaching summer will set me to rights, but as yet I cannot boast of returning health. I have now reason to believe that my complaint is a flying gout: a sad business! I had Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and remember me to him. This should have been delivered to you a month ago. I am still very poorly, but should like much to hear from you. No. XCI. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. Brow, on the Solway-frith, 12th July, 1796. AFTER all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels me to implore you for five pounds. A cruel wretch of a haberdasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me into jail. Do, for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this earnestness, but the horrors of a jail have made me half distracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously; for, upon returning health, I hereby promise, and engage to furnish you with five pounds' worth of the neatest song-genius you have seen. I tried my hand on "Rothemurche," this morning. The measure is so difficult that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines; they are on the other side. Forgive, forgive me! Fairest Maid on Debon banks. Tune-Rothemurche. I. Fairest maid on Devon banks, And smile as thou wert wont to do? Full well thou know'st I love thee dear! Could'st thou to malice lend an ear? [It is almost unnecessary to say that this revisal Burns did not live to perform.] ["These verses," says Currie," and the letthat marks the feeble state of Burns's bodily ter enclosing them, are written in a character strength. Mr. Syme is of opinion that he could not have been in any danger of a jail at Dumfries, where certainly he had many firm friends, nor under any such necessity of imploring aid from Edinburgh. But about this time (nine days before his death), his reason began at times to be unsettled, and the horrors of a jail perpetually haunted his imagination. He died on the 21st of this month." 66 "I have in the Life of the Poet asserted that he was in great poverty before he died, and that sometimes, in the course of the spring of 1796, his family were all but wanting bread. Those who say he had good friends around him seem not to know that he had a soul too proud to solicit help, and to forget that there are hearts in the world ready to burst before they beg. The five pounds for which he solicited Thomson were to meet the demands of David Williamson, to whom he owed the price of the cloth of his volunteer regimentals-the money should have been paid in April: and the ten pounds which he requested, and by return of post obtained, from his cousin, James Burness, grandfather of Lieutenant Burness the Eastern Traveller, was for his wife, then about to be confined in child-bed. It is not known that he applied to any one else, and he would not have applied to either his cousin or to Thomson, had he not been sorely pressed: the fact of his being in want was known to all his neighbours, and admitted by himself. "In this song—the last he was to measure in this world-his thoughts wandered to Charlotte Hamilton, and the banks of the Devon."ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.] No. XCII. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 14th July, 1796. MY DEAR SIR: EVER since I received your melancholy letters by Mrs. Hyslop, I have been ruminating in what manner I could endeavour to alleviate your sufferings. Again and again I thought of a pecuniary offer, but the recollection of one of your letters on this subject, and the fear of of |