WHY did you, my dear Sir, write to me in such a hesitating style on the business of poor Bruce? Don't I know, and have I not felt, the many ills, the peculiar ills, that poetic flesh is heir to? You shall have your choice of all the unpublished poems I have; and, had your letter had my direction so as to have reached me sooner (it only came to my hand this moment), I should have directly put you out of suspense on the subject. I only ask that some prefatory advertisement in the book, as well as the subscription bills, may bear that the publication is solely for the benefit of Bruce's mother. I would not put it into the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to insinuate, that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives. Nor need you give me credit for any remarkable generosity in my part of the business. I have such a host of peccadilloes, failings, follies, and backslidings (any body but myself an assertion that our ideas of beauty in objects of all kinds arise from our associating with them some other ideas of an agreeable kind. For instance, our notion of beauty in the cheek of a pretty maiden arises from our notions of her health, innocence, and so forth; our notion of the beauty of a Highland prospect, such as the Trosachs, from our notions of the romantic kind of life formerly led in it; as if there was no female beauty independent of both health and innocence, or fine scenery where men had not formerly worn tartans and claymores. The whole of this letter of Burns is, in reality (though perhaps unmeant by him), a satire on this doctrine, which, notwithstanding the eloquence of an Alison, a Stewart, and a Jeffrey, must now be considered as amongst the dreams of philosophy.-CHAMBERS.] * [The poet's reverend correspondent solicited his help in the contemplated edition of Bruce in these words : "I TROUBLE you with this letter to inform you that I am in hopes of being able very soon to bring to the press a new edition (long since talked of) of Michael Bruce's Poems. The profits of the edition are to go to his mother-a woman of eighty years of age-poor and helpless. The poems are to be published by subscription; and it may be possible, I think, to make out a 2s. 6d. or 3s. volume, with the assistance of a few hitherto unpublished verses, which I have got from the mother of the poet. "But the design I have in view in writing to you is not merely to inform you of these facts; it is to solicit the aid of your name and pen in support of the scheme. The reputation of Bruce is already high with every reader of classical taste, and I shall be anxious to guard against tarnishing his character, by allowing any new poems to appear that may lower it. For this purpose, the MSS. I am in possession of have been submitted to the revision of some whose critical talents I can trust to, and I mean still to submit them to others. "May I beg to know, therefore, if you will take the trouble of perusing the MSS.-of giving your opinion, and suggesting what curtailments, alterations, or amendments, occur to you as advisable? And will you allow us to let it be known that a few lines by you will be added to the volume? "I know the extent of this request. It is bold to make it. But I have this consolation, that, though you see it proper to refuse it, you will not blame me for having made it; you will see my apology in the motive. might perhaps give some of them a worse appellation), that by way of some balance, however trifling, in the account, I am fain to do! any good that occurs in my very limited power to a fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose of clearing a little of the vista of retrospection. R. B. No. CCII. TO DR. MOORE. Ellisland, 28th February, 1791. I Do not know, Sir, whether you are a subscriber to Grose's Antiquities of Scotland. If you are, the enclosed poem will not be altoge ther new to you. Captain Grose did me the favour to send me a dozen copies of the proof sheet, of which this is one. Should you have read the piece before, still this will answer the principal end I have in view it will give me another opportunity of thanking you for al your goodness to the rustic bard; and also of shewing you that the abilities you have been pleased to commend and patronize are still employed in the way you wish.† : "May I just add, that Michael Bruce is one in whose company, from his past appearance, you would not, I am convinced, blush to be found, and as I would submit every line of his that should now be published to your own criticisms, you would be assured that nothing derogatory either to him or you would be admitted in that appearance he may make in future. "You have already paid an honourable tribute to kindred genius, in Fergusson-I fondly hope that the mother of Bruce will experience your patronage. "I wish to have the subscription papers circulated by the 14th of March, Bruce's birth-day; which I understand some friends in Scotland talk this year of observing-at that time it will be resolved, I imagine, to place a plain, humble stone over his grave. This, at least, I trust you will agree to doto furnish, in a few couplets, an inscription for it. "On these points may I solicit an answer as early as pos sible; a short delay might disappoint us in procuring that relief to the mother which is the object of the whole. "You will be pleased to address for me under cover to the Duke of Athole, London." G. B. P.S. Have you ever seen an engraving published here some time ago, from one of your poems, “O thou pale Orb ?" If you have not, I shall have the pleasure of sending it to you. + [Dr. Moore, it would appear, was less enthusiastic tham Lord Woodhouselee in the cause of Tam o'Shanter; nor d he feel the exquisite poetry of the Elegy on Matthew Henderson-he has spoken for himself on the subject-the following is his letter: "DEAR SIR, London, 29th March, 1791. "YOUR letter of the 28th February 1 received only twe days ago, and this day I had the pleasure of waiting on the Rev. Mr. Baird, at the Duke of Athole's, who had been so obliging as to transmit it to me, with the printed verses on Alloa Church, the Elegy on Capt. Henderson, and the Etaph. There are many poetical beauties in the former; what I particularly admire are the three striking similes from 'Or like the snow falls on the river,' and the eight lines which begin with By this time he was cross the ford," so exquisitely expressive of the superstitious impressiona of the country. And the twenty-two lines from 'Coffins stood round like open presses," The Elegy on Captain Henderson is a tribute to the memory of a man I loved much. Poets have in this the same advantage as Roman Catholics; they can be of service to their friends after they have past that bourne where all other kindness ceases to be of avail. Whether, after all, either the one or the other be of any real service to the dead is, I fear, very problematical; but I am sure they are highly gratifying to the living and as a very orthodox text, I forget where in scripture, says, "whatsoever is not of faith is sin;" so say I, whatsoever is not detrimental to society, and is of positive enjoyment, is of God, the giver of all good things, and ought to be received and enjoyed by his creatures with thankful delight. As almost all my religious tenets originate from my heart, I am wonderfully pleased with the idea that I can still keep up a tender intercourse with the dearly beloved friend, or still more dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the world of spirits. The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I was busy with Percy's Reliques of English Poetry. By the way, how much is every honest heart, which has a tincture of Caledonian prejudice, obliged to you for your glorious story of Buchanan and Targe! 'Twas an unequivocal proof of your loyal gallantry of soul giving Targe the victory. I should have been mortified to the ground if you had not. I have just read over, once more of many times, your Zeluco. I marked with my pencil, as I went along, every passage that pleased me particularly above the rest; and one or two, I think, which, with humble deference, I am disposed to think unequal to the merits of the book. I have sometimes thought to transcribe these marked passages, or at least so much of them as to point where they are, and send them to you. Original strokes that strongly depict the human heart is your and Fielding's province, beyond any other novelist I have ever perused. Richardson indeed might, perhaps, be which, in my opinion, are equal to the ingredients of Shakspeare's cauldron in Macbeth. 46 As for the Elegy, the chief merit of it consists in the graphical description of the objec's belonging to the country in which the poet writes, and which none but a Scottish poet could have described, and none but a real poet and close observer of Nature could have so described. "There is something original, and wonderfully pleasing, in the Epitaph. "I remember you once hinted before, what you repeat in your last, that you had made some remarks on Zeluco, on the margin. I should be very glad to see them, and regret you did not send them before the last edition, which is just published. Pray transcribe them for me; I sincerely value your opinion very highly, and pray do not suppress one of those in which you censure the sentiment or expression. Trust me it will break no squares between us-I am not akin to the Bishop of Grenada. "I must now mention what has been on my mind for some time; I cannot help thinking you imprudent, in scattering abroad so many copies of your verses. It is most natural to give a few to confidential friends, particularly to those who are connected with the subject, or who are perhaps themselves the subject, but this ought to be done under promise not to give other copies. Of the poem you sent me on Queen Mary, I refused every solicitation for copies, but I lately saw excepted; but unhappily, his dramatis persona are beings of another world; and, however they may captivate the inexperienced, romantic fancy of a boy or a girl, they will ever, in proportion as we have made human nature our study, dissatisfy our riper years. As to my private concerns, I am going on, a mighty tax-gatherer before the Lord, and have lately had the interest to get myself ranked on the list of Excise as a supervisor. I am not yet employed as such, but in a few years I shall fall into the file of supervisorship by seniority. I have had an immense loss in the death of the Earl of Glencairn; the patron from whom all my fame and fortune took its rise. Independent of my grateful attachment to him, which was indeed so strong that it pervaded my very soul, and was entwined with the thread of my existence; as soon as the prince's friends had got in (and every dog you know has his day), my getting forward in the Excise would have been an easier business than otherwise it will be. Though this was a consummation devoutly to be wished, yet, thank Heaven, I can live and rhyme as I am! and as to my boys, poor little fellows! if I cannot place them on as high an elevation in life as I could wish, I shall, if I am favoured so much by the Disposer of events as to see that period, fix them on as broad and independent a basis as possible. Among the many wise adages which have been treasured up by our Scottish ancestors, this is one of the best, Better be the head o' the commonalty than the tail o' the gentry. But I am got on a subject which, however interesting to me, is of no manner of consequence to you; so I shall give you a short poem on the other page, and close this with assuring you how sincerely I have the honour to be, Yours, &c. R. B. Written on the blank leaf of a book, which it in a newspaper. My motive for cautioning you on this subject is that I wish to engage you to collect all your fugitive pieces, not already printed, and after they have been reconsidered, and polished to the utmost of your power, I would have you publish them by another subscription; in promoting of which I will exert myself with pleasure. "In your future compositions I wish you would use the modern English. You have shewn your powers in Scottish sufficiently. Although in certain subjects it gives additional zest to the humour, yet it is lost to the English; and why should you write only for a part of the island, when you can command the admiration of the whole? "If you chance to write to my friend Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop, I beg to be affectionately remembered to her. She must not judge of the warmth of my sentiments respecting her, by the number of my letters; I hardly ever write a line but on business; and I do not know that I should have scribbled all this to you, but for the business part, that is, to instigate you to a new publication; and to tell you that, when you think you have a sufficient number to make a volume, you should set your friends on getting subscriptions. I wish I could have a few hours' conversation with you; I have many things to say, which I cannot write. If I ever go to Scotland, I will let you know, that you may meet me at your own house, or my friend Mrs. Hamilton's, or both. Adieu, my dear Sir, &c."] I presented to a very young lady, whom I had formerly characterised under the denomination of The Rose Bud.-(See Lines to Miss Cruikshank, page 249.) No. CCIII. TO MR. ALEX. CUNNINGHAM. * Ellisland, 12th March, 1791. IF the foregoing piece be worth your strictures, let me have them. For my own part, a thing that I have just composed always appears through a double portion of that partial medium in which an author will ever view his own works. I believe, in general, novelty has something in it that inebriates the fancy, and not unfrequently dissipates and fumes away like other intoxication, and leaves the poor patient, as usual, with an aching heart. A striking instance of this might be adduced, in the revolution of many a hymeneal honeymoon. But lest I sink into stupid prose, and so sacrilegiously intrude on the office of my parish priest, I shall fill up the in page my own way, and give you another late sition, which will appear perhaps in Johnson's work, as well as the former. song of my compo You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, There'll never be peace 'till Jamie comes hame. When political combustion ceases to be the object of princes and patriots, it then, you know, becomes the lawful prey of historians and poets. "By yon castle wa' at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey; And as he was singing, the tears fast down cameThere'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame."† [See page 397.] If you like the air, and if the stanza hit your fancy, you cannot imagine, my dear friend, how much you would oblige me if, by the charms of your delightful voice, you would give my honest effusion to "the memory of joys that are past," to the few friends whom you indulge in that pleasure. But I have scribbled on 'till I hear the clock has intimated the near approach of― [This gentleman was joyous and companionable; told a pleasing story; sung songs merry or sad with much taste, and was always welcome where wine flowed and mirth abounded. He was from first to last the stedfast friend of Burns; he bestirred himself actively, too, in behalf of the poet's family.] + [This beautiful little Jacobite ditty having appeared in Johnson's Museum with the old song mark at it, it has been received as an old song all over Scotland. There was an old song, but I do not know where to find it. I remember only two lines: My heart it is sair, and will soon break in twa; This last line is the name of the air in the very old collections of Scottish tunes.-HOGG.] "That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane."— So good night to you! Sound be your sleep, and delectable your dreams! Apropos, how do you like this thought in a ballad I have just now on the tapis? "I look to the west when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; The lad that is dear to my babie and me!" I HAVE taken the liberty to frank this letter to you, as it encloses an idle poem of mine, which I send you; and God knows you may perhaps pay dear enough for it if you read it through. Not that this is my own opinion: but the author, by the time he has composed and corrected his work, has quite pored away ali his powers of critical discrimination. I can easily guess from my own heart what you have felt on a late most melancholy event. God knows what I have suffered, at the loss of my best friend, my first and dearest patron and benefactor; the man to whom I owe all that I am and have! I am gone into mourning for him, and with more sincerity of grief than I fear some will, who by nature's ties ought to feel on the occasion. I will be exceedingly obliged to you indeed, to let me know the news of the noble family, how the poor mother and the two sisters support their loss. I had a packet of poetic bagatelles ready to send to Lady Betty, when I saw the fatal tidings in the newspaper. I see by the same channel that the honoured REMAINS of my noble patron are designed to be brought to the family burial place. Dare I trouble you [This gentleman, the factor, or steward, of Burns's noble friend, Lord Glencairn, with a view to encourage a second edition of the poems, laid the volume before his lordship, with such an account of the rustic bard's situation and prospects as from his slender acquaintance with him he couli furnish. The result, as communicated to Burns by Mr. Dalzel, is highly creditable to the character of Lord Girncairn. After reading the book, his lordship declared that its merits greatly exceeded his expectation, and he took it with him as a literary curiosity to Edinburgh. He repeated his wishes to be of service to Burns, and desired Mr. Dalzel to inform him that, in patronizing the book, ushering it with effect into the world, or treating with the booksellers, be would most willingly give every aid in his power; adding his request that Burns would take the earliest opportunity of letting him know in what way or manner he could best further his interests.-CROMEK.] I AM exceedingly to blame in not writing you long ago; but the truth is that I am the most indolent of all human beings; and when I matriculate in the Herald's office, I intend that my supporters shall be two sloths, my crest a slow-worm, and the motto, "Deil tak the foremost." So much by way of apology for not thanking you sooner for your kind execution of my commission. I would have sent you the poem; but somehow or other it found its way into the pubiic papers, where you must have seen it.* I am ever, dear Sir, yours sincerely, No. CCVI. TO MRS. DUNLOP. R. B. Ellisland, 11th April, 1791. I AM once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with my own hand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, and particularly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster that my evil genius had in store for me. However, life is chequered-joy and sorrowfor on Saturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made me a present of a fine boy; rather stouter, but [The poem to which the poet alludes is the Lament of Mary Queen of Scots; that his works found their way to the newspapers could excite no wonder; he gave copies to many of his friends, and they in their turn distributed copies among their acquaintances. Burns seems never to have surmised that he was injuring his own pocket by this practice; the poems which he wrote at Ellisland, and the songs which he composed for Johnson and Thomson, would have made a volume, and brought him a thousand pounds.CUNNINGHAM.] [To illustrate what the poet says here, it may be mentioned that the accouchement had taken place (as we learn from his family bible) only two days before, namely, April 9th. This child was named William Nicol, after the eccentric teacher of the Edinburgh High School.] [Homer's description of the Cestus of Venus has been rendered into English by many skilful hands; here are four versions : "In this was every art and every charm, To win the wisest, and the coldest warm; Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire, not so handsome as your godson was at his time of life. Indeed I look on your little name-sake to be my chef d'œuvre in that species of manufacture, as I look on Tam o' Shanter to be my standard performance in the poetical line. 'Tis true, both the one and the other discover a spice of roguish waggery that might perhaps be as well spared; but then they also shew, in my opinion, a force of genius, and a finishing polish, that I despair of ever excelling. Mrs. Burns is getting stout again, and laid as lustily about her to-day at breakfast as a reaper from the corn-ridge. That is the peculiar privilege and blessing of our hale, sprightly damsels, that are bred among the hay and heather. † We cannot hope for that highly polished mind, that charming delicacy of soul, which is found among the female world in the more elevated stations of life, and which is certainly by far the most bewitching charm in the famous cestus of Venus. It is indeed such an inestimable treasure that, where it can be had in its native heavenly purity, unstained by some one or other of the many shades of affectation, and unalloyed by some one or other of the many species of caprice, I declare to heaven, I should think it cheaply purchased at the expense of every other earthly good! But as this angelic creature is, I am afraid, extremely rare in any station and rank of life, and totally denied to such a humble one as mine, we meaner mortals must put up with the next rank of female excellence -as fine a figure and face we can produce as any rank of life whatever; rustic, native grace; unaffected modesty, and unsullied purity; nature's mother-wit, and the rudiments of taste; a simplicity of soul, unsuspicious of, because unacquainted with, the crooked ways of a selfish, interested, disingenuous world; and the dearest charm of all the rest, a yielding sweetness of disposition, and a generous warmth of heart, grateful for love on our part, and ardently glowing with a more than equal return; these, with a healthy frame, a sound, vigorous constitution, which your higher ranks can scarcely Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs, Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes." POPE. "She spoke, and from her heaving bosom loosed the various girdle with care. There were contained her soul-winning charms; there was love; there melting desire; there, of lovers, the tender vows-the pleasing flattery was there which takes by stealth the souls of the wise."-MACPHERSON. "It was an ambush of sweet snares, replete "Then from her breast unclasp'd the embroider'd zone, SOTHEBY.] 708 THE WORKS OF BURNS. LET me interest you, my dear Cunningham, in behalf of the gentleman who waits on you with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of Moffat, principal schoolmaster there, and is at present suffering severely under the persecution of one or two powerful individuals of his employers. He is accused of harshness to boys that were placed under his care. God help the teacher, if a man of sensibility and genius, and such is my friend Clarke, when a booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists on lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's head whose skull is impervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture with a cudgel: a fellow whom in fact it savours of impiety to attempt making a scholar of, as he has been marked a blockhead in the book of fate, at the almighty fiat of his Creator. The patrons of Moffat-school are, the ministers, magistrates, and town-council of Edinburgh, and as the business comes now before them, let me beg my dearest friend to do every thing in his power to serve the interests of a man of genius and worth, and a man whom I particularly respect and esteem. You know some good fellows among the magistracy and council, but particularly you have much to say with a reverend gentleman to whom you have the honour of being very nearly related, and whom this country and age have had the honour to produce. I need not name the historian of Charles V. I tell him, through the medium of his nephew's influence, that Mr. Clarke is a gentleman who will not disgrace even his patronage. I know the merits of the cause thoroughly, and say it, that my friend is falling a sacrifice to prejudiced ignorance. * [Mrs. Henri's child, and the grand-child of Mrs. Dunlop. See note to the Verses on the Birth of a posthumous Child, page 249.] † [Dr. Robertson was uncle to Mr. Alex. Cunningham.] [To the person on whose behalf he sought to interest his friend, Burns addressed many letters, which were carefully preserved till the death of Mr. Clarke, when his widow, offended by some free language in which they indulged, committed them to the flames.] [In the following terms the noble lord invited the poet to his seat: Dryburgh Abbey, June 17th, 1791. "LORD BUCHAN has the pleasure to invite Mr. Burns to make one at the coronation of the bust of Thomson, on Ednam Hill, on the 22nd of September; for which day God help the children of dependence! Hated and persecuted by their enemies, and too often, alas! almost unexceptionably, received by their friends with disrespect and reproach, under the thin disguise of cold civility and humiliating advice. O! to be a sturdy savage, stalking in the pride of his independence, amid the solitary wilds of his deserts, rather than in civilized life, helplessly to tremble for a subsistence, precarious as the caprice of a fellow-creature! Every man has his virtues, and no man is without his failings; and curse on that privileged plain-dealing of friendship which, in the hour of my calamity, cannot reach forth the helping those failings, and apportioning them their share hand without at the same time pointing out in procuring my present distress. My friends, for such the world calls ye, and such ye think yourselves to be, pass by my virtues, if you please, but do, also, spare my follies; the first will witness in my breast for themselves, and the last will give pain enough to the ingenuous mind without you. And, since deviating more or less from the paths of propriety and rectitude must be incident to human nature, do thou, Fortune, put it in my power always from myself and of myself to bear the consequence of those errors! I do not want to be independent that I may sin, but I want to be independent in my sinning. To return in this rambling letter to the subject I set out with, let me recommend my friend, Mr. Clarke, to your acquaintance and good offices; his worth entitles him to the one, and his gratitude will merit the other.; I long much to hear from you. Adieu! No. CCVIII. R. B. perhaps his muse may inspire an ode suited to the occasion Suppose Mr. Burns should, leaving the Nith, go across the country, and meet the Tweed at the nearest point from b farm-and, wandering along the pastoral banks of Thomson pure parent stream, catch inspiration on the devious walk, till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on the ruins of Dryburga There the Commendator will give him a hearty welcome, and try to light his lamp at the pure flame of native genius upo the altar of Caledonian virtue. This poetical perambu of the Tweed is a thought of the late Sir Gilbert El and of Lord Minto, followed out by his accomplished grandson, the present Sir Gilbert, who having been with Lord be executed in the manner proposed."] Buchan lately, the project was renewed, and will, they hope, |