No. CCXXIII. TO MRS. DUNLOP. Dumfries, 24th September, 1792. I HAVE this moment, my dear Madam, yours of the twenty-third. All your other kind reproaches, your news, &c., are out of my head when I read and think on Mrs. Henri's situation. Good God! a heart-wounded helpless young woman—in a strange, foreign land, and that land convulsed with every horror that can harrow the human feelings-sick-looking, longing for a comforter, but finding none-a mother's feelings, too :-but it is too much he who wounded (He only can) may He heal! I wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to his family. * * * *! I cannot say that I give him joy of his life as a farmer. "Tis, as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent, a cursed life! As to a laird farming his own property; sowing his own corn in hope; and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in gladness; knowing that none can say unto him, "What dost thou ?"-fattening his herds; shearing his flocks; rejoicing at Christmas; and begetting sons and daughters, until he be the venerated, grey-haired leader of a little tribe-'tis a heavenly life! but Devil take the life of reaping the fruits that another must eat. Well, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to seeing me when I make my Ayr-shire visit. I cannot leave Mrs. Buntil her nine months' race is run, which may perhaps be in three or four weeks. She, too, seems determined to make me the patriarchal leader of a band. However, if Heaven will be so obliging as to let me have them in the proportion of three boys to one girl, I shall be so much the more pleased. I hope, if I am spared with them, to shew a set of boys that will do honour to my cares and name; but I am not equal to the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am too poor; a girl should always have a fortune. Apropos, your little godson is thriving charmingly, but is a very devil. He, though two years younger, has completely mastered his brother. Robert is indeed the mildest, gentlest creature I ever saw. He has a most surprising memory, and is quite the pride of his school master. You know how readily we get into prattle upon a subject dear to our heart-you can excuse it. God bless you and yours! R, B. [Mrs. Henri, daughter of Mrs. Dunlop, died at Muges, near Aiguillon, September 15th, 1792. The above letter is one No. CCXXIV. TO THE SAME. SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MRS. HENRI, HER DAUGHTER.* Dumfries, September, 1792. I can but I HAD been from home, and did not receive your letter until my return the other day.— What shall I say to comfort you, my muchvalued, much - afflicted friend! grieve with you; consolation I have none to offer, except that which religion holds out to the children of affliction-children of afflicother family, they have matters among them tion!-how just the expression! and, like every which they hear, see, and feel in a serious, allimportant manner, of which the world has not, nor cares to have, any idea. The world looks indifferently on, makes the passing remark, and proceeds to the next novel occurrence. Alas, Madam! who would wish for many years? What is it but to drag existence until night of misery-like the gloom which blots our joys gradually expire, and leave us in a out the stars one by one, from the face of night, and leaves us, without a ray of comfort, in the howling waste! shall soon hear from me again. I am interrupted, and must leave off. You No. CCXXV. TO THE SAME. R. B. Dumfries, 6th December, 1792. I SHALL be in Ayr-shire, I think, next week; and, if at all possible, I shall certainly, my much esteemed friend, have the pleasure of visiting at Dunlop-house. Alas, Madam! how seldom do we meet in this world, that we have reason to congratulate ourselves on accessions of happiness! I have not passed half the ordinary term of an old man's life, and yet I scarcely look over the obituary of a newspaper that I do not see some names that I have known, and which I and other acquaintances little thought to meet with there so soon. Every other instance of the mortality of our kind makes us cast an anxious look into the dreadful abyss of uncertainty, and shudder with apprehension for our own fate.But of how different an importance are the lives of different individuals! Nay, of what importance is one period of the same life, more than another! A few years ago, I could have laid down in the dust, "careless of the voice of the morning;" and now not a few, and these most helpless individuals, would, on losing me and my exertions, lose both their "staff and shield." By the way, these helpless ones have lately got an addition; Mrs. B having given me a fine girl since I wrote you. There is a charming passage in Thomson's "Edward and Eleanora:" "The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? Or what need he regard his single woes ?" &c. As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall give you another from the same piece, peculiarly, alas! too peculiarly apposite, my dear Madam, to your present frame of mind: "Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him I do not remember to have heard you mention Thomson's dramas. I pick up favourite quotations, and store them in my mind as ready armour, offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence. Of these is one, a very favourite one, from his “ Alfred :” "Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose." Probably I have quoted some of these to you formerly, as indeed, when I write from the heart, I am apt to be guilty of such repetitions. The compass of the heart, in the musical style of expression, is much more bounded than that of the imagination; so the notes of the former are extremely apt to run into one another; but in return for the paucity of its compass, its few notes are much more sweet. I must still give you another quotation, which I am almost sure I have given you before, but I cannot resist the temptation. The subject is religion-speaking of its importance to mankind, the author says, ""Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright." I see you are in for double postage, so I shall e'en scribble out t'other sheet. We, in this country here, have many alarms of the reforming, or rather the republican, spirit of your part of the kingdom. Indeed, we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me, I am a placeman, you know; a very humble one indeed, [Graham, of Fintray, stood the Poet's friend in this hour of peril, and the Board of Excise had the generosity to permit him to continue to eat the "bitter bread" of his situation for the remainder of his life. Burns, in his letter to Erskine of Mar, enters fully into the history of this dark transaction.-CUNNINGHAM.] Sir, you are a husband-and a father.-You know what you would feel to see the muchloved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, prattling little ones, turned adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced from a situation in which they had been respectable and respected. and left almost without the necessary support of Alas, Sir! must I think a miserable existence. that such, soon, will be my lot? and from the d-mned, dark insinuations of hellish groundless envy too! I believe, Sir, I may aver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if worse can be, than those I have mentioned, hung over my head; and I say that the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie! To the British Constitution. on revolution principles, next after my God, I am most devoutly attached; you, Sir, have been much and generously my friend.— Heaven knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, and how gratefully I have thanked you.-Fortune, Sir, has made you powerful, and me inpotent; has given you patronage, and me dependence. I would not for my single selt call on your humanity; were such my insular, unconnected situation, I would despise the tear + [The Commissioners of the Scottish Board of Exce were at this period, George Brown, Thomas Wharton James Stodart, Robert Graham, of Fintray, and Juden Grieve, Esquires.] that now swells in my eye-I could brave misfortune, I could face ruin; for at the worst, "Death's thousand doors stand open;" but, good God! the tender concerns that I have mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at this moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve courage, and wither resolution! Το your patronage, as a man of some genius, you have allowed me a claim; and your esteem, as an honest man, I know is my due: To these, Sir, permit me to appeal; by these may I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to overwhelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I have not deserved. No. CCXXVII. TO MRS. DUNLOP. R. B. Dumfries, 31st December, 1792. DEAR MADAM, A HURRY of business, thrown in heaps by my absence, has until now prevented my returning my grateful acknowledgements to the good family of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that hospitable kindness which rendered the four days I spent under that genial roof, four of the pleasantest I ever enjoyed.—Alas, my dearest friend! how few and fleeting are those things we call pleasures! on my road to Ayrshire, I spent a night with a friend whom I much valued; a man whose days promised to be many; and on Saturday last we laid him in the dust! Jan. 2, 1793. I HAVE just received yours of the 30th, and feel much for your situation. However, I heartily rejoice in your prospect of recovery from that vile jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though not quite free of my complaint. -You must not think, as you seem to insinuate, that in my way of life I want exercise. ["The following extract," says Cromek, "from a letter addressed by Robert Bloomfield to the Earl of Buchan, contains so interesting an exhibition of the modesty inherent in real worth, and so philosophical, and at the same time so poctical an estimate of the different characters and destinies of Burns and its author, that I should esteem myself culpable were I to withhold it from the public view. "The illustrious soul that has left amongst us the name of Burns, has often been lowered down to a comparison with me; but the comparison exists more in circumstances than in essentials. That man stood up with the of supestamp rior intellect on his brow; a visible greatness: and great and patriotic subjects would only have called into action the powers of his mind, which lay inactive while he played calmly and exquisitely the pastoral pipe. 'ReI "The letters to which I have alluded in my preface to the 'Rural Tales' were friendly warnings, pointed with immediate reference to the fate of that extraordinary man. member Burns!' has been the watch-word of my friends. do remember Burns; but I am not Burns! neither have I his fire to fan or to quench; nor his passions to control! Where then is my merit if I make a peaceful voyage on a smooth sea, and with no mutiny on board? To a lady (I Of that I have enough; but occasional hard drinking is the devil to me. Against this I have again and again bent my resolution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have totally abandoned: it is the private parties in the family way, among the hard drinking gentlemen of this country, that do me the mischief but even this, I have more than half given over. Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at present; at least, I should be shy of applying. I cannot possibly be settled as a supervisor for several years. I must wait the rotation of the list, and there are twenty names before mine.I might indeed get a job of officiating, where a settled supervisor was ill, or aged; but that hauls me from my family, as I could not remove them on such an uncertainty. Besides, some envious, malicious devil has raised a little demur on my political principles, and I wish to let that matter settle before I offer myself too much in the eye of my supervisors. I have set, henceforth, a seal on my lips, as to these unlucky politics; but to you I must breathe my sentiments. In this, as in every thing else, I shall shew the undisguised emotions of my soul. War I deprecate: misery and ruin to thousands are in the blast that announces the destructive demon. R. B. No. CCXXVIII. TO THE SAME.+ 5th January, 1793. You see my hurried life, Madam: I can only command starts of time; however, I am glad of one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I have corresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the board had made me the subject of their animadversions; and now I have the pleasure of informing you that all is set to rights in that quarter. Now have it from herself), who remonstrated with him on his danger from drink, and the pursuits of some of his associates, he replied, Madam, they would not thank me for my company, if I did not drink with them.-I must give them a slice of my constitution.' How much to be regretted that he did not give them thinner slices of his constitution, that it might have lasted longer!'"] + [In Dr. Currie's edition this letter is dated January 1792, and appears in the place appropriate to that date. The present editor, entertaining no doubt that the real date is 1793, has transferred it from the former to the present place. What gives reason to believe the latter the true date is the allusion to the "political blast" that had threatened the poet's welfare.-CHAMBERS. The Editor of the present edition agrees with Mr. Chambers.-J. C.] [The poet spoke mildly to Mrs. Dunlop concerning the conduct of the Excise in the affair of what he called his political delinquencies; he was not so bird-mouthed to Erskine of Mar: his letter to that gentleman will remain a monument to the eternal dishonour of the government of that day, and the Board of Commissioners.-CUNNINGHAM.] as to these informers, may the devil be let loose to but, hold! I was praying most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a swearing in this. Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what mischief they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or thoughtless blabbings! What a difference there is in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, generosity, kindness,-in all the charities and all the virtues-between one class of human beings and another. For instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with in the hospitable hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts their uncontaminated dignified minds-their informed and polished understandings-what a contrast, when compared-if such comparing were not downright sacrilege-with the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the destruction of an honest man that never offended him, and with a grin of satisfaction see the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents, turned over to beggary and ruin! Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I had two worthy fellows dining with me the other day, when I, with great formality, produced my whigmaleerie cup, and told them that it had been a family-piece among the descendants of William Wallace. This roused such an enthusiasm that they insisted on bumpering the punch round in it; and, by and bye, never did your great ancestor lay a Suthron more completely to rest than for a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the season of wishing. May God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the humblest and sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet many returns of the season! May all good things attend you and yours wherever they are scattered over the earth! No. CCXXIX. TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. R. B. 3d March, 1793. SINCE I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had time to write farther. When I say that I had not time, that as usual means that the three demons, indolence, business, and ennui, have so completely shared my hours among them as not to leave me a five minutes' fragment to take up a pen in. Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the renovating year. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I dare say he thinks I have used him unkindly, [The seal with the arms which the ingenious poet invented was carefully cut in Edinburgh and used by him and, I must own, with too much appearance of truth. Apropos, do you know the much admired old Highland air called "the Sutor's Dochter?" It is a first-rate favourite of mine, and I have written what I reckon one of my best songs to it. I will send it to you, as it was sung with great applause in some fashionable circles by Major Robertson, of Lude, who was here with his corps. There is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately lost a valuable seal, a present from a departed friend, which vexes me much. I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would make a very decent one; and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it; will you be so obliging as inquire what will be the expense of such a business? I do not know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at all; but I have invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief of the name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled to supporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I am a bit of a herald, and shall give you, secundum artem, my arms. On a field, azure, a holly bush, seeded, proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe and crook, saltier-wise, also proper, in chief. On a wreath of the colours, a wood-lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for crest. Two mottoes; round the top of the crest, Wood notes wild; at the bottom of the shield, in the usual place, Better a wee bush than nae bield. By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the nonsense of painters of Arcadia, but a Stock and Horn, and a Club, such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition of the Gentie Shepherd. By the bye, do you know Allan? He must be a man of very great genius-Why is he not more known?-Has he no patrons? or do "Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and heavy" on him? I once, and but once, got a glance of that noble edition of the noblest pastoral in the world; and dear as it was, I mean, dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it; but I was told that it was printed and engraved for subscribers only. He is the only artist who has his genuine pastoral costume. What, my dear Cunningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and harden the heart so? I think that, were I as rich as the sun, I should be as generous as the day; but as I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobier one than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth imparts a bird-lime quality to the possessor, at which the man, in his native poverty, would have revolted. What has led me to the remainder of his life. It is still in the family, and regarded as a relique.] this is the idea of such merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such riches as a nabob or government contractor possesses, and why they do not form a mutual league. Let wealth shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the gratitude and celebrity of that merit will richly repay it.* R. B. specting Miss Benson: how much I admired her abilities and valued her worth, and how very fortunate I thought myself in her acquaintance. For this last reason, my dear Madam, I must entertain no hopes of the very great pleasure of meeting with you again. Miss Hamilton tells me that she is sending a packet to you, and I beg leave to send you the enclosed sonnet, though, to tell you the real truth, the sonnet is a mere pretence, that I may have the opportunity of declaring with how much respectful esteem I have the honour to be, &c. R. B. AMONG many things for which I envy those hale, long-lived old fellows before the flood, is this in particular, that, when they met with any body after their own heart, they had a charming long prospect of many, many happy meetings with them in after-life. Now, in this short, stormy, winter day of our fleeting existence, when you now and then, in the chapter of accidents, meet an individual whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, there are all the probabilities against you that you shall never meet with that valued character more. On the other hand, brief as this miserable being is, it is none of the least of the miseries belonging to it, that if there is any miscreant whom you hate, or creature whom you despise, the ill-run of the chances shall be so against you that, in the overtakings, turnings, and jostlings of life, pop, at some unlucky corner, eternally comes the wretch upon you, and will not allow your indignation or contempt a moment's repose. As I am a sturdy believer in the powers of darkness, I take these to be the doings of that old author of mischief, the devil. It is well-known that he has some kind of short-hand way of taking down our thoughts, and I make no doubt that he is perfectly acquainted with my sentiments re [That Burns admired such a painter as Allan was to be expected: they both wrought on nature of Scottish growth, and both excelled in pictures of humour and glee. As an artist, however, Allan's merits are of a limited nature; he neither excelled in fine drawing nor in harmonious colouring, and grace and grandeur were beyond his reach. He painted portraits, which are chiefly remarkable for a strong homely resemblance: he painted landscapes, but these want light and air, and he attempted the historical, but, save in one picture, "The Corinthian Maid," all his efforts in that way were failures. His genius lay in expression, especially in grave humour and open drollery. Yet it would be difficult perhaps to name one of his pictures where nature is not overcharged: he could not stop his hand till he had driven his subject into the debateable land that lies between truth and caricature. He is among painters what Allan Ramsay is among poets, a fellow of infinite humour, and excelling in all manner of rustic drollery, but deficient in fine sensibility of conception, and little acquainted with lofty emotion or high imagination. Allan was born at Alloa, in Stirling-shire; studied in My poems having just come out in another edition-will you do me the honour to accept of a copy? A mark of my gratitude to you, as a gentleman to whose goodness I have been much indebted; of my respect for you, as a patriot who, in a venal, sliding age, stands forth the champion of the liberties of my country; and of my veneration for you, as a man whose benevolence of heart does honour to human nature. There was a time,† Sir, when I was your dependant: this language then would have been like the vile incense of flattery-I could not have used it.-Now that connexion is at an end, do me the honour to accept of this honest tribute of respect from, Sir, Your much indebted humble servant, R. B. Glasgow and at Rome; returned to his native land, became Master of the Edinburgh Academy, and died there 6th August, 1796, in the fifty-third year of his age. In person he was under the middle size, his form slender, his face coarse and long, and his hair of the colour of sand. His looks were mean and unpromising, till he was in company to his liking, when his large grey eyes grew bright and penetrating, his manners pleasing, and his conversation sprightly and humourous, inclining to satire, and replete with observation and anecdote.-CUNNINGHAM. At his death, he left a series of drawings illustrative of Burns's Works.] [The time to which Burns alludes was when he held the farm of Ellisland as tenant to Mr. Miller. Between the laird and the farmer there passed no stern words respecting the relinquishing of the lease-but it occasioned a coldness which continued till the death of the latter. At the burial of the Bard, the eyes of Miller were wet when many around were dry. CUNNINGHAM.] 3A 2 |