temperament of constitution inclining him to just after a train of misfortunes, I composed this or that virtue. For this reason, no man the following:

The wintry west extends his blast, &c.
See Songs.

can say in what degree any other person, besides himself, can be, with strict justice, called wicked. Let any of the strictest character for regularity of conduct among us, examine impartially how many vices he has never been Shenstone finely observes, that love-verses, guilty of, not from any care or vigilance, but writ without any real passion, are the most for want of opportunity, or some accidental cir- nauseous of all conceits; and I have often cumstance intervening; how many of the weak- thought that no man can be a proper critic of nesses of mankind he has escaped, because he love-composition, except he himself, in one or was out of the line of such temptation; and, more instances, have been a warm votary of what often, if not always weighs more than all this passion. As I have been all along a the rest, how much he is indebted to the world's good opinion, because the world does not know all: I say, any man who can thus think, will scan the failings, nay, the faults and crimes, of mankind around him, with a brother's eye.

miserable dupe to love, and have been led into a thousand weaknesses and follies by it, for that reason I put the more confidence in my critical skill, in distinguishing foppery, and conceit, from real passion and nature. Whether I have often courted the acquaintance of the following song will stand the test, I will that part of mankind commonly known by the not pretend to say, because it is my own; only ordinary phrase of blackguards, sometimes far-I can say it was at the time, genuine from the ther than was consistent with the safety of my character; those who, by thoughtless prodigality or headstrong passions, have been driven to ruin. Though disgraced by follies, nay, sometimes "stained with guilt,

..," I have yet found among them, in not a few instances, some of the noblest virtues, magnanimity, generosity, disinterested friendship, and even modesty.

April.

heart.

Behind yon hills, &c.

See Songs.

I think the whole species of young men may be naturally enough divided into two grand classes, which I shall call the grave and the merry; though, by the bye, these terms do not with propriety enough express my ideas. The grave I shall cast into the usual division of those who are goaded on by the love of money, and those whose darling wish is to make a As I am what the men of the world, if they figure in the world. The merry are, the men knew such a man, would call a whimsical mor- of pleasure of all denominations; the jovial tal, I have various sources of pleasure and en-lads, who have too much fire and spirit to have joyment, which are, in a manner, peculiar to any settled rule of action; but without much myself, or some here and there such other out-deliberation, follow the strong impulses of naof-the-way person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in the season of winter, more than the rest of the year. This, I believe, may be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast: but there is something even in the

"Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste
Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried
earth,"-

ture; the thoughtless, the careless, the indolent-in particular he, who, with a happy sweetness of natural temper, and a cheerful vacancy of thought, steals through life-generally, indeed, in poverty and obscurity; but poverty and obscurity are only evils to him who can sit gravely down and make a repining comparison between his own situation and that of others; and lastly to grace the quorum, such are, generally, those heads are capable of all the towerings of genius, and whose hearts are warmed with all the delicacy of feeling.

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable to every thing great and noble. There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more I do not know if I should call it plea- As the grand end of human life is to cultivate sure-but something which exalts me, some-an intercourse with that Being to whom we thing which enraptures me-than to walk in owe life, with every enjoyment that can render the sheltered side of the wood, or high planta- life delightful; and to maintain an integritive tion, in a cloudy winter-day, and hear the conduct towards our fellow-creatures; that so, stormy wind howling among the trees, and by forming piety and virtue into habit, we may raving over the plain. It is my best season be fit members for that society of the pious and for devotion: my mind is wrapt up in a kind the good, which reason and revelation teach us of enthusiasm to Him, who, in the pompous to expect beyond the grave: I do not see that language of the Hebrew bard, "walks on the the turn of mind, and pursuits of any son of powings of the wind." In one of these seasons, verty and obscurity, are in the least more inimi

oal to the sacred interests of piety and virtue, for your silence and neglect; I shall only say I than the, even lawful, bustling and straining received yours with great pleasure. I have enafter the world's riches and honours; and I do closed you a piece of rhyming ware for your not see but that he may gain Heaven as well perusal. I have been very busy with the muses (which, by the bye, is no mean consideration), since I saw you, and have composed, among sewho steals through the vale of life, amusing veral others, The Ordination, a poem on Mr. himself with every little flower that fortune M'Kinlay's being called to Kilmarnock; Scotch throws in his way; as he who, straining straight Drink, a poem ; The Cotter's Saturday Night; forward, and perhaps bespattering all about him, An Address to the Devil, &c. I have likewise gains some of life's little eminences; where, af- completed my poem on the Dogs, but have not ter all, he can only see, and be seen, a little more shewn it to the world. My chief patron now conspicuously, than what, in the pride of his is Mr. Aiken in Ayr, who is pleased to express heart, he is apt to term the poor, indolent devil great approbation of my works. Be so good as he has left behind him. send me Fergusson, by Connel, and I will remit you the money. I have no news to acquaint you with about Mauchline, they are just There is a noble sublimity, a heart-melting going on in the old way. I have some very im tenderness, in some of our ancient ballads, which portant news with respect to myself, not the shows them to be the work of a masterly hand: most agreeable, news that I am sure you cannot and it has often given me many a heart-ache to guess, but I shall give you the particulars an reflect, that such glorious old bards-bards who other time. I am extremely happy with Smith; very probably owed all their talents to native he is the only friend I have now in Mauchline, genius, yet have described the exploits of he- I can scarcely forgive your long neglect of me, roes, the pangs of disappointment, and the melt- and I beg you will let me hear from you reguings of love, with such fine strokes of nature-larly by Connel. If you would act your part as that their very names (O how mortifying to a & FRIEND, I am sure neither good nor bad for. bard's vanity!) are now "buried among the tune should strange or alter me. Excuse haste, wreck of things which were.' as I got yours but yesterday.-I am,

My dear Sir,
Yours,
ROBT. BURNESS.

No. VIII.

TO MR. M WHINNIE, WRITER, ÄYR.

O ye illustrious names unknown! who could feel so strongly and describe so well; the last, the meanest of the muses' train-one who, though far inferior to your flights, yet eyes your path, and with trembling wing would sometimes Boar after you-a poor rustic bard unknown, pays this sympathetic pang to your memory! Some of you tell us, with all the charms of verse, that you have been unfortunate in the world-unfortunate in love: he too has felt the loss of his little fortune, the loss of friends, and, worse than all, the loss of the woman he adored, Mossgiel, 17th April, 1786. Like you, all his consolation was his muse: she Ir is injuring some hearts, those hearts that taught him in rustic measures to complain. elegantly bear the impression of the good Crea Happy could he have done it with your strength tor, to say to them you give them the trouble of imagination and flow of verse! May the turf of obliging a friend; for this reason, I only tell lie lightly on your bones! and may you now you that I gratify my own feelings in requesting enjoy that solace and rest which this world sel- your friendly offices with respect to the enclosed, dom gives to the heart, tuned to all the feelings because I know it will gratify yours to assist of poesy and love! me in it to the utmost of your power.

I have sent you four copies, as I have no less than eight dozen, which is a great deal more than I shall ever need.

Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in your prayers. He looks forward with fear and trembling to that, to him, important moment

• Connel-the Mauchline carrier.

t Mr. James Smith, then a shop-keeper in Mauch line. It was to this young man that Burns addressed one of his finest performances-" To J. S" be ginning

"Dear S, the sleest, paukie thief." He died in the West-Indies.

This is the only letter the Editor has met with is which the Poet adds the termination ess to his name, as his father and family had spelled it

which stamps the die with-with-with, per- news to tell you that will give me any pleasure haps the eternal disgrace of,

My dear Sir,

You humbled,
afflicted,
tormented

ROBT. BURNS.

No. IX.

TO MONS. JAMES SMITH, MAUCHLINE.

Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786.

MY DEAR SIR,

to mention or you to hear.

And now for a grand cure; the ship is on her way home that is to take me out to Jamaica; and then, farewell dear old Scotland, and farewell dear ungrateful Jean, for never, never will I see you more.

You will have heard that I am going to commence Poet in print; and to-morrow my works go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of about two hundred pages-it is just the last fooish action I intend to do; and then turn a wise man as fast as possible.

I WENT to Dr. Douglas yesterday fully re-
solved to take the opportunity of Capt. Smith;
but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and Mrs.
White, both Jamaicans, and they have deranged
my plans altogether. They assure him that to
send me from Savannah la Mar to Port Antonio
will cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards
of fifty pounds; besides running the risk of
throwing myself into a pleuritic fever in conse
quence of hard travelling in the sun. On these
accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith, but (THE
a vessel sails from Greenock the first of Sept.
right for the place of my destination. The Cap-
tain of her is an intimate of Mr. Gavin Hamil-
ton's, and as good a fellow as heart could wish:
with him I am destined to go. Where I shall
shelter, I know not, but I hope to weather the
storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that
fears them! I know their worst, and am pre-
pared to meet it.

I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg,
As lang's I dow.

On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven o'clock, I shall see you as I ride through to Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex! I feel there is still happiness for me among

them.

O woman, lovely woman! Heaven designed you To temper man! we had been brutes without you!

No. X.

TO MR. DAVID BRICE.

DEAR BRICE,

Mossgiel, June 12, 1786.

SIR,

Believe me to be,

Dear BRICE,

Your friend and well-wisher.

No. XI.

TO MR. AIKEN

GENTLEMAN TO WHOM THE COTTER'S
SATURDAY NIGHT IS ADDRESSED.)

Ayrshire, 1786.
I was with Wilson, my printer, t'other day,
and settled all our by-gone matters between us.
After I had paid him all demands, I made him
the offer of the second edition, on the hazard of
being paid out of the first and readiest, which
he declines. By his account, the paper of a
thousand copies would cost about twenty-seven
pounds, and the printing about fifteen or six-
teen: he offers to agree to this for the printing,
if I will advance for the paper; but this you
know, is out of my power; so farewell hopes
of a second edition till I grow richer !an
epocha which, I think, will arrive at the pay-
ment of the British national debt.

in

being disappointed of my second edition, as There is scarcely any thing hurts me so much not having it in my power to show my grati of The Brigs of Ayr. I would detest myself tude to Mr. Ballantyne, by publishing my poem as a wretch, if I thought I were capable, in a very long life, of forgetting the honest, warm, and tender delicacy with which he enters into my interests. I am sometimes pleased with myself in my grateful sensations; but I believe, on the whole, I have very little merit in it, as my gratitude is not a virtue, the consequence of re flection, but sheerly the instinctive emotion of heart too inattentive to allow worldly maxims and views to settle into selfish habits.

I RECEIVED your message by G. Paterson, I have been feeling all the various rotations and as I am not very throng at present, I just and movements within, respecting the excise. write to let you know that there is such a worth-There are many things plead strongly against it ; less, rhyming reprobate, as your humble servant, the uncertainty of getting soon into business, the still in the land of the living, though I can consequences of my follies, which may perhaps scarcely say, in the place of hope. I have no make it impracticable for me to stay at home;

and besides, I have for some time been pining |gressive struggle; and that, however I might under secret wretchedness, from causes which possess a warm heart and inoffensive manners you pretty well know-the pang of disappoint-(which last, by the bye, was rather more than ment, the sting of pride, with some wandering I could well boast), still, more than these passtabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on sive qualities, there was something to be done. my vitals like vultures, when attention is not When all my school-fellows and youthful comcalled away by the calls of society or the vaga-peers (those misguided few excepted, who joinries of the muse. Even in the hour of social ed, to use a Gentoo phrase, the hallachores of mirth, my gaiety is the madness of an intoxica- the human race), were striking off with eager ted criminal under the hands of the executioner. hope and earnest intent on some one or other All these reasons urge me to go abroad; and to of the many paths of busy life, I was "standall these reasons I have only one answer-the ing idle in the market place," or only left the feelings of a father. This, in the present mood chase of the butterfly from flower to flower, to I am in, overbalances every thing that can be hunt fancy from whim to whim. laid in the scale against it.

You see, Sir, that if to know one's errors You may perhaps think it an extravagant fair chance; but, according to the reverend were a probability of mending them, I stand fancy, but it is a sentiment which strikes home Westminster divines, though conviction must to my very soul: though sceptical, in some points, of our current belief, yet, I think, I have implying it. precede conversion, it is very far from always every evidence for the reality of a life beyond the stinted bourne of our present existence; if so, then how should I, in the presence of that tremendous Being, the Author of existence, how should I meet the reproaches of those who stand to me in the dear relation of children, whom I deserted in the smiling innocency of helpless infancy? O, thou great unknown Power! thou Almighty God! who hast lighted up reason in my breast, and blessed me with immortality! I have frequently wandered from that order and regularity necessary for the perfection of thy works, yet thou hast never left me nor forsaken

me!

No. XII.

TO MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.

MADAM,

Ayrshire, 1786.

when I was so much honoured with your order I AM truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, for my copies, and incomparably more by the handsome compliments you are pleased to pay my poetic abilities. I am fully persuaded that Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have alive to the titillations of applause as the sons there is not any class of mankind so feelingly seen something of the storm of mischief thick-of Parnassus; nor is it easy to conceive how ening over my folly-devoted head. my friends, my benefactors, be successful in when those whose character in life gives them Should you, the heart of the poor bard dances with rapture, your applications for me, perhaps it may not be in my power in that way to reap the fruit of a your friendly efforts. What I have written in the preceding pages is the settled tenor of my present resolution; but should inimical circumstances forbid me closing with your kind offer, or, enjoying it, only threaten to entail farther misery

right to be polite judges, honour him with their approbation. Had you been thoroughly have touched my darling heart-chord more acquainted with me, Madam, you could not sweetly than by noticing my attempts to celebrate your illustrious ancestor, the Saviour of his Country.

"Great, patriot hero! ill-requited chief."

which I perused with pleasure, was The Life The first book I met with in my early years, of Hannibal: the next was The History of Sir William Wallace: for several of my earlier years I had few other authors; and many a

To tell the truth, I have little reason for this last complaint, as the world, in general, has been kind to me, fully up to my deserts. I was, for some time past, fast getting into the pining distrustful snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone, unfit for the struggle of life, solitary hour have I stole out, after the laborishrinking at every rising cloud in the chance- their glorious but unfortunate stories. In those ous vocations of the day, to shed a tear over directed atmosphere of fortune, while, all de- boyish days I remember in particular being

fenceless, I looked about in vain for a cover.

It never occurred to me, at least never with the

force it deserved, that this world is a busy tress of mind occasioned by our Poet's separation from This letter was evidently written ander the disscene, and man a creature destined for a pro-Mrs. Burns.

I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life allowed, and walked half a dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto; and, as I explored every den and dell where I could suppose my heroic countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even then I was a rhymer), that my heart glowed with a wish to be able to make a song on him in some measure equal to his merits.

No. XIII.

TO MRS. STEWART, OF STAIR.

MADAM,

1786.

scension and affability, they would never stand so high, measuring out with every look the height of their elevation, but condescend as sweetly as did Mrs. Stewart of Stair.

No. XIV.

DR. BLACKLOCK,

ΤΟ

THE REVEREND MR. G. LOWRIE.

REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,

I OUGHT to have acknowledged your favour long ago, not only as a testimony of your kind remembrance, but as it gave me an opportunity of sharing one of the finest, and, perhaps, one of the most genuine entertainments, of which the human mind is susceptible. A number of avocations retarded my progress in reading the poems; at last, however, I have finished that pleasing perusal.

THE hurry of my preparations for going abroad has hindered me from performing my pro-Many instances have I seen of Nature's force and mise so soon as I intended. I have here sent you beneficence exerted under numerous and formida parcel of songs, &c. which never made their able disadvantages; but none equal to that with appearance, except to a friend or two at most. which you have been kind enough to present me. Perhaps some of them may be no great enter- There is a pathos and delicacy in his serious tainment to you: but of that I am far from be- poems, a vein of wit and humour in those of a ing an adequate judge. The song to the tune more festive turn, which cannot be too much of Ettrick Banks, you will easily see the impro-admired, nor too warmly approved; and I think priety of exposing much even in manuscript. I shall never open the book without feeling my I think, myself, it has some merit, both as a to- astonishment renewed and increased. It was my lerable description of one of Nature's sweetest wish to have expressed my approbation in verse; scenes, a July evening, and one of the finest but whether from declining life, or a temporary pieces of Nature's workmanship, the finest in-depression of spirits, it is at present out of my deed we know any thing of, an amiable, beauti-power to accomplish that agreeable intention. ful young woman; but I have no common Mr. Stewart, Professor of Morals in this Unifriend to procure me that permission, without versity, had formerly read me three of the poems, which I would not dare to spread the copy. and I had desired him to get my name inserted I am quite aware, Madam, what task the among the subscribers; but whether this was world would assign me in this letter. The ob- done, or not, never could learn. I have little scure bard, when any of the great condescend intercourse with Dr. Blair, but will take care to take notice of him, should heap the altar with to have the poems communicated to him by the the incense of flattery. Their high ancestry, intervention of some mutual friend. It has been their own great and godlike qualities and actions, told me by a gentleman, to whom I showed the should be recounted with the most exaggerated performances, and who sought a copy with dilidescription. This, Madam, is a task for which gence and ardour, that the whole impression is I am altogether unfit. Besides a certain dis- already exhausted. It were, therefore, much to qualifying pride of heart, I know nothing of be wished, for the sake of the young man, that your connections in life, and have no access to a second edition, more numerous than the former, where your real character is to be found-the could immediately be printed; as it appears cercompany of your compeers: and more, I am a-tain that its intrinsic merit, and the exertion of fraid that even the most refined adulation is by the author's friends, might give it a more unino means the road to your good opinion.

One feature of your character I shall ever with grateful pleasure remember--the reception I got, when I had the honour of waiting on you at Stair. I am little acquainted with politeness; but I know a good deal of benevolence of temper and goodness of heart. Surely, did those in exalted stations know how happy they could make some classes of their inferiors by conde

Miss A

versal circulation than any thing of the kind which has been published within my memory.t

The song enclosed is that given in the Life of our Poet; beginning,

'Twas e'en-the dewy fields were green, &c. The reader will perceive that this is the letter which produced the determination of our Bard to give up his scheme of going to the West Indies, and to try the fate of a new edition of his poems in Edinburgh. A copy of this letter was sent by Mr. Lowrie to Mr. G. Hamilton, and by him communicated to Burns, among whose papers it was found.