Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some kind of rhyme; and he would infallibly compose a Scots air. Certain it is that, in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and corrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know, has the same story of the Black Keys; but this account which I have just given you, Mr. Clarke in formed me of, several years ago. Now to shew you how difficult it is to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly asserted that this was an Irish air; nay, I met with an Irish gentleman who affirmed he had heard it in Ireland among the old women; while, on the other hand, a Countess informed me, that the first person who introduced the air into this country, was a baronet's lady of her acquaintance, who took down the notes from an itinerant piper in the Isle of Man. How difficult then to ascertain the truth respecting our poesy and music' I, myself, have lately seen a couple of ballads sung through the streets of Dumfries, with my name at the head of them as the author, though it was the first time I had ever seen them. I thank you for admitting Craigie-burnwood; and I shall take care to furnish you with a new chorus. In fact, the chorus was not my work, but a part of some old verses to the air. If I can catch myself in a more than ordinarily propitious moment, I shall write a new Craigieburn-wood altogether. My heart is much in the theme. I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the request; 'tis dunning your generosity; but in a moment, when I had forgotten whether I was rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of your songs. It wrings my honest pride to write you this; but au ungracious request is doubly so by a tedious apology. To make you some amends, as soon as I have extracted the necessary information out of them, I will return you Ritson's volumes. The lady is not a little proud that she is to make so distinguished a figure in your collection, and I am not a little proud that I have it in my power to please her so much. Lucky it is for your patience that my paper is done, for when I am in a scribbling humour, I know not when to give over. more Bacchanalian than amorous in its nature, and recommends it to you to match the air accordingly. Pray did it ever occur to you how peculiarly well the Scottish airs are adapted for verses in the form of a dialogue? The first part of the air is generally low, and suited for a man's voice, and the second part in many instances cannot be sung, at concert pitch, but by a female voice. A song thus performed makes an agreeable variety, but few of ours are written in this form: I wish you would think of it in some of those that remain. The only one of the kind you have sent me, is admirable, and will be an universal favourite. Your verses for Rothemurche are so sweetly pastoral, and your serenade to Chloris, for Deil tak the wars, so passionately tender, that I have sung myself into raptures with them. Your song for My lodging is on the cold ground, is likewise a diamond of the first water; I am quite dazzled and delighted by it. Some of your Chlorises I suppose have flaxen hair, from your partiality for this colour; else we differ about it; for I should scarcely conceive a woman to be a beauty, on reading that she had lint-white locks! Farewell thou stream that winding flows, I think excellent, but it is much too serious to come after Nancy: at least it would seem an incongruity to provide the same air with merry Scottish and melancholy English verses! The more that the two sets of verses resemble each other in their general character, the better. Those you have manufactured for Dainty Davie, will answer charmingly. I am happy to find you have begun your anecdotes: I care not how long they be, for it is impossible that any thing from your pen can be tedious. me beseech you not to use ceremony in telling me when you wish to present any of your friends with the songs: the next carrier will bring you three copies, and you are as welcome to twenty as to a pinch of snuff. No. LXIV. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. Let 19th November, 1794. You see, my dear Sir, what a punctual correspondent I am; though indeed you may thank yourself for the tedium of my letters, as you have so flattered me on my horsemanship with my favourite hobby, and have praised the grace of his ambling so much, that am scarcely ever off his back. For instance, this morning, though a keen blowing frost, in my walk before breakfast, I finished my duet which you were pleased to praise so much. Whether I have uniformly succeeded, I will not say; but here it for you, though it is not an hour old. (O Philly, happy be that day, p. 220.) Tell me honestly how you like it; and point out whatever you think faulty. |(Contented wi' little, and cantre wi mair, p 197.) Since yesterday's penmanship, I have frameo a couple of English Stanzas, by way of an Eng lish song to Roy's wife. You will allow me that in this instance, my English corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish. (Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? p. 196.) I am much pleased with your idea of singing our songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that you did not hint it to me sooner. In those that remain, I shall have it in my eye. I remember your objections to the name Philly; but it is the common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally, the only other name that suits, has, to my ear, a vulgarity about it, which unfits it for any thing except burlesque. The legion of Scottish poe-turns across my room, and with two or three tasters of the day, whom your brother editor, pinches of Irish Blackguard, is not so far amiss. Mr. Ritson, ranks with me, as my coevals, have You see I am determined to have my quantum always mistaken vulgarity for simplicity; where- of applause from somebody. as, simplicity is as much eloignée from vulgarity Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we on the one hand, as from affected point and puer-only want the trifling circumstance of being ile, conceit on the other. known to one another, to be the best friends on Well! I think this, to be done in two or three I agree with you as to the air, Craigie-burn-earth), that I much suspect he has, in his plates, wood, that a chorus would in some degree spoil mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I the effect, and shall certainly have none in my have, at last, gotten one; but it is a very rude projected song to it. It is not however a case instrument. It is composed of three parts; the in point with Rothiemurchie; there, as in Roy's stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep, Wife of Aldivalloch, a chorus goes, to my taste, such as you see in a mutton-ham; the horn, well enough. As to the chorus going first, that which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut is the case with Roy's Wife, as well as Rothie-off at the smaller end, until the aperture be large murchie. In fact, in the first part of both tunes, enough to admit the stock to be pushed up the rhyme is so peculiar and irregular, and on through the horn, until it be held by the thicker that irregularity depends so much of their beau-end of the thigh-bone; and lastly, an oaten ty, that we must e'en take them with all their wildness, and humour the verse accordingly. Leaving out the starting note, in both tunes, has, I think, an effect that no regularity could counterbalance the want of. Try and Compare {0 Roy's wife of Aldivalocho O lassie wi' the lint-white locks. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch. reed exactly cut and notched like that which you see every shepherd-boy have, when the corn stems are green and full-grown. The reed is not made fast in the bone, but is held by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of the stock; while the stock, with the horn hanging on its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock has six or seven ventiges on the upper side, and one back-ventige, like the common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds wont to use in that country. Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable However, either it is not quite properly bored strike you? In the last case, with the true in the holes, or else we have not the art of blowfuror of genius, you strike at once into the wilding it rightly; for we can make little of it. If originality of the air; whereas in the first insi- Mr Allan chooses, I will send him a sight of pid method, it is like the grating screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into tune. This is my taste; if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the cognoscenti. i, with Lassie wi' the lint-white locks. The Caledonian Hunt is so charming, that it would make any subject in a song go down; but pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scottish Bacchanalians we certainly want, though the few we have are excellent. For instance, Todlin hame is, for wit and humour, an unparalleled composition; and Andrew and his cutty gun is the work of a master. By the way, are you not quite vexed to think that those men of genius, for such they certainly were, who composed our fine Scottish lyrics, should be unknown! It has given me many a heart-ache. Apropos to Bacchanalian songs in Scottish; I composed one yesterday for an air I like much-Lumps o' pud ding. mine; as I look on myself to be a kind of brother-brush with him. "Pride in Poets is nae sin," and, I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real painters of Scottish costume in the world. No. LXV. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. 28th November, 1794. I ACKNOWLEDGE, my dear Sir, you are not only the most punctual, but the most delectable correspondent I ever met with. To attempt flattering you never entered my head; the truth is, I look back with surprise at my impudence (My Nannie's awa, p. 212.) in so frequently nibbling at lines and couplets | Jacobite song, in the Museum, to There'll never of your incomparable lyrics, for which, perhaps, be peace till Jamie comes hame, would not so if you had served me right, you would have well consort with Peter Pindar's excellent loveent me to the devil. On the contrary, how-song to that air, I have just framed for you the ever, you have all along condescended to invite following: my criticism with so much courtesy, that it ceases to be wonderful, if I have sometimes given myself the airs of a reviewer. Your last budget demands unqualified praise: all the songs How does this please you? As to the point are charming, but the duet is a chief d'œuvre. of time for the expression, in your proposed Lumps of pudding shall certainly make one of print from my Sodger's return: It must cermy family dishes; you have cooked it so capi-tainly be at-" She gazed." The interesting tally, that it will please all palates. Do give dubiety and suspense, taking possession of her us a few more of this cast, when you find your-countenance; and the gushing fondness, with self in good spirits: these convivial songs are a mixture of roguish playfulness in his, strike more wanted than those of the amorous kind, me, as things of which a master will make a of which we have great choice. Besides, one great deal. In great haste, but in great truth, does not often meet with a singer capable of yours. giving the proper effect to the latter, while the former are easily sung, and acceptable to every body. I participate in your regret that the authors of some of our best songs are unknown; it is provoking to every admirer of genius. 66 I mean to have a picture painted from your beautiful ballad, The Soldier's return, to be engraved for one of my frontispieces. The most interesting point of time appears to me, when she first recognizes her ain dear Willy, She gaz'd, she redden'd like a rose. The three lines immediately following, are no doubt more impressive on the reader's feelings; but were the painter to fix on these, then you'll observe the animation and anxiety of her countenance is gone, and he could only represent her fainting in the soldier's arms. But I submit the matter to you, and beg your opinion. your ac Allan desires me to thank you for curate description of the stock and horn, and for the very gratifying compliment you pay him in considering him worthy of standing in a niche by the side of Burns in the Scottish Pantheon. He has seen the rude instrument you describe, so does not want you to send it; but wishes to know whether you believe it to have ever been generally used as a musical pipe by the Scottish shepherds, and when, and in what part of the No. LXVII. THE SAME TO THE SAME. January, 1795. I FEAR for my songs: however, a few may please, yet originality is a coy feature in composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the same style, disappears altogether. For these three thousand years, we poetic folks have been describing the spring, for instance; and as the spring continues the same, there must soon be a sameness in the imagery, &c. of these said rhyming folks. A great critic, Aiken on songs, says, that love and wine are the exclusive themes for song writing. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is no song; but will be allowed, think, to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts, inverted into rhyme. (A man's a man for a' that, p. 67.) I do not give you the foregoing song for your country chiefly. I doubt much if it was capa- book, but inerely by way of vive la bagatelle; ble of any thing but routing and roaring. A for the piece is not really poetry. How will friend of mine says, he remembers to have heard the following do for Craigie-burn-wood? one in his younger days (made of wood instead of your bone), and that the sound was abomin-(Sweet fu's the eve on Craigie-burn, p. 224.) ty of original writing in a number of efforts, in As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good the same style, strikes me very forcibly; and it night. has again and again excited my wonder to find you continually surmounting this difficulty, in the many delightful songs you have sent me. Your vive la bagatelle song, For a' that, shall undoubtedly be included in my list. No. LXIX. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. February, 1795. HERE is another trial at your favourite air. (0 let me in this ae night, and Answer, p. 217.) I do not know whether it will do. No. LXX. THE SAME TO THE SAME. Ecclefechan, 7th Feb. 1795. MY DEAR THOMSON, You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you. In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted of late) I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked, little village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded my progress: I have tried to " gae back the gate I cam again," but the same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow, under the hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account, exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of them: like a prudent man, (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed), I, of two evils have chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your service! I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you all I wanted to say; and heaven knows, at present, I have not capacity. Do you know an air-I am sure you must know it, We'll gang nae mair to yon town: I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would consecrate it. • The bard must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse sweet Ecc fechan at this rate. No. LXXI. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. 25th February, 1795. I HAVE to thank you, my dear Sir, for two epistles, one containing Let me in this ae night; and the other from Ecclefechan, proving, that drunk or sober, your "mind is never muddy." You have displayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much. I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song making. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for, O wat ye wha's in yon town? No. LXXII. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. May, 1795. (The Woodlark, p, 237.) Let me know your very first leisure how you like this song. (Long, long the night, p. 207 ) How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, Humours of Glen, is a great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the Poor Soldier, there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for it as follows: (Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, p. 195.) ('Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin, p. 237.) Let me hear from you. No. LXXIII. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and strange coincidence is, that the little one who worthy artist, that the design and execution of is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail "ill-deedie, The Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opi- is the most striking likeness of an nion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's d-n'd, wee, rumble-garie, urchin" of mine, pencil. I shail be grievously disappointed if whom, from that propensity to witty wickedyou are not quite pleased with it. ness and manfu' mischief, which, even at twa 1 he figure intended for your portrait, I think days auld, I foresaw would form the striking strikingly like you, as far as I can remember features of his disposition, I named Willie Nicoll, your phiz. This should make the piece inter-after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the esting to your family every way. Tell me masters of a grammar-school in a city which whether Mrs. Burns finds you out among the shall be nameless. figures. I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Woodlark, your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia, and your affecting verses on Chloris' illness. Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to Laddie lie near me, though not equal to these, is very pleasing. Give the enclosed epigram to my muchvalued friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me, in a manner introduced me-I mean a well known military and literary character, Colonel Dirom. You do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. Are they condemned? No. LXXIV. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. (How cruel are the parents, p. 204.) No. LXXVI. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. 13th May, 1795. Ir gives me great pleasure to find that you are all so well satisfied with Mr. Allan's proWell! this is not amiss. You see how I duction. The chance resemblance of your little answer your orders: your tailor could not be fellow, whose promising disposition appeared so more punctual. I am just now in a high fit very early, and suggested whom he should be of poetizing, provided that the strait-jacket of named after, is curious enough. I am acquaintcriticism don't cure me. If you can in a posted with that person, who is a prodigy of learnor two administer a little of the intoxicating ing and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though potion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's phrenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment "holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. No. LXXV. "THE SAME TO THE SAME. May, 1795. I TEN thousand thanks for your elegant present; though I am ashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. have shown it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz "sae kenspeckle," that the very joiner's apprentice whom Mrs. Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day) knew it at once. My most grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil. One no saint. You really make me blush when you tell me you have not merited the drawing from me. I do not think I can ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you for the liberal and kind manner in which you have entered into the spirit of my undertaking, which could not have been perfected without you: So I beg you would not make a fool of me again, by speaking of obligation. I like your two last songs very much, and am happy to find you are in such a high fit of poetizing. Long may it last. Clarke has made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative ballad of William and Margaret, and is to give it to me, to be enrolled among the elect. No. LXXVII. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. IN Whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad, the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think is an improvement: |