last two girls who can be luxuriantly happy in their own minds and with one another, without that commonly necessary appendage to female bliss -a lover. Charlotte and you are just two favourite resting-places for my soul in her wanderings through the weary, thorny wilderness of this world. God knows I am ill-fitted for the struggle: I glory in being a Poet, and I want to be thought a wise man-I would fondly be generous, and I wish to be rich. After all, I am afraid I am a lost subject. "Some folk hae a hantle o' fauts, an' I'm but a ne'er-do-weel." Afternoon. To close the melancholy reflections at the end of last sheet, I shall just add a piece of devotion commonly known in Carrick by the title of the "Wabster's grace :' "Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we, R. B. No. LXXI. TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD. [EDINBURGH, December, 1787.] SIR, Mr. Mackenzie, in Mauchline, my very warm and worthy friend, has informed me how much you are pleased to interest yourself in my fate as a man, and (what to me is incomparably dearer) my fame as a poet. I have, Sir, in one or two instances, been patronized by those of your character in life, when I was introduced to their notice by * * * * friends to them, and honoured acquaintances to me; but you are the first gentleman in the country whose benevolence and goodness of heart has interested himself for me, unsolicited and unknown. I am not master enough of the etiquette of these matters to know, nor did I stay to inquire, whether formal duty bade, or cold propriety disallowed, my thanking you in this manner, as I am convinced, from the light in which you kindly view me, that you will do me the justice to believe this letter is not the manœuvre of the needy, sharping author, fastening on those in upper life, who honour him with a little notice of him or his works. Indeed, the situation of poets is generally such, to a proverb, as may, in some measure, palliate that prostitution of heart and talents they have at times been guilty of. I do not think prodigality is, by any means, a necessary concomitant of a poetic turn, but I believe a careless, indolent attention to economy is almost inseparable from it; then there must be in the heart of every bard of Nature's making, a certain modest sensibility, mixed with a kind of pride, that will ever keep him out of the way of those windfalls of fortune which frequently light on hardy impudence and foot-licking servility. It is not easy to imagine a more helpless state than his whose poetic fancy unfits him for the world, and whose character as a scholar gives him some pretensions to the politesse of life-yet is as poor as I am. For my part, I thank Heaven my star has been kinder; learning never elevated my ideas above the peasant's shed, and I have an independent fortune at the plough-tail. I was surprised to hear that any one who pretended in the least to the manners of the gentleman, should be so foolish, or worse, as to stoop to traduce the morals of such a one as I am, and so inhumanly cruel, too, as to meddle with that late most unfortunate, unhappy part of my story. With a tear of gratitude, I thank you, Sir, for the warmth with which you interposed in behalf of my conduct. I am, I acknowledge, too frequently the sport of whim, caprice, and passion, but reverence to God, and integrity to my fellow-creatures, I hope I shall ever preserve. I have no return, Sir, to make you for your goodness but one-a return which I am persuaded will not be unacceptable-the honest, warm wishes of a grateful heart for your happiness, and every one of that lovely flock, who stand to you in a filial relation. If ever calumny aim the poisoned shaft at them, may friendship be by to ward the blow !-R. B. No. LXXII. TO GAVIN HAMILTON. [EDINBURGH, December, 1787.] MY DEAR SIR, It is indeed with the highest pleasure that I congratulate you on the return of days of ease and nights of pleasure, after the horrid hours of misery in which I saw you suffering existence when last in Ayrshire; I seldom pray for anybody, "I'm baith dead-sweer and wretched ill o't;" but most fervently do I beseech the Power that directs the world, that you may live long and be happy, but live no longer than you are happy. It is needless for me to advise you to have a reverend care of your health. I know you will make it a point never at one time to drink more than a pint of wine (I mean an English pint), and that you will never be witness to more than one bowl of punch at a time, and that cold drams you will never more taste; and, above all things, I am convinced, that after drinking perhaps boiling punch, you will never mount your horse and gallop home in a chill late hour. Above all things, as I understand you are in habits of intimacy with that Boanerges of gospel powers, Father Auld, be earnest with him that he will wrestle in prayer for you, that you may see the vanity of vanities in trusting to, or even practising the casual moral works of charity, humanity, generosity, and forgiveness of things, which you practised so flagrantly that it was evident you delighted in them, neglecting, or perhaps profanely despising, the wholesome doctrine of faith without works, the only author of salvation. A hymn of thanksgiving would, in my opinion, be highly becoming from you at present, and in my zeal for your well-being, I earnestly press on you to be diligent in chaunting over the two enclosed pieces of sacred poesy. My best compliments to Mrs. Hamilton and Miss Kennedy. Yours, &c. R. B. MY DEAR MADAM, No. LXXIII. TO MISS CHALMERS. EDINBURGH, December, 1787. I just now have read yours. The poetic compliments I pay cannot be misunderstood. They are neither of them so particular as to point you out to the world at large; and the circle of your acquaintances will allow all I have said. Besides, I have complimented you chiefly, almost solely, on your mental charms. Shall I be plain with you? I will; so look to it. Personal attractions, Madam, you have much above par; wit, understanding, and worth, you possess in the first class. This is a cursed flat way of telling you these truths, but let me hear no more of your sheepish timidity. I know the world a little. I know what they will say of my poems; by second sight I suppose, for I am seldom out in my conjectures; and you may believe me, my dear Madam, I would not run any risk of hurting you by any ill-judged compliment. I wish to show the world the odds between a poet's friends and those of simple prosemen. More for your information, both the pieces go in. One of them, “Where braving angry winter's storms," is already set-the tune is "Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny;" the other is to be set to an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's collection of ancient Scots music; the name is "Ha a Chaillich air mo Dheith." My treacherous memory has forgot every circumstance about Las Incas, only I think you mentioned them as being in Creech's possession. I shall ask him about it. I am afraid the song of "Somebody" will come too lateas I shall, for certain, leave town in a week for Ayrshire, and from that to Dumfries, but there my hopes are slender. I leave my direction in town, so anything, wherever I am, will reach me. I saw yours to ; it is not too severe, nor did he take it amiss. On the contrary, like a whipped spaniel, he talks of being with you in the Christmas days. Mr. has given him the invitation, and he is determined to accept of it. O selfishness! he owns, in his sober moments, that from his own volatility of inclination, the circumstances in which he is situated, and his knowledge of his father's disposition, the whole affair is chimerical-yet he will gratify an idle penchant at the enormous, cruel expense of perhaps ruining the peace of the very woman for whom he professes the generous passion of love! He is a gentleman in his mind and manners--tant pis! He is a volatile school-boy-the heir of a man's fortune who well knows the value of two times two! Perdition seize them and their fortunes, before they should make the amiable, the lovely the derided object of their purse-proud contempt ! I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. -'s recovery, because I really thought all was over with her. There are days of pleasure yet awaiting her: "As I came in by Glenap, I met with an aged woman; She bade me cheer up my heart, For the best o' my days was comin'." This day will decide my affairs with Creech. Things are, like myself, not what they ought to be; yet better than what they appear to be. "Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings, but Himself, Farewell! remember me to Charlotte. R. B. No. LXXIV. TO MRS. M'LEHOSE. [The correspondence with Clarinda records one of the most interesting, although by no means creditable episodes of Burns's romantic life. The circumstances under which the letters were exchanged are explained in the Biographical Preface. It was at the house of Miss Nimmo, an elderly lady, known both to Burns and his friend, Miss Chalmers, that they first met at tea, according to Mr. Robert Chambers's reckoning, about the 4th of December; and the following letter, the first of a remarkable series, is an acceptance of Mrs. M'Lehose's invitation to tea, on Saturday the 8th. Mrs. M'Lehose preserved all Burns's letters, which she esteemed, in her own words, "precious memorials of an acquaintance, the recollection of which would influence me were I to live till fourscore." (Letter to Mr. Syme, 1796.) After his death she offered to select some passages for publication in the collected edition of his writings for the benefit of his widow and children. The person to whom she lent the letters for the transcription of the extracts she had chosen, copied them all, and published them in violation of his own engagement and against Mrs. M'Lehose's wish. Parts were given in Cromek's Reliques.] MADAM, THURSDAY EVENING [December 6, 1787]. I had set no small store by my tea-drinking to-night, and have not often been so disappointed. Saturday evening I shall embrace the opportunity with the greatest pleasure. I leave town this day se'ennight, and probably for a couple of twelvemonths; but must ever regret that I so lately got an acquaintance I shall ever highly esteem, and in whose welfare I shall ever be warmly interested. Our worthy common friend, in her usual pleasant way, rallied me a good deal on my new acquaintance, and in the humour of her ideas I wrote some lines, which I enclose you, as I think they have a good deal of poetic merit; and Miss [Nimmo] tells me you are not only a critic, but a poetess. Fiction, you know, is the native region of poetry; and I hope you will pardon my vanity in sending you the bagatelle as a tolerable offhand jeu d'esprit. I have several poetic trifles, which I shall gladly leave with Miss [Nimmo] or you, if they were worth house-room; as there are scarcely two people on earth by whom it would mortify me more to be forgotten, though at the distance of ninescore miles. I am, Madam, with the highest respect, Your very humble Servant, No. LXXV. TO MRS. M'LEHOSE. [An accident through a drunken coachman prevented Burns from keeping his engagement.] Saturday Even [Dec. 8). I CAN say with truth, Madam, that I never met with a person in my life whom I more anxiously wished to meet again than yourself. To-night I was to have had that very great pleasure-I was intoxicated with the idea; but an unlucky fall from a coach has so bruised one of my knees, that I can't stir my leg off the cushion. So, if I don't see you again, I shall not rest in my grave for chagrin. I was vexed to the soul I had not seen you sooner. I determined to cultivate your friendship with the enthusiasm of religion; but thus has Fortune ever served me. I cannot bear the idea of leaving Edinburgh without seeing you. I know not how to account for it-I am strangely taken with some people, nor am I often mistaken. You are a stranger to me; but I am an odd being. Some yet unnamed feelings-things, not principles, but better than whims-carry me farther than boasted reason ever did a philosopher. Farewell! every happiness be yours. ROBERT BURNS. No. LXXVI. TO MRS. M'LEHOSE. [Mrs. M'Lehose, in condoling with him on his accident, said, "Were I your sister I would call and see you," and enclosed some verses she had written after reading the little poem he had sent her, modestly disclaiming the idea of their being poetry.] I STRETCH a point, indeed, my dearest Madam, when I answer your card on the rack of my present agony. Your friendship, Madam! By heavens, I was never proud before! Your lines, I maintain it, are poetry, and good poetry; mine were indeed partly fiction, and partly a friendship which, had I been so blest as to have met with you in time, might have led me-God of love only knows where. Time is too short for ceremonics. I swear solemnly (in all the tenor of my former oath) to remember you in all the pride and warmth of friendship until-I cease to be! To-morrow, and every day, till I see you, you shall hear from me. Farewell! May you enjoy a better night's repose than I am likely to have. |