Dunse, Coldstream, Kelso, Jedburgh, Melrose, Dryburgh, and Yarrow-Burns scattering jokes and epigrams all the way. About the middle of the month Ainslie returned to Edinburgh, and Burns then crossed into England, saw Hexham and Newcastle, and returned home by Carlisle and Dumfries. From Dumfries he went to Dalswinton, looked over the estate, but did not seem much enamoured of its condition. He, however, arranged to meet Mr. Miller in August. He then came by Sanquhar to Mauchline, and dropped in upon his family unannounced. His meeting with these reticent hearts must be left to imagination. He went out from them obscure; he returned to them illustrious, with a nimbus around his head. At home he renewed acquaintanceship with old friends, and found that Mr. Armour, who had treated him coldly in the day of his poverty and obscurity, was now inclined to regard him with a favourable eye-a circumstance which seems to have kindled Burns into unreasonable rage. "If anything," he writes to his correspondent Smith, "had been wanting to disgust me completely with the Armour family, their mean, servile compliance would have done it." The proud spirit which rankled in Edinburgh seems to have rankled no less bitterly in Ayrshire. A few days after he wrote to Mr. William Nicol, master of the High School, Edinburgh-then and afterwards one of his chiefest friends:-"I never, my friends, thought mankind very capable of anything generous; but the stateliness of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the civility of my plebeian brethren (who perhaps formerly eyed me askance) since I returned home, have nearly put me out of conceit altogether with my species. I have bought a pocket Milton, which I carry perpetually about with me, in order to study the sentiments, the dauntless magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding independence, the desperate daring, and noble defiance of hardship, in that great personage, Satan." At this precise period, it is somewhat hard to understand whence came the bitterness which wells up in almost every letter which Burns wrote. He was famous, he was even comparatively rich, but he had an eye which, constitutionally, regarded the seamy side of things. Probably, in no possible combination of fortunate circumstances could Burns have been a contented and happy man. He had Ulysses' "hungry heart," which could be satisfied with no shore, however green and pleasant, which must needs sail beyond the sunset. While residing at Mauchline, he accidentally met Jean, and affectionate intimacy was renewed, as if no anger or bitterness had ever estranged them.

Towards the end of June he went alone to the West Highlands, without any apparent motive, if not drawn by the memory of Mary Campbell. Of his movements in this trip we have no very precise information. At Inverary, where he could find accommodation neither in Castle nor Inn, he left an epigram which has become famous. In a letter to Mr. J. Smith—a fair specimen of his more familiar epistolary style-dated 30th June, we have some slight information respecting his doings, and a description of certain "high jinks" in the north, in which he was

an actor. Although the letter is dated as above, it does not state at what place it was written-Burns, perhaps, wishing to keep his secret.

"On our return, at a highland gentleman's hospitable mansion, we fell in with a merry party, and danced till the ladies left us, at three in the morning. Our dancing was none of the French or English insipid formal movements; the ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at intervals; then we flew at 'Bab at the Bowster,' "Tullochgorum,' 'Loch Erroch Side,' &c. like midges sporting in the mottie sun, or crows prognosticating a storm on a hairst day. When the dear lassies left us, we ranged round the bowl, to the good-fellow hour of six; except a few minutes that we went out to pay our devotions to the glorious lamp of day peering over the towering top of Ben Lomond. We all kneeled ; our worthy landlord's son held the bowl, each man a full glass in his hand; and I, as priest, repeated some rhyming nonsense, like Thomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies, I suppose. After a small refreshment of the gifts of Somnus, we proceeded to spend the day on Loch Lomond, and reached Dumbarton in the evening. We dined at another good fellow's house, and consequently pushed the bottle; when we went out to mount our horses, we found ourselves No vera fou, but gaylie yet.' My two friends, and I, rode soberly down the Loch side, till by came a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but which had never known the ornaments of iron or leather. We scorned to be out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we started, whip and spur. My companions, though seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly astern; but my old mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante family, strained past the Highlandman, in spite of all his efforts with the hair-halter. Just as I was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as if to cross before me, to mar my progress, when down came his horse, and threw his breekless rider in a clipt hedge; and down came Jenny Geddes over all, and my bardship between her and the Highlandman's horse. Jenny Geddes trode over me with such cautious reverence, that matters were not so bad as might have been expected; so I came off with a few cuts and bruises and a thorough resolution to be a pattern of sobriety for the future.

"I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to the serious business of life. I am, just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless, idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a farm soon."

Whatever motive may have induced Burns to visit the West Highlands, he returned to Mossgiel somewhat shaken by the escapade related above. During the ensuing month he wrote his autobiographical sketch to Dr. Moore, and on the 7th August he returned to Edinburgh to settle business matters with his publisher, and to arrange other excursions through districts of the country in which he had a poetic interest.

Near the close of August, Burns and Nicol started on a northern tour. They went by Falkirk and Stirling, visited the field of Bannockburn, and on their return to Stirling, Burns, with a diamond which he had recently purchased—the most

unfortunate of all his investments, as it turned out-scribbled certain perilous verses on a window-pane of the inn. They then struck into Perthshire, admired the Falls of Moness, where Burns wrote The Birks of Aberfeldy; visited Blair, the seat of the Duke of Athole, where they were hospitably entertained, and where Burns met his future patron, Mr. Graham, of Fintry, and narrowly missed meeting Mr. Dundas — a piece of ill-fortune which his biographers agree in lamenting. The travellers then proceeded to Inverness, went to Culloden, spent some time at the ruined cathedral at Elgin; crossed the Spey, and visited the Duke of Gordon—which visit was cut short by an ebullition of wounded pride on the part of Nicol. From Castle Gordon they came by Banff to Aberdeen; Burns then crossed into Kincardineshire-of which county his father was a native-and spent some time in hunting up his relations there. He then went to Montrose, where he met his cousin, Mr. James Burness, and returned to Edinburgh by Perth and Dundee.

In the beginning of October, according to Mr. Chambers,-for there seems to be a little obscurity as to date, -Burns, accompanied by Dr. Adair, set out on a visit to Sir William Murray, of Ochtertyre, and passing through Stirling, he broke the pane in the inn on which he had inscribed the treasonable lines. Unhappily, however, he could not by this means put them out of existence, as they had been widely copied and circulated, and were alive in many memories. At Ochtertyre he spent one or two pleasant days; and while in the neighbourhood he took the opportunity of visiting Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, who was in possession of the helmet and sword of the Bruce, and with the latter she conferred on the poet and his guide the honour of knighthood, remarking as she did so, that she had a better right to give the title than some people. He returned to Edinburgh by Kinross and Queensferry, and while at Dunfermline some circumstances took place, trivial in themselves, but important as exhibiting what rapid changes took place in the weather of the poet's mind.

"At Dunfermline," says Dr. Adair, "we visited the ruined abbey and the abbey church, now consecrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted the cutty stool, or stool of repentance, assuming the character of a penitent for fornication, while Burns from the pulpit addressed to me a ridiculous reproof and exhortation, parodied from that which had been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had, as he assured me, once been one of seven who mounted the seat of shame together.

"In the churchyard two broad flagstones marked the grave of Robert Bruce, for whose memory Burns had more than common veneration. He knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervour, and heartily execrated the worse than Gothic neglect of the first of Scottish heroes."

Burns was now resident in St. James's Square, in the house of William Cruickshank, who was, like Nicol, connected with the Edinburgh High School. His

chief business was the arrangement of publishing matters with Creech, and he was anxious to come to some definite conclusion with Mr. Miller regarding a farm at Da'swinton. On his return from Ochtertyre he wrote that gentleman in practical terms enough: "I want to be a farmer in a small farm, about a plough-gang, in a pleasant country, under the auspices of a good landlord. I have no foolish notion of being a tenant on easier terms than another. To find a farm where one can live at all is not easy. I only mean living soberly, like an old style farmer, and joining personal industry. The banks of the Nith are as sweet poetic ground as any I ever saw; and besides, sir, 'tis but justice to the feelings of my own heart, and the opinion of my best friends, to say that I would wish to call you landlord sooner than any landed gentleman I know. These are my views and wishes; and in whatever way you think best to lay out your farms, I shall be happy to rent one of them. I shall certainly be able to ride to Dalswinton about the middle of next week." Burns, however, did not go to Dumfriesshire so early as he expected. There was dilatoriness on Creech's part regarding settlements as to the poems; there was perhaps dilatoriness on Burns's part regarding the farm; at all events, autumn had glided into winter, and he remained at Edinburgh without having come to a conclusion with either. The winter, however, was destined to open one of the strangest chapters in his strange story. At this time he made the acquaintance of Mrs. M'Lehose, the Clarinda of so many impassioned letters. This lady, who was possessed of no common beauty and intelligence, had been deserted by her husband, and was bringing up her children in somewhat narrow circumstances. They met at tea in the house of a common friend, and were pleased with each other's conversation. The second night after, Burns was to have drunk tea by invitation at the house of Mrs. M'Lehose, but having been upset the previous evening by a drunken coachman, and brought home with a knee severely bruised, he was obliged to forego that pleasure. He wrote the lady, giving the details of the accident, and expressing regret that he was unable to leave his room. The lady, who was of a temperament generous and impulsive, replied at once, giving utterance to her regret, and making Burns a formal proffer of her sympathy and friendship. Burns was enraptured, and returned an answer after the following fashion:

"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. *** I swear solemnly (in all the terror 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." The correspondence, so rapturously opened, proceeded quite as rapturously. It was arranged that in future Burns should sign himself Sylvander, and the lady Clarinda. Each day gave birth to its epistle. Poems were interchanged. Sighs

were wafted from St. James's Square to the Potterow. Clarinda was a "gloriously amiable fine woman," and Sylvander was her "devoted slave." Clarinda chid Sylvander tenderly for the warmth of his expressions. Sylvander was thrown into despair by the rebuke, but protested that he was not to blame. Who could behold her superior charms, her fine intelligence, and not love? who could love and be silent? Clarinda had strong Calvinistic leanings, and Sylvander, who could not pardon these things in Ayrshire clergymen, and was accustomed to call them by quite other names, was "delighted by her honest enthusiasm for religion." Clarinda was to be passing on a certain day through the square in which Sylvander lived, and promised to favour him with a nod, should she be so fortunate as to see him at his window; and wrote sorrowing, the day after, that she had been unable to discover his window. Sylvander was inconsolable. Not able to discover his window! He could almost throw himself over it for very vexation. His peace is spoiled for the day. He is sure the soul is capable of disease, for his has convulsed itself into an inflammatory fever, and so on. During this period of letter-writing, Burns and Mrs. M'Lehose had met several times in her own house, and on these occasions he had opportunities of making her aware of his dismal prospects. The results of his renewed intercourse with Jean on his return to Ayrshire were now becoming apparent; this was communicated to her along with other matters, and Mrs. M'Lehose was all forgiveness-tempered with rebuke, and a desire for a more Calvinistic way of thinking on his part on religious subjects. That the affection of Burns for the lady was rooted in anything deeper than fancy, and a natural delight in intelligence and a pleasing manner, may be doubted. His Clarinda letters are artificial, and one suspects the rhetorician in the swelling sentences and the exaggerated sentiment. With regard to Mrs. M'Lehose there can be no mistake. Her letters are far superior to Burns's, being simple, natural, and with a pathetic cadence in some portions which has not yet lost the power to affect. She loved Burns, and hoped, if he would but wait till existing ties were broken, to be united to him. But Burns could not wait, the correspondence drooped, and a year saw all his passion

"Die away,

And fade into the light of common day;"

the common day of Jean Armour, Ellisland, and the Excise.

When Burns at this period, confined to his room by an angry limb, in the middle of his Clarinda correspondence, and tortured with suspicions of Creech's insolvency -of which some ugly rumours had reached him-was made aware that Jean was about to become again a mother, and that her father had thrust her from his house in anger, he was perhaps more purely wretched than at any other period of his life. In his own breast there was passionate tumult and remorse. Look where he would, no blue spot was to be discovered in the entire sky of his prospects. He