The Letters of Robert Burns by Robert Burns
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Robert Burns >> The Letters of Robert Burns
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"The bloody and tyrannical House of Stuart" may be said with propriety
and justice, when compared with the present Royal Family, and the
sentiments of our days; but is there no allowance to be made for the
manners of the times? Were the royal contemporaries of the Stuarts more
attentive to their subjects' rights? Might not the epithets of "bloody
and tyrannical" be, with at least equal justice, applied to the House of
Tudor, of York, or any other of their predecessors?
The simple state of the case, Sir, seems to be this:--At that period,
the science of government, the knowledge of the true relation between
king and subject, was, like other sciences and other knowledge, just in
its infancy, emerging from dark ages of ignorance and barbarity.
The Stuarts only contended for prerogatives which they knew their
predecessors enjoyed, and which they saw their contemporaries enjoying;
but these prerogatives were inimical to the happiness of a nation and
the rights of subjects.
In this contest between prince and people, the consequence of that light
of science which had lately dawned over Europe, the monarch of France,
for example, was victorious over the struggling liberties of his people:
with us, luckily, the monarch failed, and his unwarrantable pretensions
fell a sacrifice to our rights and happiness. Whether it was owing to
the wisdom of leading individuals, or to the justling of parties, I
cannot pretend to determine; but, likewise, happily for us, the kingly
power was shifted into another branch of the family, who, as they owed
the throne solely to the call of a free people, could claim nothing
inconsistent with the covenanted terms which placed them there.
The Stuarts have been condemned and laughed at, for the folly and
impracticability of their attempts in 1715, and 1745. That they failed,
I bless GOD; but cannot join in the ridicule against them. Who does not
know that the abilities or defects of leaders and commanders are often
hidden, until put to the touchstone of exigency; and that there is a
caprice of fortune, an omnipotence in particular accidents and
conjunctures of circumstances, which exalt us as heroes, or brand us as
madmen, just as they are for or against us?
Man, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, inconsistent being: who would
believe, Sir, that in this our Augustan age of liberality and
refinement, while we seem so justly sensible and jealous of our rights
and liberties, and animated with such indignation against the very
memory of those who would have subverted them--that a certain people
under our national protection should complain, not against our monarch
and a few favourite advisers, but against our WHOLE LEGISLATIVE BODY,
for similar oppression, and almost in the very same terms, as our
forefathers did of the House of Stuart! I will not, I cannot, enter into
the merits of the cause; but I dare say the American Congress, in 1776,
will be allowed to be as able and enlightened as the English Convention
was in 1688; and that their posterity will celebrate the centenary of
their deliverance from us, as duly and sincerely, as we do ours from the
oppressive measures of the wrong-headed House of Stuart.
To conclude, Sir; let every man who has a tear for the many miseries
incident to humanity, feel for a family illustrious as any in Europe,
and unfortunate beyond historic precedent; and let every Briton (and
particularly every Scotsman) who ever looked with reverential pity on
the dotage of a parent, cast a veil over the fatal mistake of the Kings
of his forefathers.
R. B.
* * * * *
CIX.--TO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MOREHAM MAINS.
MAUCHLINE, 13_th November_ 1788.
Madam,--I had the very great pleasure of dining at Dunlop yesterday. Men
are said to flatter women because they are weak, if it is so, poets must
be weaker still; for Misses R. and K. and Miss G. M'K., with their
flattering attentions, and artful compliments, absolutely turned my
head. I own they did not lard me over as many a poet does his patron,
but they so intoxicated me with their sly insinuations and delicate
innuendos of compliment, that if it had not been for a lucky
recollection, how much additional weight and lustre your good opinion
and friendship must give me in that circle, I had certainly looked upon
myself as a person of no small consequence. I dare not say one word how
much I was charmed with the Major's friendly welcome, elegant manner,
and acute remark, lest I should be thought to balance my orientalisms of
applause over-against the finest heifer in Ayrshire, which he made me a
present of to help and adorn my farm-stock. As it was on hallow-day, I
am determined annually as that day returns, to decorate her horns with
an ode of gratitude to the family of Dunlop.
So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, I will take the first
conveniency to dedicate a day, or perhaps two, to you and friendship,
under the guarantee of the Major's hospitality. There will soon be three
score and ten miles of permanent distance between us; and now that your
friendship and friendly correspondence is entwisted with the
heart-strings of my enjoyment of life, I must indulge myself in a happy
day of "the feast of reason and the flow of soul."
R. B.
* * * * *
CX.--TO DR. BLACKLOCK.
MAUCHLINE, _November_ 15_th_, 1788.
Reverend and dear Sir,--As I hear nothing of your motions, but that you
are, or were, out of town, I do not know where this may find you, or
whether it will find you at all. I wrote you a long letter, dated from
the land of matrimony, in June; but either it had not found you, or,
what I dread more, it found you or Mrs. Blacklock in too precarious a
state of health and spirits to take notice of an idle packet.
I have done many little things for Johnson since I had the pleasure of
seeing you; and I have finished one piece, in the way of Pope's "Moral
Epistles;" but, from your silence, I have everything to fear, so I have
only sent you two melancholy things, which I tremble to fear may too
well suit the tone of your present feelings.
In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to Nithsdale; till then, my
direction is at this place; after that period, it will be at Ellisland,
near Dumfries. It would extremely oblige me, were it but half a line, to
let me know how you are, and where you are. Can I be indifferent to the
fate of a man to whom I owe so much--a man whom I not only esteem,
but venerate?
My warmest good wishes and most respectful compliments to Mrs.
Blacklock, and Miss Johnson, if she is with you.
I cannot conclude without telling you that I am more and more pleased
with the step I took respecting "my Jean." Two things, from my happy
experience, I set down as apophthegms in life,--a wife's head is
immaterial, compared with her heart; and "Virtue's (for wisdom, what
poet pretends to it?) ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths
are peace." Adieu!
R. B.[91]
[Footnote 91: Here follow "The mother's lament for the loss of her
son," and the song beginning "The lazy mist hangs from the brow of
the hill."]
* * * * *
CXI.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.
ELLISLAND, 17_th December_ 1788.
My dear honoured friend,--Yours, dated Edinburgh, which I have just
read, makes me very unhappy. "Almost blind and wholly deaf" are
melancholy news of human nature; but when told of a much-loved and
honoured friend, they carry misery in the sound. Goodness on your part,
and gratitude on mine, began a tie which has gradually entwisted itself
among the dearest chords of my bosom, and I tremble at the omens of your
late and present ailing habit and shattered health. You miscalculate
matters widely, when you forbid my waiting on you, lest it should hurt
my worldly concerns. My small scale of farming is exceedingly more
simple and easy than what you have lately seen at Moreham Mains. But, be
that as it may, the heart of the man and the fancy of the poet are the
two grand considerations for which I live: if miry ridges and dirty
dunghills are to engross the best part of the functions of my soul
immortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I
should not have been plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of
clods and picking up grubs; not to mention barn-door cocks of mallards,
creatures with which I could almost exchange lives at any time. If you
continue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to
either of us; but if I hear you are got so well again as to be able to
relish conversation, look you to it, Madam, for I will make my
threatenings good. I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr, and, by
all that is sacred in the world, friend, I will come and see you.
Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your old schoolfellow and
friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the world! They
spoil these "social offsprings of the heart." Two veterans of the "men
of the world" would have met with little more heart-workings than two
old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, "Auld
lang syne," exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune which
has often thrilled through my soul. You know I am an enthusiast in old
Scotch song. I shall give you the verses on the other sheet, as I
suppose Mr. Kerr[92] will save you the postage.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot?
Light be the turf on the breast of the Heaven-inspired poet who composed
this glorious fragment! There is more of the fire of native genius in it
than in half a dozen of modern English Bacchanalians! Now I am on my
hobbyhorse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas, which please
me mightily:--
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, etc.
R. B.
[Footnote 92: Postmaster in Edinburgh.]
* * * *
CXII.--TO MR. JOHN TENNANT.
_December_ 22_nd_, 1788.
I yesterday tried my cask of whisky for the first time, and I assure you
it does you great credit. It will bear five waters, strong: or six
ordinary toddy. The whisky of this country is a most rascally liquor;
and, by consequence, only drunk by the most rascally part of the
inhabitants. I am persuaded, if you once get a footing here, you might
do a great deal of business, in the way of consumpt; and should you
commence distiller again, this is the native barley country. I am
ignorant if, in your present way of dealing, you would think it worth
your while to extend your business so far as this country-side. I write
you this on the account of an accident, which I must take the merit of
having partly designed too. A neighbour of mine, a John Currie, miller,
in Carse Mill--a man who is, in a word, a very good man, even for a £500
bargain--he and his wife were in my house the time I broke open the
cask. They keep a country public-house and sell a great deal of foreign
spirits, but all along thought that whisky would have degraded their
house. They were perfectly astonished at my whisky, both for its taste
and strength; and, by their desire, I write you to know if you could
supply them with liquor of an equal quality, and what price. Please
write me by first post, and direct to me at Ellisland, near Dumfries. If
you could take a jaunt this way yourself, I have a spare spoon, knife,
and fork, very much at your service. My compliments to Mrs. Tennant, and
all the good folks in Glenconnel and Barguharrie.
R. B.
* * * * *
CXIII.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.
ELLISLAND, _New-year-day Morning_, 1789.
This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, and would to God that I came
under the Apostle James's description!--_the prayer of a righteous man
availeth much_. In that case, Madam, you should welcome in a year full
of blessings: everything that obstructs or disturbs tranquillity and
self-enjoyment should be removed, and every pleasure that frail humanity
can taste, should be yours. I own myself so little a Presbyterian, that
I approve of set times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of
devotion, for breaking in on that habituated routine of life and
thought, which is so apt to reduce our existence to a kind of instinct,
or even sometimes, and with some minds, to a state very little superior
to mere machinery.
This day; the first Sunday of May; a breezy blue-skyed noon some time
about the beginning, and a hoary morning and calm sunny day about the
end of autumn; these, time out of mind, have been with me a kind
of holiday.
I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in the _Spectator_ "The
Vision of Mirza," a piece that struck my young fancy before I was
capable of fixing an idea to a word of three syllables: "On the fifth
day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I
always _keep holy_, after having washed myself, and offered up my
morning devotions, I ascended the high hill of Bagdat, in order to pass
the rest of the day in meditation and prayer."
We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance or structure of
our souls, so cannot account for those seeming caprices in them, that
one should be particularly pleased with this thing, or struck with that,
which, on minds of a different cast, makes no extraordinary impression.
I have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the
mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild brier-rose, the
budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with
particular delight. I never hear the loud, solitary whistle of the
curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey
plovers, in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul
like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to
what can this be owing? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the
Ĉolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident? Or
do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod? I
own myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important
realities--a God that made all things--man's immaterial and immortal
nature--and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the grave.
R. B.
* * * * *
CXIV.-TO DR. MOORE, LONDON.
ELLISLAND, 4_th Jan._ 1789.
Sir,--As often as I think of writing to you, which has been three or
four times every week these six months, it gives me something so like
the idea of an ordinary-sized statue offering at a conversation with the
Rhodian Colossus, that my mind misgives me, and the affair always
miscarries somewhere between purpose and resolve. I have at last got
some business with you, and business letters are written by the
style-book. I say my business is with you, Sir, for you never had any
with me, except the business that benevolence has in the mansion
of poverty.
The character and employment of a poet were formerly my pleasure, but
are now my pride. I know that a very great deal of my late éclat was
owing to the singularity of my situation, and the honest prejudice of
Scotsmen; but still, as I said in the preface to my first edition, I do
look upon myself as having some pretensions from nature to the poetic
character. I have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to learn the
Muses' trade, is a gift bestowed by Him "who forms the secret bias of
the soul;" but I as firmly believe that _excellence_ in the profession
is the fruit of industry, labour, attention, and pains. At least I am
resolved to try my doctrine by the test of experience. Another
appearance from the press I put off to a very distant day, a day that
may never arrive--but poesy I am determined to prosecute with all my
vigour. Nature has given very few, if any, of the profession, the
talents of shining in every species of composition. I shall try (for
until trial it is impossible to know) whether she has qualified me to
shine in any one. The worst of it is, by the time one has finished a
piece, it has been so often viewed and reviewed before the mental eye,
that one loses in a good measure the powers of critical discrimination.
Here the best criterion I know is a friend--not only of abilities to
judge, but with good-nature enough, like a prudent teacher with a young
learner, to praise perhaps a little more than is exactly just, lest the
thin-skinned animal fall into that most deplorable of all poetic
diseases--heart-breaking despondency of himself. Dare I, Sir, already
immensely indebted to your goodness, ask the additional obligation of
your being that friend to me? I inclose you an essay of mine in a walk
of poesy to me entirely new; I mean the epistle addressed to R. G.,
Esq., or Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq., a gentleman of uncommon worth,
to whom I lie under very great obligations. The story of the poem, like
most of my poems, is connected with my own story, and to give you the
one, I must give you something of the other. I cannot boast of Mr.
Creech's ingenuous fair dealing to me. He kept me hanging about
Edinburgh from the 7th August 1787 until the 13th April 1788 before he
would condescend to give a statement of affairs; nor had I got it even
then, but for an angry letter I wrote him, which irritated his pride. "I
could" not a "tale," but a detail "unfold"; but what am I that should
speak against the Lord's anointed Bailie of Edinburgh?[93]
I believe I shall, in whole, £100 copyright included, clear about £400,
some little odds; and even part of this depends upon what the gentleman
has yet to settle with me. I give you this information, because you did
me the honour to interest yourself much in my welfare. I give you this
information, but I give it to yourself only, for I am still much in the
gentleman's mercy. Perhaps I injure the man in the idea I am sometimes
tempted to have of him--God forbid I should. A little time will try, for
in a month I shall go to town to wind up the business, if possible.
To give the rest of my story in brief, I have married "my Jean," and
taken a farm; with the first step I have every day more and more reason
to be satisfied; with the last, it is rather the reverse. I have a
younger brother, who supports my aged mother, another still younger
brother, and three sisters, in a farm. On my last return from Edinburgh
it cost me about £180 to save them from ruin.
Not that I have lost so much--I only interposed between my brother and
his impending fate by the loan of so much. I give myself no airs on
this, for it was mere selfishness on my part; I was conscious that the
wrong scale of the balance was pretty heavily charged, and I thought
that throwing a little filial piety and fraternal affection into the
scale in my favour, might help to smooth matters at the _grand
reckoning_. There is still one thing would make my circumstances quite
easy--I have an excise officer's commission, and I live in the midst of
a country division. My request to Mr. Graham, who is one of the
commissioners of excise, was, if in his power, to procure me that
division. If I were very sanguine, I might hope that some of my great
patrons might procure me a treasury warrant for supervisor,
surveyor-general, etc.
Thus, secure of a livelihood, "to thee, sweet poetry, delightful
maid,"[94] I would consecrate my future days.
R. B.
[Footnote 93: Creech; remarkable for his reluctance to settle
accounts.]
[Footnote 94: Goldsmith's "Deserted Village."]
* * * * *
CXV.--TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.
ELLISLAND, _January_ 6_th_, 1789.
Many happy returns of the season to you, my dear Sir! May you be
comparatively happy, up to your comparative worth among the sons of men;
which wish would, I am sure, make you one of the most blessed of the
human race.
I do not know if passing a "Writer to the Signet" be a trial of
scientific merit, or a mere business of friends and interest. However it
be, let me quote you my two favourite passages, which, though I have
repeated them ten thousand times, still they rouse my manhood and steel
my resolution like inspiration.
On Reason build resolve.
That column of true majesty in man.
YOUNG.
Hear, Alfred, hero of the slate,
Thy genius heaven's high will declare;
The triumph of the truly great,
Is never, never to despair!
Is never to despair!
MASQUE OF ALFRED.
I grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle for bread, business,
notice, and distinction, in common with hundreds. But who are they? Men
like yourself, and of that aggregate body your compeers, seven-tenths of
them come short of your advantages, natural and accidental; while two of
those that remain, either neglect their parts, as flowers blooming in a
desert, or misspend their strength like a bull goring a bramble bush.
But to change the theme: I am still catering for Johnson's publication;
and among others, I have brushed up the following old favourite song a
little, with a view to your worship. I have only altered a word here and
there; but if you like the humour of it, we shall think of a stanza or
two to add to it. R. B.
* * * * *
CXVI.--TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.
ELLISLAND, 20_th Jan_. 1789.
Sir,--The inclosed sealed packet I sent to Edinburgh, a few days after I
had the happiness of meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone for the
Continent. I have now added a few more of my productions, those for
which I am indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. The piece inscribed to R.
G., Esq., is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Graham, of Fintry, accompanying
a request for his assistance in a matter to me of very great moment. To
that gentleman I am already doubly indebted; for deeds of kindness of
serious import to my dearest interests, done in a manner grateful to the
delicate feelings of sensibility. This poem is a species of composition
new to me, but I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as
you will see by the "Poet's Progress." These fragments, if my design
succeed, are but a small part of the intended whole. I propose it shall
be the work of my utmost exertions, ripened by years; of course I do not
wish it much known. The fragment beginning "A little upright, pert,
tart," etc., I have not shown to man living, till I now send it you. It
forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which,
if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This
particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at
portrait-sketching; but, lest idle conjecture should pretend to point
out the original, please to let it be for your single, sole inspection.
Need I make any apology for this trouble, to a gentleman who has treated
me with such marked benevolence and peculiar kindness; who has entered
into my interests with so much zeal, and on whose critical decisions I
can so fully depend? A poet as I am by trade, these decisions are to me
of the last consequence. My late transient acquaintance among some of
the mere rank and file of greatness, I resign with ease; but to the
distinguished champions of genius and learning, I shall be ever
ambitious of being known. The native genius and accurate discernment in
Mr. Stewart's critical strictures; the justness (iron justice, for he
has no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) of Dr. Gregory's
remarks, and the delicacy of Professor Dalzel's taste, I shall
ever revere.
I shall be in Edinburgh some time next month.--I have the honour to be,
Sir, your highly obliged, and very humble servant, R. B.
* * * * *
CXVII.--TO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN, SAUGHTON MILLS.
ELLISLAND, 23_rd Jan_. 1789.
I must take shame and confusion of face to myself, my dear friend and
brother Farmer, that I have not written you much sooner. The truth is I
have been so tossed about between Ayrshire and Nithsdale that, till now
I have got my family here, I have had time to think of nothing except
now and then a stanza or so as I rode along. Were it not for our
gracious monarch's cursed tax of postage I had sent you one or two
pieces of some length that I have lately done. I have no idea of the
_Press_. I am more able to support myself and family, though in a
humble, yet an independent way; and I mean, just at my leisure, to pay
court to the tuneful sisters in the hope that they may one day enable me
to carry on a work of some importance. The following are a few verses
which I wrote in a neighbouring gentleman's _hermitage_ to which he is
so good as let me have a key.
* * * * *
CXVIII.--To BISHOP GEDDES, EDINBURGH.
ELLISLAND, _3rd Feb_. 1789.
VENERABLE FATHER,--As I am conscious that wherever I am, you do me the
honour to interest yourself in my welfare, it gives me pleasure to
inform you, that I am here at last, stationary in the serious business
of life, and have now not only the retired leisure, but the hearty
inclination, to attend to those great and important questions,--what I
am? where I am? and for what I am destined.
In that first concern, the conduct of the man, there was ever but one
side on which I was habitually blameable, and there I have secured
myself in the way pointed out by nature and nature's God. I was sensible
that, to so helpless a creature as a poor poet, a wife and family were
incumbrances, which a species of prudence would bid him shun; but when
the alternative was, being at eternal warfare with myself, on account of
habitual follies, to give them no worse name, which no general example,
no licentious wit, no sophistical infidelity, would, to me, ever
justify, I must have been a fool to have hesitated, and a madman to have
made another choice. Besides, I had in "my Jean" a long and much-loved
fellow-creature's happiness or misery among my hands, and who could
trifle with such a deposit?
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