The Letters of Robert Burns by Robert Burns

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Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long silence. _To make you amends_, I
shall send you soon, and more encouraging still, without any postage,
one or two rhymes of my later manufacture.

R. B.

* * * * *

CXXIX.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.

ELLISLAND, 21_st June_ 1789.

Dear Madam,--Will you take the effusions, the miserable effusions of low
spirits, just as they flow from their bitter spring? I know not of any
particular cause for this worst of all my foes besetting me; but for
some time my soul has been beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of
evil imaginations and gloomy presages.

_Monday Evening._

I have just heard Mr. Kilpatrick preach a sermon. He is a man famous for
his benevolence, and I revere him; but from such ideas of my Creator,
good Lord, deliver me! Religion, my honoured friend, is surely a simple
business, as it equally concerns the ignorant and the learned, the poor
and the rich. That there is an incomprehensible Great Being, to whom I
owe my existence, and that He must be intimately acquainted with the
operations and progress of the internal machinery, and consequent
outward deportment of this creature which He has made; these are, I
think, self-evident propositions. That there is a real and eternal
distinction between virtue and vice, and consequently, that I am an
accountable creature; that from the seeming nature of the human mind, as
well as from the evident imperfection, nay, positive injustice, in the
administration of affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds, there
must be a retributive scene of existence beyond the grave; must, I
think, be allowed by every one who will give himself a moment's
reflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that from the sublimity,
excellence, and purity of his doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all
the aggregated wisdom and learning of many preceding ages, though, to
_appearance_ he, himself, was the obscurest and most illiterate of our
species; therefore Jesus Christ was from God.

Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others, this
is my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at large, or
any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity.

What think you, Madam, of my creed? I trust that I have said nothing
that will lessen me in the eye of one, whose good opinion I value almost
next to the approbation of my own mind.

R. B.

* * * * *

CXXX.--TO MISS HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.

ELLISLAND, 1789.

Madam,--Of the many problems in the nature of that wonderful creature,
man, this is one of the most extraordinary--that he shall go on from day
to day, from week to week, from month to month, or perhaps from year to
year, suffering a hundred times more in an hour from the impotent
consciousness of neglecting what he ought to do, than the very doing of
it would cost him. I am deeply indebted to you, first, for a most
elegant poetic compliment; then for a polite, obliging letter; and,
lastly, for your excellent poem on the Slave Trade; and yet, wretch that
I am! though the debts were debts of honour, and the creditor a lady, I
have put off and put off even the very acknowledgment of the obligation,
until you must indeed be the very angel I take you for, if you can
forgive me.

Your poem I have read with the highest pleasure. I have a way whenever I
read a book--I mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a poetic one, and
when it is my own property--that I take a pencil and mark at the ends of
verses, or note on margins and odd paper, little criticisms of
approbation or disapprobation as I peruse along. I will make no apology
for presenting you with a few unconnected thoughts that occurred to me
in my repeated perusals of your poem. I want to show you that I have
honesty enough to tell you what I take to be truths, even when they are
not quite on the side of approbation; and I do it in the firm faith that
you have equal greatness of mind to hear them with pleasure. [Here
follows a list of strictures.]

I had lately the honour of a letter from Dr. Moore, where he tells me
that he has sent me some books; they are not yet come to hand, but I
hear they are on the way.

Wishing you all success in your progress in the path of fame, and that
you may equally escape the danger of stumbling through incautious speed,
or losing ground through loitering neglect, I am, etc.

R. B.

* * * * *

CXXXI.--To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.

ELLISLAND, 31st _july_ 1789.

Sir,--The language of gratitude has been so prostituted by servile
adulation and designing flattery that I know not how to express myself
when I would acknowledge receipt of your last letter. I beg and hope,
ever-honoured "Friend of my life and patron of my rhymes," that you will
always give me credit for the sincerest, chastest gratitude. I dare call
the Searcher of hearts and Author of all Goodness to witness how truly
grateful I am.

Mr. Mitchell[101] did not wait my calling on him, but sent me a kind
letter, giving me a hint of the business; and yesterday he entered with
the most friendly ardour into my views and interests. He seems to think,
and from my private knowledge I am certain he is right, that removing
the officer who now does, and for these many years has done, duty in the
Division in the middle of which I live, will be productive of at least
no disadvantage to the revenue, and may likewise be done without any
detriment to him. Should the Honourable Board [of Excise] think so, and
should they deem it eligible to appoint me to officiate in his present
place, I am then at the top of my wishes. The emoluments in my office
will enable me to carry on, and enjoy those improvements on my farm,
which but for this additional assistance, I might in a year or two have
abandoned. Should it be judged improper to place me in this Division, I
am deliberating whether I had not better give up my farming altogether,
and go into the Excise whenever I can find employment. Now that the
salary is £50 per annum, the Excise is surely a much superior object to
a farm, which, without some foreign assistance, must for half a lease be
a losing bargain. The worst of it is--I know there are some respectable
characters who do me the honour to interest themselves in my welfare and
behaviour, and, as leaving the farm so soon may have an unsteady,
giddy-headed appearance, I had better perhaps lose a little money than
hazard their esteem.

You see, Sir, with what freedom I lay before you all my little
matters--little indeed to the world, but of the most important magnitude
to me.... Were it not for a very few of our kind, the very existence of
magnanimity, generosity, and all their kindred virtues, would be as much
a question with metaphysicians as the existence of witchcraft. Perhaps
the nature of man is not so much to blame for this, as the situation in
which by some miscarriage or other he is placed in this world. The poor,
naked, helpless wretch, with such voracious appetites and such a famine
of provision for them, is under a cursed necessity of turning selfish in
his own defence. Except a few instances of original scoundrelism,
thorough-paced selfishness is always the work of time. Indeed, in a
little time, we generally grow so attentive to ourselves and so
regardless of others that I have often in poetic frenzy looked on this
world as one vast ocean, occupied and commoved by innumerable vortices,
each whirling round its centre. These vortices are the children of men.
The great design and, if I may say so, merit of each particular vortex
consists in how widely it can extend the influence of its circle, and
how much floating trash it can suck in and absorb.

I know not why I have got into this preaching vein, except it be to show
you that it is not my ignorance but my knowledge of mankind which makes
me so much admire your goodness to me.

I shall return your books very soon. I only wish to give Dr. Adam Smith
one other perusal, which I will do in one or two days.

R. B.

[Footnote 101: A collector in the Excise.]

* * * * *

CXXXIL--TO DAVID SILLAR, MERCHANT, IRVINE.[102]

ELLISLAND, 5 _Aug_. 1789.

My Dear Sir,--I was half in thoughts not to have written to you at all,
by way of revenge for the two damn'd business letters you sent me. I
wanted to know all about your publications--your news, your hopes,
fears, etc., in commencing poet in print. In short, I wanted you to
write to Robin like his old acquaintance Davie, and not in the style of
Mr. Tare to Mr. Tret, as thus:--

"Mr. Tret.--Sir,--This comes to advise you that fifteen barrels of
herrings were, by the blessing of God, shipped safe on board the _Lovely
Janet_, Q.D.C., Duncan Mac-Leerie, master, etc."

I hear you have commenced married man--so much the better. I know not
whether the nine gipsies are jealous of my lucky, but they are a good
deal shyer since I could boast the important relation of husband.

I have got about eleven subscribers for your book.... My best
compliments to Mrs. Sillar, and believe me to be, dear Davie,
ever yours,

ROBT. BURNS.

[Footnote 102: This letter was first published in 1879. The original
is probably lost, but a copy is to be found in the minute-book of the
Irvine Burns Club. Sillar was "Davie, a brother poet."]

* * * *

CXXXIII.--TO MR. JOHN LOGAN, OF KNOCK SHINNOCK.

ELLISLAND, NEAR DUMFRIES, 7_th Aug_. 1789.

Dear Sir,--I intended to have written you long ere now, and, as I told
you, I had gotten three stanzas on my way in a poetic epistle to you;
but that old enemy of all _good works_, the Devil, threw me into a
prosaic mire, and for the soul of me I cannot get out of it. I dare not
write you a long letter, as I am going to intrude on your time with a
long ballad. I have, as you will shortly see, finished "The Kirk's
Alarm;" but now that it is done, and that I have laughed once or twice
at the conceits in some of the stanzas, I am determined not to let it
get into the public; so I send you this copy, the first that I have sent
to Ayrshire, except some few of the stanzas, which I wrote off in embryo
for Gavin Hamilton, under the express provision and request that you
will only read it to a few of us, and do not on any account give, or
permit to be taken, any copy of the ballad. If I could be of any service
to Dr. M'Gill, I would do it, though it should be at a much greater
expense than irritating a few bigoted priests, but I am afraid serving
him in his present _embarras_ is a task too hard for me. I have enemies
enow, God knows, though I do not wantonly add to the number. Still, as I
think there is some merit in two or three of the thoughts, I send it to
you as a small, but sincere testimony how much, and with what respectful
esteem, I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant

R. B.

* * * * *

CXXXIV.--TO MR. PETER STUART, EDITOR, LONDON.

_End of Aug_. 1789.

My dear Sir,--The hurry of a farmer in this particular season, and the
indolence of a poet at all seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for
neglecting so long to answer your obliging letter of the 5th August.

... When I received your letter I was transcribing for _The Star_ my
letter to the magistrates of the Canongate of Edinburgh, begging their
permission to place a tombstone over poor Fergusson. [102a] Poor
Fergusson! if there be a life beyond the grave, which I trust there is;
and if there be a good God presiding over all nature, which I am sure
there is, thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious world where
worth of heart alone is distinction in the man; where riches, deprived
of their pleasure-purchasing powers, return to their native sordid
matter; where titles and honours are the disregarded reveries of an idle
dream; and where that heavy virtue, which is the negative consequence of
steady dulness, and those thoughtless though often destructive follies,
which are the unavoidable aberrations of frail human nature, will be
thrown into equal oblivion as if they had never been!

R. B.

[Footnote 102a: A young Scottish poet of undoubted ability who
perished miserably in Edinburgh at the age of twenty-four. He was the
senior of Burns, who greatly admired and mourned him, by about
eight years.]

* * * * *

CXXXV.--To HIS BROTHER, WILLIAM BURNS, SADDLER, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.

ELLISLAND, 14_th Aug_. 1789.

My Dear William,--I received your letter, and am very happy to hear that
you have got settled for the winter. I enclose you the two guinea-notes
of the Bank of Scotland, which I hope will serve your need. It is,
indeed, not quite so convenient for me to spare money as it once was,
but I know your situation, and, I will say it, in some respects your
worth. I have no time to write at present, but I beg you will endeavour
to pluck up a _little_ more of the Man than you used to have. Remember
my favourite quotations:

On reason build resolve,
That pillar of true majesty in man.[103]

and

What proves the hero truly great,
Is never, never to despair![103a]

Your mother and sisters desire their compliments. A Dieu je vous
commende,

ROBT. BURNS.

[Footnote 103: From Young.]

[Footnote 103a: From Thomson.]

* * * * *

CXXXVL--TO MRS. DUNLOP.

ELLISLAND, _6th Sept_. 1789.

Dear Madam,--I have mentioned, in my last, my appointment to the Excise,
and the birth of little Frank; who, by the bye, I trust will be no
discredit to the honourable name of Wallace, as he has a fine manly
countenance, and a figure that might do credit to a liltle fellow two
months older; and likewise an excellent good temper, though when he
pleases he has a pipe, only not quite so loud as the horn that his
immortal namesake blew as a signal to take out the pin of
Stirling bridge.

I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic, and part prosaic, from your
poetess Miss. J. Little,[104] a very ingenious, but modest composition.
I should have written her as she requested, but for the hurry of this
new business. I have heard of her and her compositions in this country;
and I am happy to add, always to the honour of her character. The fact
is, I knew not well how to write to her: I should sit down to a sheet of
paper that I knew not how to stain. I am no dab at fine-drawn
letter-writing; and, except when prompted by friendship or gratitude,
or, which happens extremely rarely, inspired by the Muse (I know not her
name) that presides over epistolary writing, I sit down, when
necessitated to write, as I would sit down to beat hemp.

Some parts of your letter of the 2oth August struck me with the most
melancholy concern for the state of your mind at present.

Would I could write you a letter of comfort, I would sit down to it with
as much pleasure as I would to write an epic poem of my own composition
that should equal the _Iliad!_ Religion, my dear friend, is the true
comfort. A strong persuasion in a future state of existence; a
proposition so obviously probable, that, setting revelation aside, every
nation and people, so far as investigation has reached, for at least
near four thousand years, have, in some mode or other, firmly believed
it. In vain would we reason and pretend to doubt. I have myself done so
to a very daring pitch; but, when I reflected that I was opposing the
most ardent wishes and the most darling hopes of good men, and flying in
the face of all human belief, in all ages, I was shocked at my
own conduct.

I know not whether I have ever sent you the following lines; or if you
have ever seen them; but it is one of my favourite quotations, which I
keep constantly by me in my progress through life, in the language of
the book of Job,

Against the day of battle and of war--

spoken of religion:

'Tis _this_, my friend, that streaks our morning bright,
'Tis _this_ that gilds the horror of our night,
When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few;
When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue;
Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,
Disarms affliction, or repels his dart;
Within the breast bids purest raptures rise,
Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.

I have been busy with _Zeluco_. The Doctor is so obliging as to request
my opinion of it; and I have been revolving in my mind some kind of
criticisms on novel-writing, but it is a depth beyond my research. I
shall, however, digest my thoughts on the subject as well as I can.
_Zeluco_ is a most sterling performance.

Farewell! _A Dieu, le bon Dieu, je vous commende!_

[Footnote 104: A maid servant at Loudon house.]

* * * * *

CXXXVIL--To CAPTAIN RIDDEL, FRIARS CARSE.

ELLISLAND, _16th October_ 1789.

Sir,--Big with the idea of this important day at Friars Carse, I have
watched the elements and skies, in the full persuasion that they would
announce it to the astonished world by some phenomena of terrific
portent. Yesternight until a very late hour, did I wait with anxious
horror for the appearance of some comet firing half the sky, or aerial
armies of sanguinary Scandinavians, darting athwart the startled
heavens, rapid as the ragged lightning, and horrid as those convulsions
of nature that bury nations.

The elements, however, seem to take the matter very quietly; they did
not even usher in this morning with triple suns and a shower of blood,
symbolical of the three potent heroes[105] and the mighty claret-shed of
the day. For me--as Thomson in his Winter says of the storm--I shall
"hear astonished, and astonished sing"

The WHISTLE and the man I sing,
The man that won the whistle, etc.

To leave the heights of Parnassus and come to the humble vale of prose.
I have some misgivings that I take too much upon me, when I request you
to get your guest, Sir Robert Lawrie, to frank the two inclosed covers
for me, the one of them to Sir William Cunningham, of Robertland, Bart.,
at Kilmarnock,--the other, to Mr. Allan Masterton, Writing-Master,
Edinburgh. The first has a kindred claim on Sir Robert, as being a
brother Baronet, and likewise a keen Foxite; the other is one of the
worthiest men in the world, and a man of real genius; so, allow me to
say, he has a fraternal claim on you. I want them franked for to-morrow,
as I cannot get them to the post to-night. I shall send a servant again
for them in the evening. Wishing that your head may be crowned with
laurels to-night, and free from aches to-morrow, I have the honour to
be, Sir, your deeply indebted humble Servant,

R. B.

[Footnote 105: Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwellton, the holder of the
Whistle, Alexander Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and Captain Riddel.
_See_ the Poem. Burns was apparently absent.]

* * * * *

CXXXVIII--To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE, W.S.

ELLISLAND, 1_st Nov_. 1789.

My Dear Friend,--I had written you ere now, could I have guessed where
to find you, for I am sure you have more good sense than to waste the
precious days of vacation time in the dirt of business and Edinburgh.
Wherever you are, God bless you, and lead you not into temptation, but
deliver you from evil!

I do not know if I have informed you that I am now appointed to an
Excise division, in the middle of which my house and farm lie. In this I
was extremely lucky. Without ever having been an expectant, as they call
their journeymen excisemen, I was directly planted down to all intents
and purposes an officer of Excise; there to flourish and bring forth
fruits--worthy of repentance.

You need not doubt that I find several very unpleasant and disagreeable
circumstances in my business; but I am tired with and disgusted at the
language of complaint against the evils of life. Human existence in the
most favourable situations does not abound with pleasures, and has its
inconveniences and ills: capricious foolish man mistakes these
inconveniences and ills as if they were the peculiar property of his
particular situation; and hence that eternal fickleness, that love of
change, which has ruined, and daily does ruin many a fine fellow, as
well as many a blockhead, and is almost, without exception, a constant
source of disappointment and misery.

I long to hear from you how you go on-not so much in business as in
life. Are you pretty well satisfied with your own exertions, and
tolerably at ease in your internal reflections? 'Tis much to be a great
character as a lawyer, but beyond comparison more to be a great
character as a man. That you may be both the one and the other is the
earnest wish, and that you _will_ be both is the firm persuasion of, my
dear Sir, etc.

R. B.

* * * * *

CXXXIX.--To MR. RICHARD BROWN, PORT-GLASGOW.

ELLISLAND, _4th November_ 1789.

I have been so hurried, my ever dear friend, that though I got both your
letters, I have not been able to command an hour to answer them as I
wished; and even now, you are to look on this as merely confessing debt,
and craving days. Few things could have given me so much pleasure as the
news that you were once more safe and sound on terra firma, and happy in
that place where happiness is alone to be found, in the fireside circle.
May the benevolent Director of all things peculiarly bless you in all
those endearing connections consequent on the tender and venerable names
of husband and father! I have indeed been extremely lucky in getting an
additional income of £50 a-year, while, at the same time, the
appointment will not cost me above £10 or £12 per annum of expenses more
than I must have inevitably incurred. The worst circumstance is, that
the Excise division which I have got is so extensive, no less than ten
parishes to ride over; and it abounds besides with so much business,
that I can scarcely steal a spare moment. However, labour endears rest,
and both together are absolutely necessary for the proper enjoyment of
human existence. I cannot meet you anywhere.

No less than an order from the Board of Excise, at Edinburgh, is
necessary before I can have so much time as to meet you in Ayrshire. But
do you come, and see me. We must have a social day, and perhaps lengthen
it out with half the night, before you go again to sea. You are the
earliest friend I now have on earth, my brothers excepted; and is not
that an endearing circumstance? When you and I first met, we were at the
green period of human life. The twig would easily take a bent, but would
as easily return to its former state. You and I not only took a mutual
bent, but, by the melancholy, though strong influence of being both of
the family of the unfortunate, we were entwined with one another in our
growth towards advanced age; and blasted be the sacrilegious hand that
shall attempt to undo the union! You and I must have one bumper to my
favourite toast, "May the companions of our youth be the friends of our
old age!" Come and see me one year; I shall see you at Port-Glasgow the
next, and if we can contrive to have a gossiping between our two
bed-fellows, it will be so much additional pleasure. Mrs. Burns joins me
in kind compliments to you and Mrs. Brown. Adieu!--I am ever, my dear
Sir, yours,

R. B.

* * * * *

CXL.--To MR. R. GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.

_9th December_ 1789.

Sir,--I have a good while had a wish to trouble you with a letter, and
had certainly done it long ere now, but for a humiliating something that
throws cold water on the resolution, as if one should say, "You have
found Mr. Graham a very powerful and kind friend indeed, and that
interest he is so kindly taking in your concerns, you ought by
everything in your power to keep alive and cherish." Now, though since
God has thought proper to make one powerful and another helpless, the
connection of obliger and obliged is all fair; and though my being under
your patronage is to me highly honourable, yet, Sir, allow me to flatter
myself that,--as a poet and an honest man you first interested yourself
in my welfare, and principally as such still, you permit me to
approach you.

I have found the Excise business go on a great deal smoother with me
than I expected; owing a good deal to the generous friendship of Mr.
Mitchell, my collector, and the kind assistance of Mr. Findlater, my
supervisor. I dare to be honest, and I fear no labour. Nor do I find my
hurried life greatly inimical to my correspondence with the Muses. Their
visits to me, indeed, and I believe to most of their acquaintance, like
the visits of good angels, are short and far between; but I meet them
now and then as I jog through the hills of Nithsdale, just as I used to
do on the banks of Ayr. I take the liberty to inclose you a few
bagatelles, all of them the productions of my leisure thoughts in my
excise rides.

If you know or have ever seen Captain Grose, the antiquarian, you will
enter into any humour that is in the verses on him. Perhaps you have
seen them before, as I sent them to a London newspaper. Though, I dare
say, you have none of the solemn-league-and-covenant fire, which shone
so conspicuous in Lord George Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I
think you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr,
and his heretical book. God help him, poor man! Though he is one of the
worthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the whole priesthood of the
Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous term, yet the poor
Doctor and his numerous family are in imminent danger of being thrown
out to the mercy of the winter-winds. The inclosed ballad on that
business is, I confess, too local, but I laughed myself at some conceits
in it, though I am convinced in my conscience that there are a good many
heavy stanzas in it too.[106]

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