Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, Mark ruffian Violence, distained with crimes, Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, TO CHARLES HAY, ESQ., ADVOCATE. (ENCLOSING VERSES ON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PRESIDENT.) SIR-The enclosed poem was written in consequence of your suggestion last time I had the pleasure of seeing you. It cost me an hour or two of next morning's sleep, but did not please me; so it lay by, an ill-digested effort, till the other day that I gave it a critic brush. These kind of subjects are much hackneyed; and, besides, the wailings of the rhyming tribe over the ashes of the great are cursedly suspicious, and out of all character for sincerity. These LETTER TO FRANCIS HOWDEN. 181 ideas damped my muse's fire; however, I have done the best I could, and, at all events, it gives me an opportunity of declaring that I have the honour to be, sir, your obliged humble servant, R. B. Burns sent a copy of the poem to Dundas's son, afterwards Lord Advocate and Lord Chief-Baron, but received no answer to it, which he greatly resented. A business note which Burns wrote about this time may be introduced, as shewing how apt his mind was, even on the most trivial subjects, to scintillate out vivid expressions and droll or fanciful ideas: TO MR FRANCIS HOWDEN, JEWELLER, PARLIAMENT SQUARE.1 The bearer of this will deliver you a small shade 2 to set; which, my dear sir, if you would highly oblige a poor cripple devil as I am at present, you will finish at farthest against to-morrow evening. It goes a hundred miles into the country; and if it is at me by five o'clock tomorrow evening, I have an opportunity of a private hand to convey it; if not, I don't know how to get it sent. Set it just as you did the others you did for me, 'in the neatest and cheapest manner;' both to answer as a breast-pin, and with a ring to answer as a locket. Do despatch it; as it is, I believe, the pledge of love, and perhaps the prelude to ma-tri-mo-ny. Everybody knows the auld wife's observation when she saw a poor dog going to be hanged-God help us! it's the gate we ha'e a' to gang !' The parties, one of them at least, is a very particular acquaintance of mine the honest lover. He only needs a little of an advice which my grandmother, rest her soul, often gave me, and I as often neglected 'Leuk twice or [ere] ye loup ance. Let me conjure you, my friend, by the bended bow of Cupid-by the unloosed cestus of Venus-by the lighted torch of Hymen-that you will have the locket finished by the time mentioned! And it your worship would have as much Christian charity as call with it yourself, and comfort a poor wretch, not wounded indeed by Cupid's arrow, but bruised by a good, serious, agonizing, damned, hard knock on the knee, you will gain the earnest prayers, when he does pray, of, dear sir, your humble servant, ROBT. BURNS. ST JAMES'S SQUARE, No. 2, Attic Storey. A relative of Mr Howden communicates the following anecdote:-At Lord Monboddo's, Burns met Dr Gregory, who, 1 Mr Francis Howden, who died at an advanced age in 1848, was well known in his native city as an energetic reformer. He was the last surviving person I am aware of who remembered Robert Fergusson 2 A silhouette portrait. feeling some interest in the physiology of such a prodigy of genius, began to question him about his family history. The bard had been dining with Mr Howden, and was much in a humour for waggery. 'Well, Burns,' said the learned physician, 'what sort of man was your father?-a tall man?' 'Yes, rather.' 'A darkcomplexioned man?' 'Yes.' 'And your mother?' 'My mother was not a man at all, sir.' By this grammatical quip the doctor was sadly discomfited; and Burns next day made his friend Howden laugh heartily at the joke in his shop in the Parliament Square. I begin this letter in answer to yours of the 17th current, which is not yet cold since I read it. The atmosphere of my soul is vastly clearer than when I wrote you last. For the first time, yesterday I crossed the room on crutches. It would do your heart good to see my bardship, not on my poetic, but on my oaken stilts; throwing my best leg with an air! and with as much hilarity in my gait and countenance, as a May frog leaping across the newly-harrowed ridge, enjoying the fragrance of the refreshed earth after the long-expected shower! I can't say I am altogether at my ease when I see anywhere in my path that meagre, squalid, famine-faced spectre-Poverty; attended as he always is by iron-fisted Oppression, and leering Contempt; but I have sturdily withstood his buffetings many a hard-laboured day already, and still my motto is-I DARE! My worst enemy is moi même. I lie so miserably open to the inroads and incursions of a mischievous, light-armed, well-mounted banditti, under the banners of imagination, whim, caprice, and passion; and the heavy-armed veteran regulars of wisdom, prudence, and forethought move so very, very slow, that I am almost in a state of perpetual warfare, and alas! frequent defeat. There are just two creatures I would envya horse in his wild state traversing the forests of Asia, or an oyster on some of the desert shores of Europe. The one has not a wish without enjoyment, the other has neither wish nor fear. R. B. There is a gap in the M'Lehose correspondence after the last letter. In some of the missing letters, it had been arranged that they should for the future sign their epistles respectively as Sylvander and Clarinda, and the lady had latterly communicated some of her verses to the poet : TO CLARINDA. Friday Evening [21st Dec.] I beg your pardon, my dear Clarinda,' for the fragment scrawl I BURNS TO CLARINDA. 183 sent you yesterday. I really do not know what I wrote. A gentleman for whose character, abilities, and critical knowledge I have the highest veneration, called in just as I had begun the second sentence, and I would not make the porter wait. I read to my much-respected friend several of my own bagatelles, and, among others, your lines, which I had copied out. He began some criticisms on them as on the other pieces, when I informed him they were the work of a young lady in this town, which, I assure you, made him stare. My learned friend seriously protested that he did not believe any young woman in Edinburgh was capable of such lines; and if you know anything of Professor Gregory, you will neither doubt of his abilities nor his sincerity. I do love you, if possible, still better for having so fine a taste and turn for poesy. I have again gone wrong in my usual unguarded way, but you may erase the word, and put esteem, respect, or any other tame Dutch expression you please in its place. I believe there is no holding converse, or carrying on correspondence, with an amiable woman, much less a gloriously amiable fine woman, without some mixture of that delicious passion whose most devoted slave I have more than once had the honour of being. But why be hurt or offended on that account? Can no honest man have a prepossession for a fine woman, but he must run his head against an intrigue? Take a little of the tender witchcraft of love, and add to it the generous, the honourable sentiments of manly friendship, and I know but one more delightful morsel which few, few in any rank ever taste. Such a composition is like adding cream to strawberries: it not only gives the fruit a more elegant richness, but has a peculiar deliciousness of its own. I enclose you a few lines I composed on a late melancholy occasion. I will not give above five or six copies of it at all, and I would be hurt if any friend should give any copies without my consent. You cannot imagine, Clarinda (I like the idea of Arcadian names in a commerce of this kind), how much store I have set by the hopes of your future friendship. I do not know if you have a just idea of my character, but I wish you to see me as I am. I am, as most people of my trade are, a strange Will-o'-Wisp being; the victim, too frequently, of much imprudence and many follies. My great constituent elements are pride and passion. The first I have endeavoured to humanise into integrity and honour; the last makes me a devotee to the warmest degree of enthusiasm in love, religion, or friendship-either of them, or all together, as I happen to be inspired. 'Tis true, I never saw you but once; but how much acquaintance did I form with you in that once! Do not think I flatter you, or have a design upon you, Clarinda: I have too much pride for the one, and too little cold contrivance for the other; but of all God's creatures I ever could approach in the beaten way of my acquaintance, you struck me with the deepest, the Probably the verses on the Death of the Lord President. strongest, the most permanent impression. I say the most permanent, because I know myself well, and how far I can promise either in my prepossessions or powers. Why are you unhappy? And why are so many of our fellow-creatures, unworthy to belong to the same species with you, blest with all they can wish? You have a hand all benevolent to give: why were you denied the pleasure? You have a heart formed-gloriously formed-for all the most refined luxuries of love: why was that heart ever wrung? Oh Clarinda! shall we not meet in a state, some yet unknown state of being, where the lavish hand of plenty shall minister to the highest wish of benevolence, and where the chill north wind of prudence shall never blow over the flowery fields of enjoyment? If we do not, man was made in vain! I deserved most of the unhappy hours that have lingered over my head; they were the wages of my labour: but what unprovoked demon, malignant as hell, stole upon the confidence of unmistrusting busy fate, and dashed your cup of life with undeserved sorrow? Let me know how long your stay will be out of town; I shall count the hours till you inform me of your return. Cursed etiquette forbids your seeing me just now; and so soon as I can walk I must bid Edinburgh adieu. Lord! why was I born to see misery which I cannot relieve, and to meet with friends whom I cannot enjoy? I look back with the pang of unavailing avarice on my loss in not knowing you sooner: all last winter, these three months past, what luxury of intercourse have I not lost! Perhaps, though, 'twas better for my peace. You see I am either above or incapable of dissimulation. I believe it is want of that particular genius. I despise design, because I want either coolness or wisdom to be capable of it. I am interrupted. Adieu! my dear Clarinda! SYLVANDER. Burns was attended in his illness by Dr Gregory as physician, while Mr Alexander Wood officiated as his surgeon. It was thus that he had an opportunity of exhibiting Clarinda's poetry before the eyes of one who was reckoned in his day and place as the prince of critics. The large intelligence, vigorous thought, and high-minded benevolence of the learned author of the Conspectus Medicina, had deeply impressed the Ayrshire poet, from their first meetings at Lord Monboddo's in the past winter. Perhaps even their common liability to the sæva indignatio where their feelings were offended by foolish or sordid conduct, had helped to strengthen the friendship which arose between these men, so different in their education and position in life. A gentleman in Glasgow possesses a copy of an English translation of Cicero's Select Orations (London, 1756) which had belonged to Burns, and which bears on a fly-leaf the following inscription, in the bard's handwriting: Edin: 23d April 1787.-This book, a present from the truly worthy and learned DR GREGORY, I shall preserve to |