No. LXXVI. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. Tune-" John Anderson, my jo." How cruel are the parents, The ravening hawk pursuing, To shun impelling ruin A while her pinions tries; She trusts the ruthless falconer, MARK YONDER POMP.* Tune-" Deil tak the wars." Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion *I am the last person in the world who would wish to deprive any man of his right, far less a literary one of his merit. My object is not to lessen the talents of my favourite bard, but to illustrate, as far as in me lies, the pieces he has given to the world. What are the showy treasures? The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art : May draw the wond'ring gaze, And courtly grandeur bright But never, never can come near the heart. But did you see my dearest Chloris Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, O then, the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul! Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown, Even Avarice would deny His worshipp'd deity. And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders: your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just Were he alive at this moment, or his revered shade watching over every sentence as it falls from my pen, I am convinced he would not be displeased with my freedom, nor the candour with which I have pointed out what was, and what really was not, of his composition. The ideas of the first stanza of this song appears to me to have been borrowed from the old love verses that follow : "Love's a gentle gen'rous passion! Source of all sublime delight; What are titles, pomp, or riches, B. now in a high fit for poetizing, provided that the strait jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating portion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's frenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment "holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. No. LXXVII. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. May, 1795. TEN thousand thanks for your elegant present: though I am ashamed of the value of it being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shown it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first rate production. My phiz is sae kenspeckle, that the very joiner's apprentice whom Mrs Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day) knew it at once. My most grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the little one who is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, d-n'd, wee, rumblegairie urchin of mine, whom, from that propensity to witty wickedness, and manfu' mischief, which, even at twa days auld, I foresaw would form the striking features of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall be nameless.* * In matters of art we are inclined always to defer to the taste of Allan Cunningham, who says of the picture in question: "The picture alluded to was painted from the Cotter's Satur Give the inclosed epigram to my much-valued friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me, in a manner introduced me-I mean a well-known military and literary character, Colonel Dirom. You do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. Are they condemned? No. LXXVIII. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 13th May, 1795. It gives me great pleasure to find that you are all so well satisfied with Mr Allan's production. The chance resemblance of your little fellow, whose promising disposition appeared so very early, and suggested whom he should be named after, is curious enough. I am acquainted with that person, who is a prodigy of learning and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though no saint. You really make me blush when you tell me you have not merited the drawing from me. I do not think I can ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you for the liberal and kind manner in which you have entered into day Night' it displays at once the talent and want of taste of the ingenious artist. The scene is a solemn one: but the serenity of the moment is disturbed by what some esteem as a beauty, namely, the attempt to cut the top of the cat's tail by the little merry urchin seated on the floor. The unity of the sentiment is destroyed; it jars with the harmony of the rest of the picture as much as a snail does in crawling in the bosom of a new opened rose. This sense of propriety is required in such compositions : Burns was a great master in it; he introduced true love, domestic gladness, and love of country along with devotion in his noble poem of The Cotter's Saturday Night,' but he never dreamed of throwing in any of his ludicrous or humorous touches-all is as much in keeping as in the best conceived picture."-M. the spirit of my undertaking, which could not have been perfected without you. So I beg you would not make a fool of me again by speaking of obligation.* I like your two last songs very much, and am happy to find you are in such a high fit of poetizing. Long may it last! Clarke has made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative ballad of William and Margaret, and is to give it to me, to be enrolled among the elect. No. LXXIX. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. IN' Whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad,' the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think is an improvement: O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad; Tho' father and mother, and a' should gae mad, Thy Jeany will venture wi' ye, my lad. In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the Priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of Parnassus; a dame whom the Graces have attired in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed with lightning, a fair one, herself the heroine of the song, insists on the amendment; and dispute her commands if you dare! THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE.+ Tune-" This is no my ain house." O this is no my ain lassie, Fair tho' the lassie be; *Mr Thomson never said a truer word in his life.-M. †There is an old song to this tune in Ramsay's Miscellany beginning, "This is no mine ain house, I ken by the rigging o't; |