yers of the time of Burns, the principle of jollity was indeed in its "high and palmy state." He partook largely in those tavern scenes of audacious hilarity, which then soothed, as a matter of course, the arid labours of the northern noblesse de la robe, (so they are well called in Redgauntlet,) and of which we are favoured with a specimen in the "High Jinks" chapter of Guy Mannering.

The tavern-life is now-a-days nearly extinct everywhere; but it was then in full vigour in Edinburgh, and there can be no doubt that Burns rapidly familiarized himself with it during his residence. He had, after all, tasted but rarely of such excesses while in Ayrshire. So little are we to consider his Scotch Drink, and other jovial strains of the early period, as conveying anything like a fair notion of his actual course of life, that "Auld Nanse Tinnock," or "Poosie Nancie," the Mauchline landlady, is known to have expressed, amusingly enough, her surprise at the style in which she found her name celebrated in the Kilmarnock edition, saying, “ that Robert Burns might be a very clever lad, but he certainly was regardless, as, to the best of her belief, he had never taken three half-mutchkins in her house in all his life." And in addition to Gilbert's testimony to the same purpose, we have on record that of Mr Archibald Bruce, (qualified by Heron, "a gentleman of great worth and discernment,") that he had observed Burns closely during that period of his life, and seen him "steadily resist such solicitations and allurements to excessive convivial enjoyment, as hardly any other person could have withstood."

*Mr R. Chambers's MS. notes, taken during a tour in Ayrshire.

The unfortunate Heron knew Burns well; and himself mingled largely in some of the scenes to which he adverts in the following strong language:

"The enticements of pleasure too often unman our virtuous resolution, even while we wear the air of rejecting them with a stern brow. We resist, and resist, and resist; but, at last, suddenly turn, and passionately embrace the enchantress. The bucks of Edinburgh accomplished, in regard to Burns, that in which the boors of Ayrshire had failedǝ After residing some months in Edinburgh, he be gan to estrange himself, not altogether, but in some measure, from graver friends. Too many of his hours were now spent at the tables of persons who delighted to urge conviviality to drunkenness in the tavern-and in the brothel."+

It would be idle now to attempt passing over these things in silence; but it could serve no good purpose to dwell on them..

During this winter, Burns continued, as has been mentioned, to lodge with John Richmond; and we have the authority of this early friend of the poet for the statement, that while he did so, "he kept good hours." He removed afterwards to the house of Mr William Nicoll, (one of the teachers of the High School of Edinburgh,) on the Buc cleuch road: and this change is, I suppose, to be considered as a symptom that the keeping of good hours was beginning to be irksome. Nicoll was a man of quick parts and considerable learning-who had risen from a rank as humble as Burns's: from the beginning an enthusiastic admirer, and, ere long,

See Burns's allusions to Heron's own habits, in a Poetical Epistle to Blacklock. + Heron, p. 27. Notes by Mr R. Chambers.

a constant associate of the poet, and a most dangerous associate; for, with a warm heart, the man united a fierce irascible temper, a scorn of many of the decencies of life, a noisy contempt of religion, at least of the religious institutions of his country, and a violent propensity for the bottle. He was one of those who would fain believe themselves to be men of genius; and that genius is a sufficient apology for trampling under foot all the old vulgar rules of prudence and sobriety, being on both points equally mistaken. Of Nicoll's letters to Burns, and about him, I have seen many that have never been, and probably that never will be, printed-cumbrous and pedantic effusions, exhibiting nothing that one can imagine to have been pleasing to the poet, except what was probably enough to redeem all imperfections namely, a rapturous admiration of his genius. This man, nevertheless, was, I suspect, very far from being an unfavourable specimen of the society to which Heron thus alludes" He (the poet) suffered himself to be surrounded by a race of miserable beings, who were proud to tell that they had been in company with BURNS, and had seen Burns as loose and as foolish as themselves. He was not yet irrecoverably lost to temperance and moderation; but he was already almost too much captivated with their wanton revels, to be ever more won back to a faithful attachment to their more sober charms." Heron adds" He now also began to contract something of new arrogance in conversation. Accustomed to be, among his favourite associates, what is vulgarly, but expressively called, the cock of the company, he could scarcely refrain from indulging in similar freedom and dictatorial decision of talk, even in the presence of persons who could less patiently

*

endure his presumption ;" an account ex facie probable, and which sufficiently tallies with some hints in Mr Dugald Stewart's description of the poet's manners, as he first observed him at Catrine, and with one or two anecdotes already cited from Walker and Cromek.

Of these failings, and indeed of all Burns's failings, it may be safely asserted, that there was more in his history to account and apologize for them, than can be alleged in regard to almost any other great man's imperfections. We have seen, how, even in his earliest days, the strong thirst of distinction glowed within him-how in his first and rudest rhymes he sung,

— to be great is charming;"

and we have also seen, that the display of talent in conversation was the first means of distinction that occurred to him. It was by that talent that he first attracted notice among his fellow peasants, and after he mingled with the first Scotsmen of his time, this talent was still that which appeared the most astonishing of all he possessed. What wonder that he should delight in exerting it where he could exert it the most freely-where there was no check upon a tongue that had been accustomed to revel in the license of village-mastery? where every sally, however bold, was sure to be received with triumphant applause--where there were no claims to rival his-no proud brows to convey rebuke, above all, perhaps, no grave eyes to convey regret? "Nonsense," says Cumberland, "talked by men of wit and understanding in the hours of relaxation, is of the very finest essence of

• Heron, p. 28.

conviviality; but it implies a trust in the company not always to be risked." It was little in Burns's character to submit to nice and scrupulous rules, when he knew that, by crossing the street, he could find society who would applaud him the more, the more heroically all such rules were disregarded; and he who had passed from the company of the jolly bachelors of Tarbolton and Mauchline, to that of the eminent Scotsmen whose names were honoured all over the civilized world, without discovering any difference that appeared worthy of much consideration, was well prepared to say, with the prince of all free-speakers and free-livers, "I will take mine ease in mine inn !"

But these, assuredly, were not the only feelings that influenced Burns: In his own letters, written during his stay in Edinburgh, we have the best evidence to the contrary. He shrewdly suspected, from the very beginning, that the personal notice of the great and the illustrious was not to be as lasting as it was eager : he foresaw, that sooner or later he was destined to revert to societies less elevated above the pretensions of his birth; and, though his jealous pride might induce him to record his suspicions in language rather too strong than too weak, it is quite impossible to read what he wrote without believing that a sincere distrust lay rankling at the roots of his heart, all the while that he appeared to be surrounded with an atmosphere of joy and hope.

On the 15th of January 1787, we find him thus addressing his kind patroness, Mrs Dunlop :

"You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet. Alas! madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do not mean any airs of affected modesty; I am willing to believe

M