while my mother would sing the simple old song of The Life and Age of Man.'" From the Poet's venerable mother, Mr. Cromek procured a copy of this composition; it commences thus:

"Upon the sixteen hunderd year

Of God, and fifty-three,

Frae Christ was born, who bought us dear, As writings testifie;

On January the sixteenth day,

As I did lie alone,

With many a sigh and sob did say,

Ah! man was made to moan!"'

to have been in the plain exercise of such an understanding as his, may be read in every stanza of his Epistle to Davie."-LOCKHART.] ["Immediately below the old bridge of Barskimming, there is a small level, grassy plot, or holm, surrounded by lime and chesnut trees; this little holm is interestingly connected with the history of Burns, by the following circumstance, which has thus been related by the late James Andrew, miller, at Barskimming mill:

"Then in comes March that noble arch,

With wholesome spring and air;
The child doth spring to years fifteen,
With visage fine and fair.

So do the flow'rs, with soft'ning show'rs,
Ay spring up as we see ;
Yet ne'ertheless, remember this-
That one day we must die.

"Then brave April doth sweetly smile,
The flow'rs do fair appear,
The child is then become a man
To the age of twenty year;
If he be kind and well inclin'd

And brought up at a school,
Then men may know if he foreshow
A wise man or a fool.

"Then cometh May gallant and gay

When fragrant flow'rs do thrive,
The child is then become a man
Of age twenty and five:
And for his life doth seek a wife

His life and years to spend ;
Christ from above sent peace and love
And grace unto the end.

"Then cometh June with pleasant tune,
When fields with flow'rs are clad,
And Phoebus bright is at his height--
All creatures then are glad;
Then he appears of thretty years,
With courage bold and stout;
His nature so makes him to go,

Of death he hath no doubt."]

["Whatever might be the casual idea that set the poet to work, it is but too evident that he wrote from the habitual feelings of his own bosom. The indignation with which he through life contemplated the inequality of human condition, and particularly-and who shall say with absolute injustice?-the contrast between his own worldly circumstances and intellectual rank, was never more bitterly nor more loftily expressed than in some of these stanzas.

'See yonder poor, o'er-labour'd wight,' &c. "The same feelings, strong, but triumphed over in the moment of inspiration, as it ought ever

"Close beside the end of the bridge, stands a neat small house, inhabited, at the time to which this anecdote relates, by an old man named The old man, not originally possessed of the best of tempers, was rendered peevish and querulous by disease, and, in consequence of slight paralysis, generally || supported himself on two sticks. His daughter Kate, however, a trim trig lass, was one of the leading belles of the district, and as such had attracted a share of the attentions of Robert Burns. One evening the poet had come from Mauchline to see Kate; but, on arriving at the house, he found the old man at the door in a more than usually peevish mood, and was informed by him that the cow was lost, and that Kate had gone in quest of her, but she had been so long away he was afraid she was lost | The poet, leaving the old man, crossed the bridge, and at the farther end he met the miller of Barskimming mill, then a young man about his own age, whom he accosted thus: "Weel, miller, what are you doing here?" 'Na, Robin," said the_miller, "I s'ould put that question to you, for I am at hame and ye're no." Why," said Robin, "I cam doun to see Kate Kemp.” "I was just gaun the same gate, ," said the miller. "Then ye need gang nae further," said Burns, " for baith she and the cow's lost, and the auld man is perfectly wud at the want o' them. But, come, we'll tak a turn or two in the holm till we see if she

too.

66

66

cast up." They accordingly went into the holm, and, during the first two rounds they made, the poet chatted freely, but subsequently got more and more taciturn, and during the last two rounds spoke not a word. On reaching bade the miller good night, and walked rapidly the stile that led from the place, he abruptly towards Mauchline. Next time the miller and for my silence during our last walk together, he met, he said, "Miller, I owe you an apology said he, "Robin, there is no occasion, for I and for leaving you so abruptly.” "Oh!" supposed some subject hat occurred to you, and that you were thinking and perhaps composing "You were quite right, something on it.” miller," said Burns, "and I will now read you what was chiefly the work of that evening." The composition he read was Man was made to mourn. THE LAND OF BURNS.]

EPISTLE TO

John Goudie, Kilmarnock,

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS."

O GOUDIE! terror of the Whigs,
Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs,
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,

Girnin', looks back,

Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues
Wad seize you quick.

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition,
Waes me! she's in a sad condition;
Fie! bring Black-Jock, her state physician,
To see her w-t-r:

Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion
She'll ne'er get better.

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple,
But now she's got an unco ripple;
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel,
Nigh unto death;

See, how she fetches at the thrapple,
An' gasps for breath!

Enthusiasm's past redemption,
Gaen in a gallopping consumption,
Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption,
Will ever mend her.

Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption
Death soon will end her.

'Tis you and Taylor + are the chief
Wha are to blame for this mischief,
But gin the Lord's ain folks gat leave,
A toom tar-barrel,

An' twa red peats wad send relief,

An' end the quarrel.

[The "Whigs," of whom the Essayist was the terror, were the Old Light portion of the Presbyterian kirk; men, ceremonious in their observances, austere in their conversation, and who accounted themselves Calvinists to the letter."These people inculcate that the greatest sinner is the greatest favourite of heaventhat a reformed bawd is more acceptable to the Almighty than a pure virgin who has hardly ever transgressed, even in thought that the lost sheep alone will be saved, and that the ninety-and-nine out of the hundred will be left in the wilderness to perish without mercy-that the Saviour of the world loves the elect, not from any lovely qualities which they possess, for they are hateful in his sight-but he loves them, because he loves them.' Such are the sentiments which are breathed by those who are denominated high Calvinists, and from which the soul of a poet who loves mankind, and who

[This is another of those pieces which first appeared in the Glasgow collection published by Messrs. Brash and Reid, in 1801.]

I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel,
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel;
Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Steele,
Or Beattie's wark?"
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel
About Muirkirk.

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't,
And sae about him there I spier't,
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd
He had ingine,
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't,
It was sae fine.

That set him to a pint of ale,
An' either douce or merry tale,
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel',
Or witty catches:
'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale,

He had few matches.

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith,
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith,
Or die a cadger pownie's death,

At some dyke-back,
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith
To hear your crack.

Dr. Taylor, of Norwich.-R. B.

[This song, entitled, "When I upon thy bosom lean," is given entire in Burns's Remarks on Scottish Song.]

There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me,
I like the lasses-Gude forgie me!
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me,
At dance or fair;
May be some ither thing they gie me
They weel can spare.

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair,
I should be proud to meet you there;
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care,
If we forgather,

An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware
Wi' ane anither.

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter,
An' kirsen him wi' reekin' water;
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter,
To cheer our heart;

An' faith, we'se be acquainted better
Before we part.

[There's naething like the honest nappy!
Whar'll ye e'er see men sae happy,
Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy

"Tween morn and morn,

As them wha like to taste the drappy
In glass or horn!

I've seen me daez't upon a time,
I scarce cou'd wink, or see a styme;
Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime,
Aught less is little,

Then back I rattle on the rhyme,

As gleg's a whittle !]

song

[In this epistle TWO ADDITIONAL STANZAS are now for the first time restored. They appear in an original copy of the MS. in the Poet's own hand-writing, and were inserted by Cromek among the Fragments of Burns.-C.] "The which moved the Poet to write this epistle was composed by Lapraik, in one of his days of despondency, when his wife refused to be comforted. Lapraik is apparently the same name with Leprevick, honourable in the history of Scottish literature, having been borne by one of the most distinguished of our early printers. In 1364, David II. confirmed a charter of William de Cunningham, lord of Carrick, to James de Leprewick, of half the lands of Polkairne in King's Kyle (Wood's Peerage, I. 321), which shows that there were persons of that name at an early period connected with the district."-CHAMBERS.

"The epistle to John Lapraik was produced exactly on the occasion described by the author. He 'On Fasten e'en we had a rocking.' says Rocking is a term derived from the primitive times, when our countrywomen employed their spare hours in spinning on the rock or distaff. This simple implement is a very portable one, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in a neighbour's house-hence the phrase of going a rocking, or with the rock. As the connexion the phrase had with the implement was forgotten when the rock gave way to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by both sexes on social occasions, and men talk of going with their rocks as well as women. It was at one of these rockings, at our house, when they had twelve or fifteen young people with their rocks, that Lapraik's song beginning "When I upon thy bosom lean," was sung, and we were informed who was the author. Upon this Robert wrote his first Epistle to Lapraik, and his second in reply to his answer." -GILBERT BURNS.

Formerly, in the lowlands of Scotland, wool was carded and spun for the benefit of the family to whom these friendly visitations were made. In some inland villages the social custom still prevails.

[The following is

Lapraik's Reply to Burns's Epistle.

O FAR fam'd Rab! my silly muse,

That thou sae phrais'd lang-syne, When she did scarce ken verse by prose, Now dares to spread her wing.

Unconscious of the least desert,
Nor e'er expecting fame,

I sometimes did my friends divert,
Wi' jingling worthless rhyme.

When sitting lanely by myself, Just unco griev'd and wae,

To think that fortune, fickle joe!

Had kick'd me o'er the brae!
And when I was amaist half-drown'd,
Wi' dolefu' grief and care,

I'd maybe rhyme a verse or twa,
To drive away despair;

Or when I met a chiel like you,

Sae gi'en to mirth an' fun,
Wha lik'd to speel Parnassus' hill,
An' drink at Helicon;

I'd aiblins catch a wee bit spark
O' his poetic fire,

An' rhyme awa like ane half-mad,
Until my muse did tire.

I lik'd the lasses unco weel,

Lang-syne when I was young, Which sometimes kittl'd up my muse, To write a kind love sang;

Yet still it ne'er ran in my head,

To trouble mankind with
My dull, insipid, thowless rhyme,
And stupid senseless stuff;

Till your kind muse, wi' friendly blast,
First touted up my fame,

And sounded loud, through a' the wast, My lang forgotten name.

Quoth I, "Shall I, like to a sumph,

Sit douff and dowie here, And suffer the ill-natur'd warld

To ca' Rab Burns a liar?

"He says that I can sing fu' weel,

An' through the warld has sent it-Na; faith I'll rhyme a hearty blaud, Though I should aye repent it."

Syne up I got, wi' unco glee,

And snatch'd my grey-goose quill, An' cried, "Come here, my muse, fy, come, An' rhyme wi' a' your skill.”

The hizzy was right sweer to try't,

An' scarce wad be persuaded;
She said, I was turn'd auld an' stiff,
My youthfu' fire quite faded.

Quoth she, "Had ye began lang-syne,
When ye were brisk and young,
I doubt na but ye might hae past,
And sung a glorious sang.

"But now ye're clean gane out o' tune,
Your auld grey scaulp turn'd bare:
Mair meet that ye were turning douse,
An' trying to say your pray'r.

"The folks a' laughing at you, else,
Ye'll gar them laugh aye faster:
When ye gang out, they'll point and say,
There gangs the poetaster."

"Deil care," said I, "haud just your tongue,

Begin, and nae mair say,

I maun maintain my honour now,
Though I should seldom pray!

"I oft when in a merry tift,

Hae rhym'd for my diversion; I'll now go try to rhyme for bread, And let the warld be clashin'."

"Weel, weel," said she, "sin ye're sae bent, Come, let us go begin then; We'll try to do the best we can,

I'm sure we'll aye sae something."

Syne till't I gat, an' rhym'd away,
'Till I hae made a book o't,
An' though I should rue't a' my life,
I'll gie the warld a look o't.

I'm weel aware the greatest part
(I fain hope not the whole)
Will look upon't as senseless stuff,
An' me's a crazy fool.

Whether that it be nonsense a'

Or some o't not amiss,

And whether I've done right or wrang,
I leave the warld to guess.

But I should tell them, by the by,
Though maybe it is idle,

That feint a book scarce e'er I read.
Save ance or twice the bible.

An' what the learned folk ca' grammar,
I naething ken about it;
Although I b'lieve it be owre true,

Ane can do nought without it.

But maist my life has just been spent
(Which to my cost I feel)
In fechting sair wi' luckless brutes,
Till they kick'd up my heel.

Now fare-ye-weel, my guid frien' Rab,
May luck and health attend ye;
If I do weel, I'll bless the day
That e'er I came to ken ye;

But on the tither han', should folk
Me for my nonsense blazon,
Nae doubt I'll curse th' unlucky day
I listen'd to your phraisin'.
May that great name that
Untainted aye remain ;
And may the laurels on your head
Aye flourish fresh and green!

ye

hae got

The Lord maintain your honour aye,
And then ye need na fear,
While I can write, or speak, or think,
I am your frien' sincere!]