At this time we have a picturesque presentment of Burns from the pen of Dr Currie: 'In the summer of 1791, two English gentlemen, who had before met with him in Edinburgh, paid a visit to him at Ellisland. On calling at the house, they were informed that he had walked out on the banks of the river; and dismounting from their horses, they proceeded in search of him. On a rock that projected into the stream, they saw a man employed in angling, of a singular appearance. He had a cap made of a fox's skin on his head, a loose greatcoat fixed round him by a belt, from which depended an enormous Highland broadsword. It was Burns. He received them with great cordiality, and asked them to share his humble dinner-an invitation which they accepted. On the table they found boiled beef, with vegetables and barley-broth, after the manner of Scotland, of which they partook heartily. After dinner, the bard told them ingenuously that he had no wine to offer them—nothing better than Highland whisky, a bottle of which Mrs Burns set on the board. He produced at the same time his punch-bowl, made of Inverary marble; and mixing the spirit with water and sugar, filled their glasses, and invited them to drink.' The travellers were in haste, and, besides, the flavour of the whisky to their suthron palates was scarcely tolerable; but the generous poet offered them his best, and his ardent hospitality they found it impossible to resist. Burns was in his happiest mood, and the charms of his conversation were altogether fascinating. He ranged over a great variety of topics, illuminating whatever he touched. He related the tales of his infancy and of his youth; he recited some of the gayest and some of the tenderest of his poems: in the wildest of his strains of mirth he threw in some touches of melancholy, and spread around him the electric emotions of his powerful mind. The Highland whisky improved in its flavour; the marble bowl was again and again emptied and replenished; the guests of our poet forgot the flight of time and the dictates of prudence: at the hour of midnight, they lost their way in returning to Dumfries, and could scarcely distinguish it when assisted by the morning's dawn.' 1 The bowl here referred to was formed of lapis-ollaris, the stone of which Inverary Castle is built. It was fashioned by the hands of Mr Armour of Mauchline, and presented by him as a marriage-gift to his famous son-in-law. After the poet's death, it fell into the hands of Mr Alexander Cunningham of Edinburgh, from which again it passed to those of Mr Hastie, representative of Paisley in several parliaments, who is said to have refused three hundred guineas for it—a sum that would have set Burns on his legs for ever! 2 Given from the information of one of the party. TO MR THOMAS SLOAN. ELLISLAND, 1st Sept. 1791. MY DEAR SLOAN-Suspense is worse than disappointment; for that reason, I hurry to tell you that I just now learn that Mr Ballantine does not choose to interfere more in the business. truly sorry for it, but cannot help it. I am You blame me for not writing you sooner; but you will please to recollect, that you omitted one little necessary piece of information -your address. However, you know equally well my hurried life, indolent temper, and strength of attachment. It must be a longer period than the longest life in the world's hale and undegenerate days,' that will make me forget so dear a friend as Mr Sloan. I am prodigal enough at times, but I will not part with such a treasure as that. I can easily enter into the embarras of your present situation. You know my favourite quotation from Young: -'On Reason build RESOLVE! That column of true majesty in man.' And that other favourite one from Thomson's Alfred: 'What proves the hero truly GREAT, Is, never, never to despair.' Or, shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance? -Whether DOING, SUFFERING, or FORBEARING, You may do miracles by-PERSEVERING.' I have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we have are going on in the old way. I sold my crop on this day se'ennight, and sold it very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, above value. But such a scene of drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this country. After the roup was over, about thirty people engaged in a battle, every man for his own hand, and fought it out for three hours. Nor was the scene much better in the house. No fighting, indeed, but folks lying drunk on the floor, and decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by attending them that they could not stand. You will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene, as I was no further over than you used to see me. Mrs B. and family have been in Ayrshire these many weeks. R. B. The reader must not suppose that Burns had given any special encouragement to the glass at the sale of his crop. It was the custom on such occasions to produce a quantity of whisky, or some similar liquor, from which the persons attending the sale were expected to help themselves at discretion. The common belief was, that without this attraction there might be a difficulty in assembling a company, and that without such a stimulus to bidding, the stock would go off at prices beneath its value. Such matters are usually left to the auctioneer, and probably on this occasion our poet was passive in all respects but that of an observer of self-degraded human nature. There is seldom any excess nowa-days; but still the bottle never fails to appear side by side with the auctioneer. The Earl of Buchan, whose connection with the Glencairn family gave him a claim on Burns's consideration which he could never have derived from his own character, was at this time contemplating one of the puerile fêtes for which he had so restless a propensity-the ostensible object being the inauguration of a temple built to Thomson the poet on Ednam Hill, while the true one was the glorification of the Earl of Buchan. His lordship wrote to Burns, requesting his presence on the occasion, and suggesting that he should go across the country, and meet the Tweed at the nearest point to his farm; and wandering along the pastoral banks of Thomson's pure parent stream, catch inspiration on the devious walk, till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on the ruins of Dryburgh. There,' he adds, the Commendator [for so he considered himself, as being the successor of the ancient abbots] will give him [Burns] a hearty welcome, and try to light his lamp at the pure flame of native genius upon the altar of Caledonian virtue !' Burns gave a courteous and conceding answer: TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. ELLISLAND, [September] 1791. MY LORD-Language sinks under the ardour of my feelings, when I would thank your lordship for the honour you have done me in inviting me to make one at the coronation of the bust of Thomson. In my first enthusiasm in reading the card you did me the honour to write me, I overlooked every obstacle, and determined to go; but I fear it will not be in my power. A week or two's absence, in the very middle of my harvest, is what I much doubt I dare not venture on. I once already made a pilgrimage up the whole course of the Tweed,' and fondly would I take the same delightful journey down the windings of that delightful stream. Your lordship hints at an ode for the occasion; but who would write after Collins? I read over his verses to the memory of Thomson, and despaired. I got, indeed, to the length of three or four stanzas, in the way of address to the shade of the bard, on crowning In reality, only to Innerleithen. his bust. I shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined copy of them, which, I am afraid, will be but too convincing a proof how unequal I am to the task. However, it affords me an opportunity of approaching your lordship, and declaring how sincerely and gratefully I have the honour to be, &c. R. B. ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows: So long, sweet Poet of the year! Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; Proclaims that Thomson was her son. Burns, in looking into Collins for his verses to the memory of Thomson, had probably glanced at the same poet's exquisite Ode to Evening, for the three concluding verses are manifestly imitated in this Address: While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve: While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light: While sallow Autumn fills thy cup with leaves, And rudely rends thy robes: So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, And love thy favourite name!' TO COLONEL FULLARTON, OF FULLARTON.' ELLISLAND, October 3, 1791. SIR-I have just this minute got the frank, and next minute must send it to post; else I purposed to have sent you two or three other bagatelles, that might have amused a vacant hour, about as well as Six Excellent New Songs, or the Aberdeen Prognostications for the Year to come. I shall probably trouble you soon with another packet: about the gloomy month of November, when the people of England hang and drown themselves, anything generally is better than one's own thoughts. 3 Fond as I may be of my own productions, it is not for their sake that I am so anxious to send you them. I am ambitious, covetously ambitious, of being known to a gentleman whom I am proud to call my countryman; a gentleman, who was a foreign ambassador as soon as he was a man, and a leader of armies as soon as he was a soldier, and that with an éclat unknown to the usual minions of a court-men who, with all the adventitious advantages of princely connections and princely fortunes, must yet, like the caterpillar, labour a whole lifetime before they reach the wished for height, there to roost a stupid chrysalis, and doze out the remaining glimmering existence of old age. If the gentleman that accompanied you when you did me the honour of calling on me, is with you, I beg to be respectfully remembered to him. I have the honour to be your highly obliged and most devoted humble servant, R. B. Burns had become acquainted, probably at Friars' Carse, with a beautiful young Englishwoman, a relation of the Riddels, and also connected by the marriage of a sister with the noble family of Kenmure in the neighbouring stewartry. Deborah Davies-for this was her name was of small stature, but exquisitely handsome, and she possessed more than an average share of mental graces. With his usual sensibility to female beauty, but especially that of a refined and educated woman, Burns became an idolater of Miss Davies, and the feelings which possessed him soon led to an effusion of both prose and verse. This gentleman, it will be recollected, is honourably mentioned in The Vision. The letter first appeared in the Paisley Magazine, 1828. For the favourable opinion which he entertained of Burns, see the present volume, p. 132. 2 A conspicuous branch of popular literature in Scotland, till a recent period, consisted of coarse brochures of four leaves, sold at a half-penny, and generally containing something appropriate to the title of Six Excellent New Songs-viz.,' &c. The other branch of popular literature mentioned in the text consisted of almanacs, published at Aberdeen, at the price of a penny. 3 Meaning a native of the same county. |