The Letters of Robert Burns

R >> Robert Burns >> The Letters of Robert Burns

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

The soul, uneasy, and confin'd at home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 16th, and 17th
verses of the 7th chapter of Revelation[2] than with any ten times as
many verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange the whole noble
enthusiasm with which they inspire me, for all that this world has to
offer. As for this world, I despair of ever making a figure in it I am
not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I
shall never again be capable of entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am
altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I foresee that
poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in some measure
prepared, and daily preparing, to meet them. I have but just time and
paper to return you my grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and
piety you have given me, which were too much neglected at the time of
giving them, but which I hope have been remembered ere it is yet too
late. Present my dutiful respects to my mother, and my compliments to
Mr. and Mrs. Muir; and with wishing you a merry New-year's day, I shall
conclude.--I am, honoured Sir, your dutiful son,

ROBERT BURNESS.

P. S.--My meal is nearly out, but I am going to borrow till I get more.

[Footnote 2: "Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve
him day and night in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne
shall dwell among them.

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the
sun light on them, nor any heat.

For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, shall feed them,
and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall
wipe away all tears from their eyes."]

* * * * *

VII.--To SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART., OF BALLOCHMYLE.[3]

SIR,--We who subscribe this are both members of St. James's Lodge,
Tarbolton, and one of us in the office of warden, and as we have the
honour of having you for master of our lodge we hope you will excuse
this freedom, as you are the proper person to whom we ought to apply. We
look on our Mason Lodge to be a serious matter, both with respect to the
character of masonry itself, and likewise as it is a charitable society.
This last, indeed, does not interest you further than a benevolent heart
is interested in the welfare of its fellow-creatures; but to us, sir,
who are of the lower order of mankind, to have a fund in view on which
we may with certainty depend to be kept from want, should we be in
circumstances of distress, or old age--this is a matter of high
importance.

We are sorry to observe that our lodge's affairs with respect to its
finances have for a good while been in a wretched situation. We have
considerable sums in bills which lie by without being paid, or put in
execution, and many of our members never mind their yearly dues, or
anything else belonging to the lodge. And since the separation[4] from
St. David's we are not sure even of our existence as a lodge. There has
been a dispute before the Grand Lodge, but how decided, or if decided at
all, we know not.

For these and other reasons we humbly beg the favour of you, as soon as
convenient, to call a meeting, and let us consider on some means to
retrieve our wretched affairs.--We are, etc.

[Footnote 3: The MS. of the foregoing joint letter in Burns's
handwriting belongs to John Adam, Esquire, Greenock, and the letter
was first published in 1878. Burns was first admitted in St. David's
(Tarbolton) Lodge in July, 1781. At the separation preferred to he
became a member of the new lodge, St. James's, of which, two years
afterwards, he was depute-master.]

[Footnote 4: It was in June, 1782.]

* * * * *

VIII.--To MR. JOHN MURDOCH, SCHOOL-MASTER, STAPLES INN BUILDINGS,
LONDON.

LOCHLIE, _15th January_, 1783.

DEAR SIR,--As I have an opportunity of sending you a letter without
putting you to that expense which any production of mine would but ill
repay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that I have not
forgotten, or ever will forget, the many obligations I lie under to your
kindness and friendship.

I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know what has been the result
of all the pains of an indulgent father, and a masterly teacher; and I
wish I could gratify your curiosity with such a recital as you would be
pleased with;--but that is what I am afraid will not be the case. I
have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits; and in this respect,
I hope, my conduct will not disgrace the education I have gotten; but as
a man of the world, I am most miserably deficient. One would have
thought that, bred as I have been, under a father who has figured pretty
well as _un homme des affaires_, I might have been what the world calls
a pushing active fellow; but to tell you the truth, Sir, there is hardly
anything more my reverse. I seem to be one sent into the world to see
and observe; and I very easily compound with the knave who tricks me of
my money, if there be anything original about him which shows me human
nature in a different light from anything I have seen before. In short,
the joy of my heart is to "study men, their manners, and their ways;"
and for this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other
consideration. I am quite indolent about those great concerns that set
the bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have to answer for the
present hour, I am very easy with regard to anything further. Even the
last, worst shift of the unfortunate and the wretched[5] does not much
terrify me: I know that even then my talent for what countryfolks call
"a sensible crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, would
procure me so much esteem that even then--I would learn to be happy.
However, I am under no apprehensions about that; for though indolent,
yet so far as an extremely delicate constitution permits, I am not lazy;
and in many things, especially in tavern matters, I am a strict
economist; not, indeed, for the sake of the money; but one of the
principal parts in my composition is a kind of pride of stomach; and I
scorn to fear the face of any man living: above every thing, I abhor as
hell the idea of sneaking in a corner to avoid a dun--possibly some
pitiful sordid wretch, whom in my heart I despise and detest. 'Tis this,
and this alone, that endears economy to me.[6]

In the matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My favourite authors
are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone, particularly his
_Elegies;_ Thomson; _Man of Feeling,_--a book I prize next to the Bible;
_Man of the World_; Sterne, especially his _Sentimental Journey_;
Macpherson's _Ossian_, etc.;--these are the glorious models after which
I endeavour to form my conduct, and 'tis incongruous--'tis absurd to
suppose that the man whose mind glows with sentiments lighted up at
their sacred flame--the man whose heart distends with benevolence to all
the human race--he "who can soar above this little scene of things"--can
he descend to mind the paltry concerns about which the terrae-filial
race fret, and fume, and vex themselves! O, how the glorious triumph
swells my heart! I forget that I am a poor insignificant devil,
unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down fairs and markets, when I
happen to be in them reading a page or two of mankind, and "catching the
manners living as they rise," whilst the men of business jostle me on
every side as an idle incumbrance in their way. But, I daresay, I have
by this time tired your patience; so I shall conclude with begging you
to give Mrs. Murdoch--not my compliments, for that is a mere commonplace
story; but my warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare; and accept the
same for yourself, from,--Dear Sir, yours, etc.

[Footnote 5:

"The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only for to beg."
--_First Epistle to Davie._]

[Footnote 6:
"For the glorious privilege
Of being independent."
--_Epistle to a Young Friend. _]

* * * * *

IX.--To HIS COUSIN, MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.

LOCHLIE, _21st June, 1783._

DEAR SIR,--My father received your favour of the both current, and as he
has been for some months very poorly in health, and is in his own
opinion (and, indeed, in almost every body's else) in a dying condition,
he has only, with great difficulty, written a few farewell lines to each
of his brothers-in-law. For this melancholy reason, I now hold the pen
for him to thank you for your kind letter, and to assure you, Sir, that
it shall not be my fault if my father's correspondence in the north die
with him. My brother writes to John Caird,[6] and to him I must refer
you for the news of our family.

I shall only trouble you with a few particulars relative to the wretched
state of this country. Our markets are exceedingly high; oatmeal 17d.
and 18d. per peck, and not to be got even at that price. We have indeed
been pretty well supplied with quantities of white peas from England and
elsewhere, but that resource is likely to fail us, and what will become
of us then, particularly the very poorest sort, Heaven only knows. This
country, till of late, was flourishing incredibly in the manufacture of
silk, lawn, and carpet-weaving; and we are still carrying on a good deal
in that way, but much reduced from what it was. We had also a fine trade
in the shoe way, but now entirely ruined, and hundreds driven to a
starving condition on account of it. Farming is also at a very low ebb
with us. Our lands, generally speaking, are mountainous and barren; and
our land-holders, full of ideas of farming gathered from the English and
the Lothians, and other rich soils in Scotland, make no allowance for
the odds of the quality of land, and consequently stretch us much beyond
what in the event we will be found able to pay. We are also much at a
loss for want of proper methods in our improvements of farming.
Necessity compels us to leave our old schemes, and few of us have
opportunities of being well informed in new ones. In short, my dear Sir,
since the unfortunate beginning of this American war, and its as
unfortunate conclusion, this country has been, and still is, decaying
very fast. Even in higher life, a couple of Ayrshire noblemen, and the
major part of our knights and squires, are all insolvent. A miserable
job of a Douglas, Heron & Co.'s bank, which no doubt you have heard of,
has undone numbers of them; and imitating English and French, and other
foreign luxuries and fopperies, has ruined as many more. There is a
great trade of smuggling carried on along our coasts, which, however
destructive to the interests of the kingdom at large, certainly enriches
this corner of it, but too often at the expense of our morals. However,
it enables individuals to make, at least for a time, a splendid
appearance; but Fortune, as is usual with her when she is uncommonly
lavish of her favours, is generally even with them at last; and happy
were it for numbers of them if she would leave them no worse than when
she found them.

My mother sends you a small present of a cheese; 'tis but a very little
one, as our last year's stock is sold off; but if you could fix on any
correspondent in Edinburgh or Glasgow, we would send you a proper one in
the season. Mrs. Black promises to take the cheese under her care so
far, and then to send it to you by the Stirling carrier.

I shall conclude this long letter with assuring you that I shall be very
happy to hear from you, or any of our friends in your country, when
opportunity serves.

My father sends you, probably for the last time in this world, his
warmest wishes for your welfare and happiness; and my mother and the
rest of the family desire to inclose their kind compliments to you, Mrs.
Burness, and the rest of your family, along with those of, dear Sir,
your affectionate cousin,

[Footnote 6: The writer's uncle.]

* * * * *

X.-To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.

LOCHLIE, 17th Feb. 1784.

DEAR COUSIN,--I would have returned you my thanks for your kind favour
of the 13th of December sooner, had it not been that I waited to give
you an account of that melancholy event, which, for some time past, we
have from day to day expected.

On the 13th current I lost the best of fathers. Though, to be sure, we
have had long warning of the impending stroke, still the feelings of
nature claim their part, and I cannot recollect the tender endearments
and parental lessons of the best of friends and ablest of instructors,
without feeling what perhaps the calmer dictates of reason would
partly condemn.

I hope my father's friends in your country will not let their connection
in this place die with him. For my part I shall ever with pleasure--with
pride, acknowledge my connection with those who were allied by the ties
of blood and friendship to a man whose memory I shall ever honour
and revere.

I expect, therefore, my dear Sir, you will not neglect any opportunity
of letting me hear from you, which will very much oblige,--My dear
Cousin, yours sincerely,

ROBERT BURNESS.

* * * * *

XI.--To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.

MOSSGIEL, _3rd August_ 1784.

MY DEAR SIR,--I ought in gratitude to have acknowledged the receipt of
your last kind letter before this time, but, without troubling you with
any apology, I shall proceed to inform you that our family are all in
good health at present, and we were very happy with the unexpected
favour of John Caird's[6a] company for nearly two weeks, and I must say
it of him that he is one of the most agreeable, facetious, warm-hearted
lads I was ever acquainted with.

We have been surprised with one of the most extraordinary phenomena in
the moral world, which, I dare say, has happened in the course of this
half century. We have had a party of Presbytery relief, as they call
themselves, for some time in this country. A pretty thriving society of
them has been in the burgh of Irvine for some years past, till about two
years ago a Mrs. Buchan from Glasgow came among them, and began to
spread some fanatical notions of religion among them, and in a short
time made many converts; and among others their preacher, Mr. Whyte,
who, upon that account, has been suspended and formally deposed by his
brethren. He continued, however, to preach in private to his party, and
was supported, both he, and their spiritual mother, as they affect to
call old Buchan, by the contributions of the rest, several of whom were
in good circumstances; till, in spring last, the populace rose and
mobbed Mrs. Buchan, and put her out of the town; on which all her
followers voluntarily quitted the place likewise, and with such
precipitation that many of them never shut their doors behind them; one
left a washing on the green, another a cow bellowing at the crib without
food or anybody to mind her, and after several stages they are fixed at
present in the neighbourhood of Dumfries. Their tenets are a strange
jumble of enthusiastic jargon; among others, she pretends to give them
the Holy Ghost by breathing on them, which she does with postures and
practices that are scandalously indecent; they have likewise disposed of
all their effects, and hold a community of goods, and live nearly an
idle life, carrying on a great farce of pretended devotion in barns and
woods, where they lodge and lie all together, and hold likewise a
community of women, as it is another of their tenets that they can
commit no moral sin. I am personally acquainted with most of them, and I
can assure you the above mentioned are facts.

This, my dear Sir, is one of the many instances of the folly of leaving
the guidance of sound reason and common sense in matters of religion.

Whenever we neglect or despise these sacred monitors, the whimsical
notions of a perturbated brain are taken for the immediate influences of
the Deity, and the wildest fanaticism, and the most inconsistent
absurdities, will meet with abetters and converts. Nay, I have often
thought, that the more out-of-the-way and ridiculous the fancies are, if
once they are sanctified under the sacred name of religion, the unhappy
mistaken votaries are the more firmly glued to them.

I expect to hear from you soon, and I beg you will remember me to all
friends, and believe me to be, my dear Sir, your affectionate cousin,

ROBERT BURNESS.

P.S.--Direct to me at Mossgiel, parish of Mauchline, near Kilmarnock.

[Footnote 6a: Probably John Caird, junior, as the father would be
over sixty if he was about his wife's age, and she, Elspat Burnes,
was born, we know, in 1725.]

* * * * *

XII.--TO THOMAS ORR, PARK, KIRKOSWALD.

DEAR THOMAS,--I am much obliged to you for your last letter, though I
assure you the contents of it gave me no manner of concern. I am
presently so cursedly taken in with an affair of gallantry that I am
very glad Peggy[7] is off my hand, as I am at present embarrassed
enough[7a] without her. I don't choose to enter into particulars in
writing, but never was a poor rakish rascal in a more pitiful taking. I
should be glad to see you to tell you the affair.--Meanwhile I am your
friend, ROBERT BURNESS.

MOSSGAVIL, 11_th Nov_. 1784.

[Footnote 7: Peggy Thomson.]

[Footnote 7a: Birth of his illegitimate child by Elizabeth Paton,
once a servant with his father at Lochlie.]

* * * * *

XIII.-TO MISS MARGARET KENNEDY.[8]

[_A young lady of seventeen, when this letter was addressed to her, and
on a visit to Mrs. Gavin Hamilton at Mauchline._]

[_Probably Autumn_, 1785.]

MADAM,--Permit me to present you with the enclosed song as a small
though grateful tribute for the honour of your acquaintance. I have in
these verses attempted some faint sketch of your portrait in the
unembellished simple manner of descriptive truth. Flattery I leave to
your lovers whose exaggerating fancies may make them imagine you are
still nearer perfection than you really are.

Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers of
beauty,--as, if they are really poets of nature's making, their feelings
must be finer and their taste more delicate than most of the world. In
the cheerful bloom of spring, or the pensive mildness of autumn, the
grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty of winter, the poet feels a
charm unknown to the most of his species. Even the sight of a fine
flower, or the company of a fine woman (by far the finest part of God's
works below), has sensations for the poetic heart that the herd of men
are strangers to. On this last account, Madam, I am, as in many other
things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in introducing me to you.
Your lovers may view you with a wish--I look on you with pleasure; their
hearts in your presence may glow with desire--mine rises with
admiration.

That the arrows of misfortune, however they should, as incident to
humanity, glance a slight wound, may never reach your heart; that the
snares of villainy may never beset you in the road of life; that
innocence may hand you by the path of honour to the dwelling of
peace--is the sincere wish of him who has the honour to be, etc. R. B.

[Footnote 8: Niece of Sir Andrew Cathcait, of Carleton. A melancholy
interest attaches to her subsequent history. Burns's prayers for her
happiness were unavailing.]

* * * * *

XIV.--TO MISS ----, AYRSHIRE.[9]

[1785.]

MY DEAR COUNTRYWOMAN,--I am so impatient to show you that I am once more
at peace with you, that I send you the book I mentioned, directly,
rather than wait the uncertain time of my seeing you. I am afraid I have
mislaid or lost Collins's Poems, which I promised to Miss Irvin. If I
can find them I will forward them by you; if not, you must apologise
for me.

I know you will laugh at it when I tell you that your piano and you
together have played the deuce somehow about my heart. My breast has
been widowed these many months, and I thought myself proof against the
fascinating witchcraft; but I am afraid you will "feelingly convince me
what I am.". I say, I am afraid, because I am not sure what is the
matter with me. I have one miserable bad symptom,--when you whisper, or
look kindly to another, it gives me a draught of damnation. I have a
kind of wayward wish to be with you ten minutes by yourself, though what
I would say, Heaven above knows, for I am sure I know not. I have no
formed design in all this; but just, in the nakedness of my heart, write
you down a mere matter-of-fact story. You may perhaps give yourself airs
of distance on this, and that will completely cure me; but I wish you
would not; just let us meet, if you please, in the old beaten way of
friendship.

I will not subscribe myself your humble servant, for that is a phrase, I
think, at least fifty miles off from the heart; but I will conclude with
sincerely wishing that the Great Protector of innocence may shield you
from the barbed dart of calumny, and hand you by the covert snare of
deceit. R. B.

[Footnote 9: Lady unidentified.]

* * * * *

XV.--TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND, LAW CLERK, EDINBURGH.[10]

MOSSGIEL, _Feb. 17th_, 1786.

MY DEAR SIR,--I have not time at present to upbraid you for your silence
and neglect; I shall only say I received yours with great pleasure. I
have enclosed you a piece of rhyming ware for your perusal. I have been
very busy with the muses since I saw you, and have composed, among
several others, "The Ordination," a poem on Mr. M'Kinlay's being called
to Kilmarnock; "Scotch Drink," a poem; "The Cottar's Saturday Night;"
"An Address to the Devil," etc. I have likewise completed my poem on the
"Dogs," but have not shown it to the world. My chief patron now is Mr.
Aikin, in Ayr, who is pleased to express great approbation of my works.
Be so good as send me Fergusson[11], by Connell, and I will remit you
the money. I have no news to acquaint you with about Mauchline, they are
just going on in the old way. I have some very important news with
respect to myself, not the most agreeable--news that I am sure you
cannot guess, but I shall give you the particulars another time. I am
extremely happy with Smith;[11a] he is the only friend I have now in
Mauchline. I can scarcely forgive your long neglect of me, and I beg you
will let me hear from you regularly by Connell. If you would act your
part as a friend, I am sure neither good nor bad fortune should estrange
or alter me. Excuse haste, as I got yours but yesterday.--I am, my dear
Sir, yours, ROBERT BURNESS.

[Footnote 10: Three months before this letter was written Richmond
was a clerk in the office of Mr. Gavin Hamilton, writer, Mauchline.]

[Footnote 11: Fergusson's _Poems_.]

[Footnote 11a: Keeper of a haberdashery store in Mauchline.]

* * * * *

XVI.-TO MR. JAMES SMITH[12], SHOPKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.

[_Spring of _1786.]

... Against two things I am fixed as fate,--staying at home, and owning
her conjugally. The first, by Heaven, I will not do!--the last, by Hell,
I will never do! A good God bless you, and make you happy up to the
warmest weeping wish of parting friendship! ... If you see Jean tell her
I will meet her, so help me God in my hour of need! R. B.

[Footnote 12: The confidant of his amour with Jean Armour, daughter
of James Armour, mason, Mauchline. Notwithstanding the blustering
threat--for which Smith was probably more than half
responsible--Burns was afterwards content to "own bonny Jean
conjugally."]

* * * *

XVII.--TO MR. ROBERT MUIR, WINE MERCHANT, KILMARNOCK.

MOSSGIEL, 20_th March_, 1786.

DEAR SIR,--I am heartily sorry I had not the pleasure of seeing you as
you returned through Mauchline; but as I was engaged, I could not be in
town before the evening.

I here inclose you my "Scotch Drink," and "may the deil follow with a
blessing for your edification." I hope, sometime before we hear the
gowk, to have the pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I intend we
shall have a gill between us, in a mutchkin-stoup; which will be a great
comfort and consolation to, dear Sir, your humble servant,
ROBERT BURNESS.

* * * *

XVIII.--To MR. JOHN BALLANTINE, BANKER, AYR. (?)

[_April_ 1786.]

HONOURED SIR,--My proposals[12a] came to hand last night, and, knowing
that you would wish to have it in your power to do me a service as early
as any body, I enclose you half a sheet of them. I must consult you,
first opportunity, on the propriety of sending my _quondam_ friend, Mr.
Aiken,[12b] a copy. If he is now reconciled to my character as an honest
man, I would do it with all my soul; but I would not be beholden to the
noblest being ever God created if he imagined me to be a rascal.
_Apropos_, old Mr. Armour prevailed with him to mutilate that unlucky
paper[12c] yesterday. Would you believe it? though I had not a hope, nor
even a wish to make her mine after her conduct, yet when he told me the
names were cut out of the paper, my heart died within me, and he cut my
veins with the news. Perdition seize her falsehood! ROBERT BURNS.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27