In Burns's time, this poem was much relished by the moderate clergy, Dr Blair declaring it to be the most masterly satire of its kind in existence. In these days of better taste, a regret will be generally felt that Burns should have been tempted or provoked into such subjects. There is, however, a general belief in Ayrshire, that the Holy Fair was attended with a good effect, for since its appearance, the custom of resorting to the occasion' in neighbouring parishes for the sake of holiday-making has been much abated, and a great increase of decorous observance has taken place. During the latter part of June, and the greater part if not the whole of July, the immortal poems were going through the press at Kilmarnock. While preparing to launch so many satiric shafts at the Old-Light clergy, Burns was brought into a strange personal relation with one of them. Since it was ruled by the angry father that he and Jean must not be considered as man and wife, it was of course important that their freedom from the bonds of marriage should be fully certified. For this purpose, it was necessary that they should submit to the censures of the church. Accordingly, our poet had now to make a series of public appearances before the congregation-the last of them on the 6th of August, when a rebuke was administered. Mr Auld acted gently with his satirist, and indulged him with permission to stand in his own seat, instead of the common place of repentance, on the condition that, in the event of his prospering in the West Indies, he should remember the poor of Mauchline.

TO JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH.

MOSSGIEL, 9th July 1786.

With the sincerest grief I read your letter. You are truly a son of misfortune. I shall be extremely anxious to hear from you how your health goes on-if it is anyway re-establishing, or if Leith promises well-in short, how you feel in the inner man.

I have waited on Armour since her return home; not from the least view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for her health, and, to you I will confess it, from a foolish hankering fondness, very ill placed indeed. The mother forbade me the house, nor did Jean shew that penitence that might have been expected. However, the priest, I am informed, will give me a certificate as a single man, if I comply with the rules of the church, which for that very reason I intend to do.

I am going to put on sackcloth and so far as to appear in my own seat. My book will be ready in a fortnight. return them by Connell. The Lord Amen, amen!

ashes this day. I am indulged Peccavi, pater; miserere mei. If you have any subscribers, stand with the righteous—

R. B.

During this period, too, his pen must have been still very busy. He composed a playful ode

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
And hap him in a cozie biel:
Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,
And fou o' glee;

He wadna wranged the very deil,
That's owre the sea.

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!
Your native soil was right ill-willie;
But may ye flourish like a lily,
Now bonnilie!

I'll toast ye in my hinmost gillie,
Though owre the sea!

wrap-snug shelter

In a different spirit, he wrote an epitaph for himself-a confession of his errors so solemn and so touching, as to take the sting from every other comment on the subject:

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, bashful-succumb
Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.1

Friendship had also its demands upon him. He wrote a Dedication of his Poems to Gavin Hamilton, taking the opportunity not merely to characterise that generous-natured man, but to throw out a few parting sarcasms at orthodoxy and her partisans. This poem, however, was not placed at the front of the forthcoming volume, though included in its pages :—

A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq.

Expect na, sir, in this narration,
A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication,
To roose you up, and ca' you guid,
And sprung o' great and noble bluid,
Because ye're surnamed like his Grace;
Perhaps related to the race;

Then when I'm tired, and sae are ye,
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie,

Set up a face, how I stop short,

For fear your modesty be hurt.

This may do-maun do, sir, wi' them wha
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou;
For me! sae laigh I needna bow,
For, L-be thankit, I can plough;

flattering praise

And when I downa yoke a naig,

cannot

Then, L-be thankit, I can beg;

Sae I shall say, and that's nae flatterin',
It's just sic poet, and sic patron.

The Poet, some guid angel help him,
Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him,
He
may do weel for a' he's done yet,
But only he's no just begun yet.

The Patron (sir, ye maun forgie me,
I winna lie, come what will o' me),
On every hand it will allowed be,
He's just-nae better than he should be.

1 See Appendix, No. 9.

2 The Duke of Hamilton.

beat