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 everything, 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. 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, &c.; 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 terræfilial race fret, and fume, and vex themselves? Oh 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 encumbrance 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 common-place story, but my warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare-and accept of the same for yourself, from, dear sir, yours, R. B. Burns had formed the acquaintance of David Sillar, as we have seen, in the earlier part of 1781. Their friendship was of the most ardent kind. One can imagine the two russet-dressed lads taking their walks together, full of intimate, endlessly delightful conversation about their sweethearts, and about lasses in general, or, mayhap, at soberer moments, debating about the business for next club-night. Of the merry dancing-party which met on the July race-night in 1782, in honour of the society,' Mrs Begg is (1854) a survivor. She relates that Robert attended a dancingschool when at Lochlea, and she believes it was some time after the Kirkoswald visit, for a young cousin of theirs, Janet Brown, the daughter of the poet's entertainer there, was then residing with them, by way of completing the interchange of civilities. There could not well be any great objection on his father's part 1 of this work he used to say that he had worn out two copies by carrying it in his pocket. Anonymous Life of Burns, Scots Magazine, 1797. to his acquiring this accomplishment, for Gilbert and the two eldest sisters, Agnes and Annabella, besides their ploughman, Willie Miller, all attended likewise. As a collateral circumstance not essential to the narrative, but characteristic-On a practisingball occurring, Burns paid Willie's expenses, that he might have Janet Brown as a partner, so as to enable the bard to have as his partner some other lass who was then reigning in his affections. By and by, the Torbolton Club ball came on, a much more important affair; and, according to the record of the society, it went off most successfully. An accident led to Mrs Begg being present. Then a girl of eleven, attending the sewing-school at Torbolton, she was going home to Lochlea, when her sister Annie met her, and took her back to be a partner to Matthew Paterson, a member of the club, who had somehow lost his sweetheart, and was in despair on that account. In these little matters we get glimpses of the love-policies, the fears, the hopes, the triumphs, and the disasters, amidst which Burns describes himself as living at this period. In imitation of Davie, who was a keen votary of the fiddle, Burns began, so early as 1781, to try to learn that instrument. When driven from the field by bad weather, he would while away a heavy hour in this way. Occasionally, too, he rose early in the morning, broke up the kitchen gathering-coal, and commenced practising; but this excited such discomposure in the family, as to render his fiddling anything but popular. He certainly never attained any proficiency either in this art or that of playing the German flute, which he subsequently attempted. It is amusing, nevertheless, to learn that he always kept up the idea that he was a kind of musician; and in a manuscript of his Epistle to Davie,' entitles him a brother fiddler, as well as brother poet. To despatch his musical accomplishments at once-he possessed a good ear, and much sensibility to sweet sounds, and could read printed airs with tolerable readiness, as well as write down an air in score. His voice, however, being essentially unmusical, he never could sing solo with any effect, and he always avoided displays of that kind. The general life of Burns after his return from Irvine was as laborious as before. We have the authority of his brother Gilbert that it was frugal and temperate. Though social in his disposition, he never exceeded in his potations, and his personal expenses were not above seven pounds annually. We have scarcely any dates for his life or compositions throughout 1782; but it is certain that during this period he composed both poems and songs. One of the poems took its rise in a simple incident related by his brother Gilbert. He had, partly by way of frolic, bought a ewe and two lambs from a neighbour, and she was tethered in a field adjoining the house at Lochlea. He and I were going out with our teams, and our two younger brothers to drive for us, at mid-day, when Hugh Wilson, a curious-looking, awkward boy, clad in plaiding, came to us with much anxiety in his face, with the information that the ewe had entangled herself in the tether, and was lying in the ditch. Robert was much tickled with Hughoc's appearance and posture on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set to rights; and when we returned from the plough in the evening, he repeated to me her Death and Dying Words pretty much in the way they now stand:' THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. As Mailie and her lambs thegither, Wi' glowering een and lifted hands, 'Oh thou, whose lamentable face 'Tell him, if e'er again he keep Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! foot-loop walking stupidly staring money 'A neighbour herd-callan, B.-In a copy of the poem in the poet's handwriting, possessed by Miss Grace Aiken, Ayr, a more descriptive note is here given: 'Hughoc was an odd, glowran, gapin' callan, about three-fourths as wise as other folk.' But ca' them out to park or hill, "Tell him he was a master kin', 'Oh, bid him save their harmless lives Frae dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives! foxes And tent them duly, e'en and morn, And may they never learn the gaets Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets; To slink through slaps, and reave and steal provide for handfuls ways restless ancestors And bairns greet for them when they're dead. |