press-work of two different publications; still, still I might have stolen five minutes to dedicate to one of the first of my friends and fellow-creatures. I might have done, as I do at present, snatched an hour near "witching-time of night," and scrawled a page or two. I might have congratulated my friend on his marriage; or I might have thanked the Caledonian archers for the honour they have done me (though, to do myself justice, I intended to have done both in rhyme, else I had done both long ere now). Well, then, here is to your good health!-for you must know, I have set a nipperkin of toddy by me, just by way of spell, to keep away the meikle horned deil or any of his subaltern imps, who may be on their nightly rounds.

But what shall I write to you?" The voice said, Cry;" and I said, "What shall I cry?" O thou spirit! whatever thou art, or wherever thou makest thyself visible !-Be thou a bogle by the cerie side of an auld thorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd-callan maun bicker in his gloamin rout frae the fauld! Be thou a brownie, set, at dead of night, to thy task by the blazing ingle, or in the solitary barn, where the repercussions of thy iron flail half affright thyself, as thou performest the work of twenty of the sons of men, ere the cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog of substantial brose. Be thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or ferry in the starless night, mixing thy laughing yell with the howling of the storm and the roaring of the flood, as thou viewest the perils and miseries of man on the foundering horse, or in the tumbling boat! Or, lastly, be thou a ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to the hoary ruins of decayed grandeur; or performing thy mystic rites in the shadow of the time-worn church, while the moon looks without a cloud on the silent, ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee; or, taking thy stand by the bedside of the villain or the murderer, portraying on his dreaming fancy pictures dreadful as the horrors of unveiled hell, and terrible as the wrath of incensed Deity! Come, thou spirit, but not in these horrid forms come with the milder, gentle, easy inspirations which thou breathest round the wig of a prating advocate, or the tête-à-tête of a tea-sipping gossip, while their tongues run at the light-horse gallop of clish-maclaver for ever and ever-come and assist a poor fellow who is quite jaded in the attempt to share half an idea among half a hundred words; to fill up four quarto pages, while he has not got one single sentence of recollection, information, or remark, worth putting pen to paper for. *

Apropos, how do you like-I mean, really like-the married life? Ah, my friend! matrimony is quite a different thing from what your love-sick youths and sighing girls take it to be! But marriage, we are told, is appointed by God, and I shall never quarrel with any of His institutions. I am a husband of older standing than you, and shall give you my ideas of the conjugal

state. (En passant; you know I am no Latinist; is not conjugal derived from jugum, a yoke ?) Well, then, the scale of good wifeship I divide into ten parts:-Good-nature, four; Good Sense, two; Wit, one; Personal Charms—namely, a sweet face, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, graceful carriage (I would add a fine waist too, but that is soon spoilt, you know),—all these, one. As for the other qualities belonging to or attending on a wife, such as Fortune, Connections, Education (I mean education extraordinary), family blood, &c., divide the two remaining degrees among them as you please; only, remember that all these minor properties must be expressed by fractions, for there is not any one of them, in the aforesaid scale, entitled to the dignity of an integer.

As for the rest of my fancies and reveries-how I lately met with Miss Lesley Baillie, the most beautiful, elegant woman in the world-how I accompanied her and her father's family fifteen miles on their journey out of pure devotion, to admire the loveliness of the works of God, in such an unequalled display of themhow, in galloping home at night, I made a ballad on her, of which these two stanzas make a part:

"Thou, bonnie Lesley, art a queen,

Thy subjects we before thee;
Thou, bonnie Lesley, art divine,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The very deil he couldna scatho
Whatever wad belang thee!
He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, 'I canna wrang thee.'"

Behold all these things are written in the chronicles of my imagination, and shall be read by thee, my dear friend, and by thy beloved spouse, my other dear friend, at a more convenient season. Now, to thee, and to thy before-designed bosom-companion, be given the precious things brought forth by the sun, and the precious things brought forth by the moon, and the benignest influences of the stars, and the living streams which flow from the fountains of life, and by the tree of life, for ever and ever! Amen! R. B.

CCLIX.

TO MR THOMSON.

DUMFRIES, 16th Sept. 1792.

SIR, I have just this moment got your letter. As the request you make to me will positively add to my enjoyments in complying with it, I shall enter into your undertaking with all the small portion of abilities I have, strained to their utmost exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm. Only, don't hurry me-" Deil tak the hindmost" is by no means the cri de guerre of my Muse. Will

you, as I am inferior to none of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry and music of old Caledonia, and, since you request it, have cheerfully promised my mite of assistance-will you let me have a list of your airs, with the first line of the printed verses you intend for them, that I may have an opportunity of suggesting any alteration that may occur to me? You know 'tis in the way of my trade; still leaving you, gentlemen, the undoubted right of publishers to approve or reject, at your pleasure, for your own publication. Apropos, if you are for English verses, there is, on my part, an end of the matter. Whether in the simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only hope to please myself in being allowed at least a sprinkling of our native tongue. English verses, particularly the works of Scotsmen that have merit, are certainly very eligible. Tweedside! Ah! the poor shepherd's mournful fate! Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit, &c., you cannot mend; but such insipid stuff as To Fanny fair could 1 impart, &c., usually set to The Mill, Mill, O is a disgrace to the collections in which it has already appeared, and would doubly disgrace a collection that will have the very superior merit of yours. But more of this in the further prosecution of the business, if I am called on for my strictures and amendments-I say amendments, for I will not alter except where I myself, at least, think that I amend.

As to any remuneration, you may think my songs either above or below price; for they shall absolutely be the one or the other. In the honest enthusiasm with which I embark in your undertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire, &c., would be downright prostitution of soul! A proof of each of the songs that I compose or amend I shall receive as a favour. In the rustic phrase of the season, "Gude speed the wark!" I am, sir, your very humble servant, R. BURNS.

CCLX.

TO MRS DUNLOP.

DUMFRIES, 24th September 1792.

I HAVE this moment, my dear madam, yours of the 23d. All your other kind reproaches, your news, &c., are out of my head, when I read and think on Mrs Henri's situation. A heartwounded, helpless young woman-in a strange foreign land, and that land convulsed with every horror that can harrow the human feelings-sick-looking, longing for a comforter, but finding none -a mother's feelings too-but it is too much: He who wounded -He only can-may He heal!

I wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to his family. I cannot say that I give him joy of his life as a farmer

"Tis as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent-a horrid life ! As to a laird farming his own property, sowing his own corn in hope and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in gladness; knowing that none can say unto him, "What dost thou ?"-fattening his herds, shearing his flocks, rejoicing at Christmas, and begetting sons and daughters, until he be the venerated, grayhaired leader of a little tribe-'tis a heavenly life! but it is very bitter to reap the fruits that another must eat.

Well, your kind wishes will be gratified as to seeing me when I make my Ayrshire visit. I cannot leave Mrs B. until her nine months' race is run, which may, perhaps be in three or four weeks. She, too, seems determined to make me the patriarchal leader of a band. However, if heaven will be so obliging as to let me have them in the proportion of three boys to one girl, I shall be so much the more pleased. I hope, if I am spared with them, to show a set of boys that will do honour to my cares and name; but I am not equal to the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am too poor-a girl should always have a fortune. Apropos-your little godson is thriving charmingly, but is a very tiger. He, though two years younger, has completely mastered his brother. Robert is indeed the mildest, gentlest creature I ever saw. He has a most surprising memory, and is quite the pride of his schoolmaster.

You know how readily we get into prattle upon a subject dear to our heart-you can excuse it. God bless you and yours! R. B.

F

CCLXI.

TO MR THOMSON.

MY DEAR SIR,-Let me tell you that you are too fastidious in your ideas of songs and ballads. I own that your criticisms are just. The songs you specify in your list have, all but one, the faults you remark in them; but who shall mend the matter? Who shall rise up and say, "Go to! I will make a better?" For instance, on reading over The Lea-Rig, I immediately set about trying my hand on it, and, after all, I could make nothing more of it than the following (p. 259), which is poor enough.

Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr Percy's ballad to the air, Nannie O! is just. It is besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad in the English language. But let me remark to you, that in the sentiment and style of our Scottish airs there is a pastoral simplicity, a something that one may call the Doric style and dialect of vocal music, to which a dash of our native tongue and manners is particularly-nay, peculiarly apposite. For this reason, and, upon my honour, for this reason alone, I am of opinion-but,

as I told you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to approve or reject, as you please-that my ballad of Nannie, O! might perhaps do for one set of verses to the tune. Now don't let it enter

into your head that you are under any necessity of taking my verses. I have long ago made up my mind as to my own reputation in the business of authorship, and have nothing to be pleased or offended at in your adoption or rejection of my verses. Though you should reject one-half of what I give you, I shall be pleased with your adopting the other half, and shall continue to serve you with the same assiduity.

In the printed copy of My Nannie, O the name of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it

"Behind yon hills where Lugar flows."

Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of syllables.

I will soon give you a great many more remarks on this business; but I have just now an opportunity of conveying you this scrawl, free of postage, an expense that it is ill able to pay; so, with my best compliments to honest Allan, Gude be wi' ye, &c. Friday Night.

Saturday Morning.

As I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before my conveyance goes away, I will give you Nannie O' at length.

Your remarks on Ewe-bughts, Marion, are just; still it has obtained a place among our more classical Scottish songs; and what with many beauties in its composition, and more prejudices in its favour, you will not find it easy to supplant it.

In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merits of Ewe-bughts; but it will fill up this page. You must know that all my earlier lovesongs were the breathings of ardent passion; and though it might have been easy in after-times to have given them a polish, yet that polish to me, whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race.

Gala Water and Auld Rob Morris, I think, will most probably be the next subject of my musings. However, even on my verses, speak out your criticisms with equal frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying bigot of opiniâtreté, but cordially to join issue with you in the furtherance of the work. R. B.