She's bough-houghed, she's hein-shinned, I wadna gie a button for her. Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, And wi' her loof her face a-washin'; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan WaterSic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her. the cat mouth cushion huge fists THE SMILING SPRING. TUNE-The Bonny Bell. The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, THE GALLANT WEAVER. TUNE-The Weavers' March. Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, He is a gallant weaver. OI had wooers aucht or nine, My daddie signed my tocher-band, While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; dowry-bond SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. TUNE-She's Fair and Fause. She's fair and fause that causes my smart, false She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, Sae let the bonny lass gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love, To this be never blind Nae ferlie 'tis though fickle she prove, A woman has 't by kind. O woman, lovely woman fair! An angel form 's fa'n to thy share, fool abundance lost wonder "Twad been owre meikle to gien thee mair- have given I mean an angel mind.1 In a song, entitled The Address, which appears in The Lark (2 vols., 1765), there is a passage which perhaps suggested the thought in the fourth stanza of the above song "Twixt pleasing hope and painful fear With artless look and soul sincere, Above all mean disguise. For Celia thus my heart has moved, Accept it, lovely fair; I've liked before, but never loved, Then let me not despair. My fate before your feet I lay, Sentence your willing slave; Remember that though tyrants slay, To bless is Heaven's peculiar grace, Let me a blessing find; And since you wear an angel's face, O shew an angel's mind! Mrs Dunlop had written to Burns regarding her widowed daughter, Mrs Henri, who had gone to France with her infant, in order to introduce him to his father's family. The dethronement of the king and proclamation of a republic, and the wild outrageous proceedings against all persons of rank suspected of royalist feelings, had involved the young widow in serious troubles, to which the state of her own health was no light addition. 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. Good God! a heart-wounded, 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 nonc-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 cursed 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, gray-haired leader of a little tribe-'tis a heavenly life! but devil take the life of reaping 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 shew 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 devil. 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. It so happened, nevertheless, that Mrs Burns brought her husband a girl, born on the 21st November. The child was named Elizabeth, with the addition of Riddel, designed specially in honour of the lady of Woodley Park, and lived to be a great favourite with her father. A native of Dumfries puts Burns into an attitude more than usually pleasing to contemplate, in describing him, as she has often seen him, sitting in the summer evenings at his door with this little infant in his arms, dandling her, singing to her, and trying to elicit her mental faculties. It will be found that the child was not destined to a long life, and that her death was a source of the deepest affliction to our poet at a time when other woes were pressing upon him. Mrs Riddel had visited Edinburgh in January, had made the acquaintance of Mr Smellie, and soon after (7th March) we find her transmitting to that sage her manuscript of travels. In an accompanying letter she alludes to our poct. Robbie Burns dined with us the other day. He is in good health and spirits; but I fear his Muse will not be so frequent in her inspirations, now that he has forsaken his rural occupations.' Smellie read the lady's manuscript with surprise. He says, 27th March: "When I considered your youth, and still more your sex, the perusal of your ingenious and judicious work, if I had not previously had the pleasure of your conversation, the devil himself could not have frightened me into the belief that a female human creature could, in the bloom of youth, beauty, and consequently of giddiness, have produced a performance so much out of the line of your ladies' works. Smart little poems, flippant romances, are not uncommon; but science, minute observation, accurate description, and excellent composition, are qualities seldom to be met with in the female world.'1 It seems worth while to transcribe these sentences of Smellic, in order to help out our picture of a lady who certainly was one of the most intimate friends that Burns ever had, and whose character of course, on the principle of noscitur a sociis, serves as an illustration of his own. A small volume being put by Mrs Riddel to Smellie's press, the acquaintance between that pair advanced during the summer, and at length in September, when the book was nearly ready for 1 Kerr's Memoirs of William Smellie, 2 vols. publication,' the eccentric naturalist came to Dumfries, and spent some time with the lady and his friend Rabbie. The gay young authoress induced Smellie to present his extraordinary figure at one of the assemblies of Dumfries, and it is understood that he and Burns received some species of public entertainment from the magistrates. There must have been some brilliant though mixed scenes at Woodley Park and elsewhere on this occasionvivid gaiety from the lady, wit, sense, knowledge from Smellie, flashes of electric genius from Burns. They would differ from such reunions in our own time, in as far as there was then less restraint of speech. Even a woman of refinement in those days had to endure a great deal from her male friends. For example, we find Smellie telling Mrs Riddel, after a two months' acquaintance: Your name, to quiet your conscience, shall be contracted Maria R, though I still think it would do great honour to any ***** in Britain.' The blank left by our authority can of course be easily supplied. MR THOMSON TO BURN S. EDINBURGH, 13th Oct. 1792. DEAR SIR-I received with much satisfaction your pleasant and obliging letter, and I return my warmest acknowledgments for the enthusiasm with which you have entered into our undertaking. We have now no doubt of being able to produce a collection highly deserving of public attention in all respects. I agree with you in thinking English verses, that have merit, very eligible, wherever new verses are necessary, because the English becomes every year, more and more, the language of Scotland; but if you mean that no English verses, except those by Scottish authors, ought to be admitted, I am half inclined to differ from you. I should consider it unpardonable to sacrifice one good song in the Scottish dialect, to make room for English verses; but if we can select a few excellent ones suited to the unprovided or illprovided airs, would it not be the very bigotry of literary patriotism to reject such, merely because the authors were born south of the Tweed? Our sweet air, My Nannie, O! which in the collections is joined to the poorest stuff that Allan Ramsay ever wrote, beginning, While some for pleasure pawn their health, answers so finely to Dr Percy's beautiful song, O Nancy, wilt thou go with 'Mrs Riddel's work is announced in the Scots Magazine of November 1792, as published, under the following title:-Voyages to the Madeira and Leeward Caribbee Islands; with Sketches of the Natural History of these Islands. By Maria R******. Cadell, London; Hill, Edinburgh. |