£50 a year will support my wife and children, and keep me independent of the world; and I would much rather have it said, that my profession borrowed credit from me, than that I borrowed credit from my profession. Another advantage I have in this business is, the knowledge it gives me of the various shades of human character, consequently assisting me vastly in my poetic pursuits. I had the most ardent enthusiasm for the Muses when nobody knew me but myself, and that ardour is by no means cooled now that my Lord Glencairn's goodness has introduced me to all the world. Not that I am in haste for the press. I have no idea of publishing, else I certainly had consulted my noble, generous patron; but after acting the part of an honest man, and supporting my family, my whole wishes and views are directed to poetic pursuits. I am aware that though I were to give performances to the world superior to my former works, still if they were of the same kind with those, the comparative reception they would meet with would mortify me. I have turned my thoughts on the drama. I do not mean the stately buskin of the tragic muse. Does not your ladyship think that an Edinburgh theatre would be more amused with affectation, folly, and whim of true Scottish growth, than manners, which by far the greatest part of the audience can only know at second-hand? I have the honour to be your ladyship's ever devoted and grateful humble servant,

R. B.

SKETCH-NEW-YEAR'S DAY [1790].

TO MRS DUNLOP.

This day, Time winds the exhausted chain,
To run the twelvemonth's length again:
I sce the old, bald-pated fellow,

With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpaired machine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.

The absent lover, minor heir,
In vain assail him with their prayer;
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's' with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day,

2

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow-
That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow-

1 Afterwards General Dunlop of Dunlop.

2 Rachel, a daughter of Mrs Dunlop, was making a sketch of Coila.

And join with me a moralising,
This day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
'Another year is gone for ever.'

And what is this day's strong suggestion?
"The passing moment's all we rest on!'
Rest on-for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will Time, amused with proverbed lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may-a few years must-
Repose us in the silent dust.

Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies:
That on this frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight:
That future life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as Misery's woeful night.
Since, then, my honoured, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends,

Let us th' important now employ,
And live as those who never die.

Though you, with days and honours crowned,
Witness that filial circle round
(A sight, Life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight, pale Envy to convulse),
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

Burns was at this time pressed with business, yet at the same time as much the victim of hypochondria as if he had been left to total vacuity. The evil prospects of his farm harassed his mind. Busied and vexed as he was, he found time to pay occasional evening visits to Dumfries, in order to witness the performances of a tolerable company of players which had temporarily settled there. He had even been led by these theatricals to turn his thoughts to the comic drama, as a line not unworthy of the efforts of Coila. But neither at this time, nor any other, did he ever get beyond the composition of an occasional address or epilogue.

TO MR GILBERT BURNS.

ELLISLAND, 11th January 1790.

DEAR BROTHER-I mean to take advantage of the frank, though I have not in my present frame of mind much appetite for exertion in writing. My nerves are in a state. I feel that horrid hypochondria pervading every atom of both body and soul. This farm has undone my enjoyment of myself. It is a ruinous affair on all hands. But let it go -! I'll fight it out, and be off

with it.

I

We have got a set of very decent players here just now. have seen them an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the manager of the company, a Mr Sutherland, who is a man of apparent worth. On New-year's Day evening, I gave him the following prologue, which he spouted to his audience with applause :

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY EVENING [1790].

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city

That queens it o'er our taste-the more 's the pity:
Though, by the by, abroad why will you roam?
Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
But not for panegyric I appear,

I come to wish you all a good new-year!
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:

The sage grave ancient coughed, and bade me say:
"You 're one year older this important day.'
If wiser, too-he hinted some suggestion,

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
He bade me on you press this one word-think!'

Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit,
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,
To you the dotard has a deal to say,

In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way :

He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
That the first blow is ever half the battle;

That though some by the skirt may try to snatch him,
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by persevering.

Last, though not least in love, ye youthful fair,
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care!
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow,
And humbly begs you 'll mind the important Now!
To crown your happiness he asks your leave,
And offers bliss to give and to receive.

For our sincere, though haply weak endeavours,
With grateful pride we own your many favours;
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it,
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

I can no more.

respire more at ease.

If once I was clear of this

farm, I should

Three days after the writing of this fretful letter, he was restored to a calmer humour.

TO MR WILLIAM DUNBAR, W. S.

ELLISLAND, 14th January 1790.

Since we are here creatures of a day, since a few summer-days, and a few winter-nights, and the life of man is at an end,' why, my dear, much-esteemed sir, should you and I let negligent indolence -for I know it is nothing worse-step in between us and bar the enjoyment of a mutual correspondence? We are not shapen out of the common, heavy, methodical clod, the elemental stuff of the plodding, selfish race, the sons of Arithmetic and Prudence; our feelings and hearts are not benumbed and poisoned by the cursed influence of riches, which, whatever blessing they may be in other respects, are no friends to the nobler qualities of the heart: in the name of random Sensibility, then, let never the moon change on our silence any more. I have had a tract of bad health most part of this winter, else you had heard from me long ere now. Thank Heaven, I am now got so much better as to be able to partake a little in the enjoyments of life.

Our friend Cunningham will perhaps have told you of my going into the Excise. The truth is, I found it a very convenient business to have £50 per annum; nor have I yet felt any of these mortifying circumstances in it that I was led to fear.

Feb. 2d. I have not, for sheer hurry of business, been able to spare five minutes to finish my letter. Besides my farm-business, I ride on my Excise matters at least 200 miles every week. I have not by any means given up the Muses. You will sce in the third volume of Johnson's Scots Songs that I have contributed my mite there.

But, my dear sir, little ones that look up to you for paternal

protection, are an important charge. I have already two fine healthy stout little fellows, and I wish to throw some light upon them. I have a thousand reveries and schemes about them and their future destiny-not that I am a Utopian projector in these things. I am resolved never to breed up a son of mine to any of the learned professions. I know the value of independence; and since I cannot give my sons an independent fortune, I shall give them an independent line of life. What a chaos of hurry, chance, and changes is this world, when one sits soberly down to reflect on it! To a father, who himself knows the world, the thought that he shall have sons to usher into it must fill him with dread; but if he have daughters, the prospect in a thoughtful moment is apt to shock him.

I hope Mrs Fordyce and the two young ladies are well. Do let me forget that they are nieces of yours, and let me say that I never saw a more interesting, sweeter pair of sisters in my life. I am the fool of my feelings and attachments. I often take up a volume of my Spenser to realise you to my imagination,' and think over the social scenes we have had together. God grant that there may be another world more congenial to honest fellows beyond this: a world where these rubs and plagues of absence, distance, misfortunes, ill health, &c., shall no more damp hilarity and divide friendship. This I know is your throng season, but half a page will much oblige, my dear sir, yours sincerely, R. B.

Mrs Dunlop appears to have at this time accompanied one of her many kind letters with a present, perhaps with some reference to the thirty-first birthday of the bard, which was approaching. On that day he wrote to her one of the most interesting of his letters:

TO MRS DUNLOP,

ELLISLAND, 25th January 1790,

It has been owing to unremitting hurry of business that I have not written to you, madam, long ere now. My health is greatly better, and I now begin once more to share in satisfaction and enjoyment with the rest of my fellow-creatures.

Many thanks, my much-esteemed friend, for your kind letters; but why will you make me run the risk of being contemptible and mercenary in my own eyes? When I pique myself on my independent spirit, I hope it is neither poetic licence nor poetic rant; and I am so flattered with the honour you have done me, in making me your compeer in friendship and friendly correspondence, that I cannot without pain, and a degree of mortification, be reminded of the real inequality between our situations.

1 The poet's copy of Spenser was a present from Mr Dunbar,