LETTER TO MR J. CANDLISH. 55 55 shake of a hand, a metaphor, and a laugh, shall recognise old acquaintance: Where wit may sparkle all its rays, Uncurst with caution's fears; That pleasure, basking in the blaze, I have the honour to be, with the warmest sincerity, dear sir, &c. R. B. TO MR JAMES CANDLISH,1 STUDENT IN PHYSIC, GLASGOW COLLEGE. EDINBURGH, March 21st, 1787. MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE-I was equally surprised and pleased at your letter, though I daresay you will think, by my delaying so long to write to you, that I am so drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as to be indifferent to old, and once dear connections. The truth is, I was determined to write a good letter, full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as Bayes says, all that. I thought of it, and thought of it, and by my soul I could not; and, lest you should mistake the cause of my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't give yourself credit, though, that the strength of your logic scares me: the truth is, I never mean to meet you on that ground at all. You have shewn me one thing which was to be demonstrated; that strong pride of reasoning, with a little affectation of singularity, may mislead the best of hearts. I likewise, since you and I were first acquainted, in the pride of despising old women's stories, ventured in the daring path Spinosa trod;' but experience of the weakness, not the strength, of human powers, made me glad to grasp at revealed religion. I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, 'The old man with his deeds,' as when we were sporting about the 'Lady Thorn. I shall be four weeks here yet at least, and so I shall expect to hear from you; welcome sense, welcome nonsense. I am, with the warmest sincerity, R. B. TO MRS DUNLOP. EDINBURGH, March 22d, 1787. MADAM-I read your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own 1 Mr Candlish, like Burns the offspring of obscure parents in Ayrshire, rose through great difficulties to the laborious calling of a private teacher, first in connection with the Glasgow, and then the Edinburgh university. He married Miss Smith, one of the six belles of Mauchline, and died in 1806. A son of this pair has attained a historical position in his native country. He is the Rev. Dr Robert S. Candlish, of the St George's Free Church, Edinburgh. bosom; now I am distinguished, patronised, befriended by you. Your friendly advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures: his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects: there I can give you no light. It is all 'Dark as was chaos ere the infant sun Was rolled together, or had tried his beams The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride: to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business-for which, Heaven knows, I am unfit enough— to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles, to wander on the romantic bas of her rivers, and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. But these are all Utopian thoughts. I have dallied long enough with life; 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care for, and some other bosom-ties perhaps equally tender. Where the individual only suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excusablenay, shining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half sanctify a heedless character; but where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care-where the trust is sacred and the ties are dear-that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom these connections will not rouse to exertion. I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my authorship with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to have any intention, to return to my old acquaintance, the plough, and, if I can meet with a lease by which I can live, to commence farmer. I do not intend to give up poetry; being bred to labour secures me independence, and the muses are my chief, sometimes have been my only enjoyment. If my practice second my resolution, I shall have principally at heart the serious business of life; but while following my plough, or building up my shocks, I shall cast a leisure glance to that dear, that only feature of my character which gave me the notice of my country and the patronage of a Wallace. Thus, honoured madam, I have given you the bard, his situation and his views, native as they are in his own bosom. R. B. BURNS AS A LION OF THE SEASON. TO MRS DUNLOP. 57 57 EDINBURGH, 15th April 1787. MADAM-There is an affectation of gratitude which I dislike. The periods of Johnson and the pauses of Sterne may hide a selfish heart. For my part, madam, I trust I have too much pride for servility, and too little prudence for selfishness. I have this moment broken open your letter, but 'Rude am I in speech, And therefore little can I grace my cause In speaking for myself'— so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and hunted figures. I shall just lay my hand on my heart, and say, I hope I shall ever have the truest, the warmest sense of your goodness. I come abroad, in print, for certain on Wednesday. Your orders I shall punctually attend to; only, by the way, I must tell you that I was paid before for Dr Moore's and Miss Williams's copies, through the medium of Commissioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can settle when I have the honour of waiting on you. Dr Smith was just gone to London the morning before I received your letter to him. R. B. It has already been sufficiently intimated that the Ayrshire Ploughman was the lion of the season in Edinburgh. Upon the strength of the few extracts from his poems which had been circulated by magazines and newspapers, he had been received into the highest circles of society. Here, by the general propriety of his demeanour, and the charms of his conversation, he had deepened the interest which his poetry had awakened in his behalf. It was a wonderful transition for one who, only in last autumn, had been restrained for some time at home to help in the labours of a humble farm. He had been received with courtesy by the remains of that brilliant circle of Scottish literati who adorned the latter half of the eighteenth century. He had been entertained with sincere respect for his talents by such examples of patrician dignity as made Edinburgh their winter haunt. Men of the middle rank had given Burns a society the more dangerous, in as far as it came to him in greater pressure, and set him freer from restraint. Yet it does not appear that the bard was materially affected in any respect by this singular change of circumstances. Elegant society in Edinburgh formed in those days, as it does still, a limited circle. From the large infusion of the professions of the law and physic, and of the class connected with the university, it had a tone of enlightenment and refinement much 1 The author of the Wealth of Nations.' more remarkable than any gaiety or splendour in which it indulged. There was also, however, an infusion of bacchanalianism, producing occasionally scenes of uproar even in the public dancing assemblies. At this particular crisis, the usual simplicity was disturbed in no small degree by the Duchess of Gordon, a person who might be said to spend on mere gay life an energy, personal grace, and genius, which might have been expected, with a good direction, to produce the most brilliant results. A letter is before us, written by a member of the bar to a friend in India in the February preceding Burns's arrival in Edinburgh, and containing a striking recital of the habits of this lady, and her influence over society. 'The good town,' says Mr Drummond, 'is uncommonly crowded and splendid at present. The example of dissipation set by her Grace the Duchess of Gordon is far from shewing vice her own image. It is really astonishing to think what effect a single person will have on public manners, when supported by high rank and great address. She is never absent from a public place, and the later the hour, so much the better. It is often four o'clock in the morning before she goes to bed, and she never requires more than five hours' sleep. Dancing, cards, and company, occupy her whole time.' 1 Such was the leader of bon-ton in Edinburgh at the crisis when our Scottish Tityrus plunged into it. It evidently was not a happy accident for a person of his peculiar circumstances and prospects. It must also be observed that the general tone of middleclass life at this epoch was convivial. Lawyers of good repute, merchants, topping tradesmen, teachers of the High School, all frequented taverns in the evening, very generally in clubs, or it might be in masonic capacity, for the social pleasures which they had not yet learned to enjoy under the decenter sanctions of the home circle. Men dined early in those days, and attended to business afterwards till about eight o'clock, by which time they considered themselves at liberty to see after their festive pleasures. Either a private supper-party invited them, with their wives, or they knew of some misty snuggery in John Dowie's or Daniel Douglas's taverns, in certain alleys of the High Street, where they could calculate upon meeting a little gleesome group, with which to spend three, or it might be four hours, over ale or punch. Into these coteries Burns was often drawn by his social temper and good-nature; and here also lay for him a great danger. It really does not appear, however—although the contrary has been asserted or insinuated-that the bard was either spoilt for the common drudgeries of life by aristocratic attentions, or 1 This letter is in the possession of Neil Fergusson Blair, Esq., Balthayock House, Perthshire. BURNS'S FAVOURITE SOCIETY. 59 depraved in any appreciable extent by contact with the somewhat over-festive citizens. The general bearing of his letters all through this spring is remarkable, on the contrary, for soberness in all applications of the word. He coolly surveyed his present and prospective position, estimated at their due weight the flatteries bestowed upon him, and prepared with a full share of the national foresight for the struggle which he was to encounter as soon as he should have to apply his literary gains in helping out a livelihood. There really is no broad or glaring trace in the traditions of Edinburgh society of any bacchanalianism indulged in by Burns. Every insinuation of such a nature, when carefully inquired into, vanishes into air. Professor Stewart, writing with a reference to the summer of 1787, says-' Notwithstanding various reports I heard during the preceding winter of Burns's predilection for convivial and not very select society, I should have concluded in favour of his habits of sobriety, from all of him that fell under my own observation. He told me indeed himself that the weakness of his stomach was such as to deprive him entirely of any merit in his temperance.' The allusion to 'not very select society' looks at first somewhat startling; but let it be recollected that Professor Stewart, who lived in the purest and most exalted circle, would be apt to regard in this light men who were far from being either vicious or of mean grade. He probably alludes to such men as Smellie, Dunbar, Mr William Nicol of the High School, Mr Alexander Cunningham, W.S., and others, who, though not members of Professor Stewart's set, and though perhaps of over-indulgent habits, were yet men of honourable character and respectable position. Amongst them Burns felt himself at his proper level. With them his comic genius indulged in freer flights than in the stiff society of the New Town. He found in these men kind and genial hearts, much wit and cleverness, and a hearty appreciation of his own talents. It is not surprising that he entered into and enjoyed their society. There is, however, no reason to believe that Burns was thus exposed to any demoralising influence beyond what would have been found in middle-class society in every countrytown in Scotland. Of all the descriptions of Burns during this season, there is none which can pretend to the authority of Professor Walker's, for this gentleman saw him frequently, and was, on the whole, impartial towards him. After remarking that Burns, in good society, never struggled to put on, for a moment, a better manner than was natural to him, he goes on to say-Though he took his full share in conversation, not only from a perception that it was expected, but from a consciousness that it would gratify expectation, yet he did |