Many and happy returns of seasons to you, with your dearest and worthiest friend, and the lovely little pledge of your happy union.

May the great Author of life, and of every enjoyment that can render life delightful, make her that comfortable blessing to you both, which you so ardently wish for, and which, allow me to say, you so well deserve! Glance over the foregoing verses, and let me have your blots.

Adieu.

R. B.

Cx.x.x.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[The lines on the Hermitage were presented by the poet to several of his friends, and Mrs. Dunlop was among the number.]

_Mauchline, August 2, 1788._

HONOURED MADAM,

Your kind letter welcomed me, yesternight, to Ayrshire. I am, indeed, seriously angry with you at the quantum of your luckpenny; but, vexed and hurt as I was, I could not help laughing very heartily at the n.o.ble lord's apology for the missed napkin.

I would write you from Nithsdale, and give you my direction there, but I have scarce an opportunity of calling at a post-office once in a fortnight. I am six miles from Dumfries, am scarcely ever in it myself, and, as yet, have little acquaintance in the neighbourhood.

Besides, I am now very busy on my farm, building a dwelling-house; as at present I am almost an evangelical man in Nithsdale, for I have scarce "where to lay my head."

There are some pa.s.sages in your last that brought tears in my eyes.

"The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth not therewith." The repository of these "sorrows of the heart" is a kind of _sanctum sanctorum:_ and 'tis only a chosen friend, and that, too, at particular sacred times, who dares enter into them:--

"Heaven oft tears the bosom-chords That nature finest strung."

You will excuse this quotation for the sake of the author. Instead of entering on this subject farther, I shall transcribe you a few lines I wrote in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleman in my Nithsdale neighbourhood. They are almost the only favours the muses have conferred on me in that country:--

Thou whom chance may hither lead.[186]

Since I am in the way of transcribing, the following were the production of yesterday as I jogged through the wild hills of New c.u.mnock. I intend inserting them, or something like them, in an epistle I am going to write to the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise hopes depend, Mr. Graham, of Fintray, one of the worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen not only of this country, but, I will dare to say it, of this age. The following are just the first crude thoughts "unhousel'd, unanointed, unanneal'd:"--

Pity the tuneful muses' helpless train; Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main: The world were blest, did bliss on them depend; Ah, that "the friendly e'er should want a friend!"

The little fate bestows they share as soon; Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-wrung boon.

Let Prudence number o'er each st.u.r.dy son, Who life and wisdom at one race begun; Who feel by reason and who give by rule; Instinct's a brute and sentiment a fool!

Who make poor _will do_ wait upon _I should_; We own they're prudent, but who owns they're good?

Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye; G.o.d's image rudely etch'd on base alloy!

But come * * * * * *

Here the muse left me. I am astonished at what yon tell me of Anthony's writing me. I never received it. Poor fellow! you vex me much by telling me that he is unfortunate. I shall be in Ayrshire ten days from this date. I have just room for an old Roman farewell.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 186: See Poems Lx.x.xIX and XC]

Cx.x.xI.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[This letter has been often cited, and very properly, as a proof of the strong attachment of Burns to one who was, in many respects, worthy.]

_Mauchline, August 10, 1788._

MY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,

Yours of the 24th June is before me. I found it, as well as another valued friend--my wife, waiting to welcome me to Ayrshire: I met both with the sincerest pleasure.

When I write you, Madam, I do not sit down to answer every paragraph of yours, by echoing every sentiment, like the faithful Commons of Great Britain in Parliament a.s.sembled, answering a speech from the best of kings! I express myself in the fulness of my heart, and may, perhaps, be guilty of neglecting some of your kind inquiries; but not from your very old reason, that I do not read your letters. All your epistles for several months have cost me nothing, except a swelling throb of grat.i.tude, or a deep-felt sentiment of veneration.

When Mrs. Burns, Madam, first found herself "as women wish to be who love their lords," as I loved her nearly to distraction, we took steps for a private marriage. Her parents got the hint; and not only forbade me her company and their house, but, on my rumoured West Indian voyage, got a warrant to put me in jail, till I should find security in my about-to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky reverse of fortune. On my _eclatant_ return to Mauchline, I was made very welcome to visit my girl. The usual consequences began to betray her; and, as I was at that time laid up a cripple in Edinburgh, she was turned, literally turned out of doors, and I wrote to a friend to shelter her till my return, when our marriage was declared. Her happiness or misery were in my hands, and who could trifle with such a deposit?

I can easily fancy a more agreeable companion for my journey of life; but, upon my honour, I have never seen the individual instance.

Circ.u.mstanced as I am, I could never have got a female partner for life, who could have entered into my favourite studies, relished my favourite authors, &c., without probably entailing on me at the same time expensive living, fantastic caprice, perhaps apish affectation, with all the other blessed boarding-school acquirements, which (_pardonnez moi, Madame_,) are sometimes to be found among females of the upper ranks, but almost universally pervade the misses of the would-be gentry.

I like your way in your church-yard lucubrations. Thoughts that are the spontaneous result of accidental situations, either respecting health, place, or company, have often a strength, and always an originality, that would in vain be looked for in fancied circ.u.mstances and studied paragraphs. For me, I have often thought of keeping a letter, in progression by me, to send you when the sheet was written out. Now I talk of sheets, I must tell you, my reason for writing to you on paper of this kind is my pruriency of writing to you at large.

A page of post is on such a dissocial, narrow-minded scale, that I cannot abide it; and double letters, at least in my miscellaneous revery manner, are a monstrous tax in a close correspondence.

R. B.

Cx.x.xII.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[Mrs. Miller, of Dalswinton, was a lady of beauty and talent: she wrote verses with skill and taste. Her maiden name was Jean Lindsay.]