R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 271: Song CCx.x.xV.]
[Footnote 272: Song CCx.x.xVI.]
CCCVI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The instrument which the poet got from the braes of Athol, seems of an order as rude and incapable of fine sounds as the whistles which school-boys make in spring from the smaller boughs of the plane-tree.]
Since yesterday"s penmanship, I have framed a couple of English stanzas, by way of an English song to "Roy"s Wife." You will allow me, that in this instance my English corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish.
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?[273]
Well! I think this, to be done in two or three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am determined to have my quantum of applause from somebody.
Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the trifling circ.u.mstance of being known to one another, to be the best friends on earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I have, at last, gotten one, but it is a very rude instrument. It is comprised of three parts; the stock, which is the hinder thigh bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mutton ham; the horn, which is a common Highland cow"s horn, cut off at the smaller end, until the aperture be large enough to admit the stock to be pushed up through the horn until it be held by the thicker end of the thigh-bone; and lastly, an oaten reed exactly cut and notched like that which you see every shepherd boy have, when the corn-stems are green and full grown. The reed is not made fast in the bone, but is held by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of the stock; while the stock, with the horn hanging on its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock has six or seven ventages on the upper side, and one back-ventage, like the common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds wont to use in that country.
However, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, or else we have not the art of blowing it rightly; for we can make little of it. If Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him a sight of mine, as I look on myself to be a kind of brother-brush with him. "Pride in poets is nae sin;" and I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real painters of Scottish costume in the world.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 273: Song CCx.x.xVII.]
CCCVII.
TO PETER MILLER, JUN., ESQ.,
OF DALSWINTON.
[In a conversation with James Perry, editor of the Morning Chronicle, Mr. Miller, who was then member for the Dumfries boroughs, kindly represented the poverty of the poet and the increasing number of his family: Perry at once offered fifty pounds a year for any contributions he might choose to make to his newspaper: the reasons for his refusal are stated in this letter.]
_Dumfries, Nov. 1794._
DEAR SIR,
Your offer is indeed truly generous, and most sincerely do I thank you for it; but in my present situation, I find that I dare not accept it.
You well know my political sentiments; and were I an insular individual, unconnected with a wife and a family of children, with the most fervid enthusiasm I would have volunteered my services: I then could and would have despised all consequences that might have ensued.
My prospect in the Excise is something; at least it is, enc.u.mbered as I am with the welfare, the very existence, of near half-a-score of helpless individuals, what I dare not sport with.
In the mean time, they are most welcome to my Ode; only, let them insert it as a thing they have met with by accident and unknown to me.--Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, after your character of him, I cannot doubt; if he will give me an address and channel by which anything will come safe from those spies with which he may be certain that his correspondence is beset, I will now and then send him any bagatelle that I may write. In the present hurry of Europe, nothing but news and politics will be regarded; but against the days of peace, which Heaven send soon, my little a.s.sistance may perhaps fill up an idle column of a newspaper. I have long had it in my head to try my hand in the way of little prose essays, which I propose sending into the world though the medium of some newspaper; and should these be worth his while, to these Mr. Perry shall be welcome; and all my reward shall be, his treating me with his paper, which, by the bye, to anybody who has the least relish for wit, is a high treat indeed.
With the most grateful esteem I am ever,
Dear Sir,
R. B.
CCCVIII.
TO MR. SAMUEL CLARKE, JUN.,
DUMFRIES.
[Political animosities troubled society during the days of Burns, as much at least as they disturb it now--this letter is an instance of it.]
_Sunday Morning._
DEAR SIR,
I was, I know, drunk last night, but I am sober this morning. From the expressions Capt. ---- made use of to me, had I had no-body"s welfare to care for but my own, we should certainly have come, according to the manners of the world, to the necessity of murdering one another about the business. The words were such as, generally, I believe, end in a brace of pistols; but I am still pleased to think that I did not ruin the peace and welfare of a wife and a family of children in a drunken squabble. Farther, you know that the report of certain political opinions being mine, has already once before brought me to the brink of destruction. I dread lest last night"s business may be misrepresented in the same way.--You, I beg, will take care to prevent it. I tax your wish for Mr. Burns" welfare with the task of waiting as soon as possible, on every gentleman who was present, and state this to him, and, as you please, show him this letter. What, after all, was the obnoxious toast? "May our success in the present war be equal to the justice of our cause."--A toast that the most outrageous frenzy of loyalty cannot object to. I request and beg that this morning you will wait on the parties present at the foolish dispute. I shall only add, that I am truly sorry that a man who stood so high in my estimation as Mr. ----, should use me in the manner in which I conceive he has done.
R. B.
CCCIX.
TO MR. THOMSON.