The Complete Works of Robert Burns
Chapter 190 : MY HONOURED FRIEND, The enclosed I have just wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary in

MY HONOURED FRIEND,

The enclosed I have just wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary inn in Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's riding. I have been over most of East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, and Selkirk-s.h.i.+res; and next week I begin a tour through the north of England. Yesterday I dined with Lady Harriet, sister to my n.o.ble patron,[172] _Quem Deus conservet_! I would write till I would tire you as much with dull prose, as I dare say by this time you are with wretched verse, but I am jaded to death; so, with a grateful farewell,

I have the honour to be,

Good Sir, yours sincerely,

R. B.

Auld chuckie Reekie's sair distrest, Down drops her ance weel burnish'd crest, Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest Can yield ava; Her darling bird that she loves best, Willie's awa.[173]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 172: James, Earl of Glencairn.]

[Footnote 173: See Poem Lx.x.xIII.]

LXII.

TO MR. PATISON,

BOOKSELLER, PAISLEY.

[This letter has a business air about it: the name of Patison is nowhere else to be found in the poet's correspondence.]

_Berrywell, near Dunse, May 17th, 1787._

DEAR SIR,

I am sorry I was out of Edinburgh, making a slight pilgrimage to the cla.s.sic scenes of this country, when I was favoured with yours of the 11th instant, enclosing an order of the Paisley banking company on the royal bank, for twenty-two pounds seven s.h.i.+llings sterling, payment in full, after carriage deducted, for ninety copies of my book I sent you. According to your motions, I see you will have left Scotland before this reaches you, otherwise I would send you "Holy Willie" with all my heart. I was so hurried that I absolutely forgot several things I ought to have minded, among the rest sending books to Mr. Cowan; but any order of yours will be answered at Creech's shop. You will please remember that non-subscribers pay six s.h.i.+llings, this is Creech's profit; but those who have subscribed, though their names have been neglected in the printed list, which is very incorrect, are supplied at subscription price. I was not at Glasgow, nor do I intend for London; and I think Mrs. Fame is very idle to tell so many lies on a poor poet. When you or Mr. Cowan write for copies, if you should want any direct to Mr. Hill, at Mr. Creech's shop, and I write to Mr. Hill by this post, to answer either of your orders. Hill is Mr. Creech's first clerk, and Creech himself is presently in London. I suppose I shall have the pleasure, against your return to Paisley, of a.s.suring you how much I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant,

R. B.

LXIII.

TO W. NICOL, ESQ.,

MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH.

[Jenny Geddes was a zealous old woman, who threw the stool on which she sat, at the Dean of Edinburgh's head, when, in 1637, he attempted to introduce a Scottish Liturgy, and cried as she threw, "Villain, wilt thou say the ma.s.s at my lug!" The poet named his mare after this virago.]

_Carlisle, June 1., 1787._

KIND, HONEST-HEARTED WILLIE,

I'm sitten down here after seven and forty miles ridin', e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd as a forfoughten c.o.c.k, to gie you some notion o' my land lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' hour that I sheuk hands and parted wi' auld Reekie.

My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huch-yall'd up hill and down brae, in Scotland and England, as teugh and birnie as a vera devil wi' me.

It's true, she's as poor's a sang-maker and as hard's a kirk, and tipper-taipers when she taks the gate, first like a lady's gentlewoman in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle; but she's a yauld, poutherie Girran for a' that, and has a stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that wad hae disgeested tumbler-wheels, for she'll whip me aff her five stimparts o' the best aits at a down-sittin and ne'er fash her thumb.

When ance her ringbanes and spavies, her crucks and cramps, and fairly soupl'd, she beets to, beets to, and ay the hindmost hour the tightest. I could wager her price to a thretty pennies, that for twa or three wooks ridin at fifty miles a day, the deil-stricket a five gallopers acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut on her tail.

I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dumbar to Selcraig, and hae forgather'd wi' monie a guid fallow, and monie a weelfar'd huzzie. I met wi' twa d.i.n.k quines in particular, ane o' them a sonsie, fine, fodgel la.s.s, baith braw and bonnie; the t.i.ther was clean-shankit, straught, tight, weelfar'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a flowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new-blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They were baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and onie ane o' them had as muckle smeddum and rumblegumtion as the half o' some presbytries that you and I baith ken. They play'd me sik a deevil o' a shavie that I daur say if my harigals were turn'd out, ye wad see twa nicks i' the heart o' me like the mark o' a kail-whittle in a castock.

I was gaun to write you a lang pystle, but, Gude forgie me, I gat mysel sae noutouriously b.i.t.c.hify'd the day after kail-time, that I can hardly stoiter but and ben.

My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our common friens, especiall Mr. and Mrs. Cruikshank, and the honest guidman o' Jock's Lodge.

I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the fore, and the branks bide hale.

Gude be wi' you, Willie! Amen!

R. B.

LXIV.

TO MR. JAMES SMITH,

AT MILLER AND SMITH'S OFFICE, LINLITHGOW.

[Burns, it seems by this letter, had still a belief that he would be obliged to try his fortune in the West Indies: he soon saw how hollow all the hopes were, which had been formed by his friends of "pension, post or place," in his native land.]

_Mauchline, 11th June, 1787._

MY EVER DEAR SIR,

I date this from Mauchline, where I arrived on Friday even last. I slept at John Dow's, and called for my daughter. Mr. Hamilton and your family; your mother, sister, and brother; my quondam Eliza, &c., all well. If anything had been wanting to disgust me completely at Armour's family, their mean, servile compliance would have done it.

Give me a spirit like my favourite hero, Milton's Satan:

Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal world! and thou proufoundest h.e.l.l, Receive thy new possessor! he who brings A mind not be chang'd by _place_ or _time_!