There was an old rough Border ditty referring to a certain Rattling Roaring Willie, of great celebrity in his day as a wandering violer. To this Burns added a stanza, which we are to take as a picture of the Colonel in his place of command and moment of highest exaltation:

Dunbar is elsewhere certified by Burns as one of the worthiest fellows in the world.' He gave the poet a copy of Spenser as a present, and was thus the means of introducing him to one of the most abundant fountains of poetical imagery which exists in our national literature.

At this time a portrait of the poet was in preparation for the adornment of the forthcoming volume. Alexander Nasmyth, a young artist residing close beside him in a place called Wardrop's Court, was good enough to paint it gratuitously. An engraver named Beugo, much cleverer in his art than any man residing in Edinburgh till a comparatively recent period, transferred the likeness to copper on the same terms. He took the greatest possible pains with the face, having the poet to sit to himself several times when it was finishing, and the result was a likeness which, notwithstanding a criticism passed on it by Sir Walter Scott, as will be afterwards noted, must undoubtedly be regarded as that on which the friends of Burns have set their stamp of approbation as the most faithful in existence, not even excepting Mr Nasmyth's original.

It has been remembered that, after the sittings for that original, Mr Nasmyth and the poet would take a ramble together, not unfrequently to the King's Park, where Burns delighted to climb Arthur's Seat, and lying on the summit, gaze at its grand panorama of twelve of the principal Scottish counties. Having one night transgressed the rules of sobriety, and sat up till an early hour in the morning, they agreed not to go home at all, but commence an excursion to the Pentland Hills. Passing a cottage a few miles out of town, they heard a frightful noise within, and going up to learn what was the matter, found that the sounds proceeded from a poor man whose reason had given way. Mr Nasmyth used afterwards to describe in thrilling terms the

LETTER TO DR MOORE.

43

appalling exclamations of the lunatic, and the effect which they had upon Burns. The two friends afterwards continued their walk to the hills, had a fine morning ramble, and having thus cleared off the effects of their dissipation, came down to Roslin to breakfast. Burns, who was now extremely hungry, found in Mrs David Wilson's little inn such ample solacement, that in a fit of gratitude he scrawled a couple of verses on the reverse side of a wooden platter:

My blessings on ye, honest wife,

I ne'er was here before;

Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and knife-
Heart could not wish for more.

Heaven keep you clear of sturt and strife,
Till far ayont four score,

And by the Lord o' death and life,
I'll ne'er gae by your door! 2

TO DR MOORE.

EDINBURGH, 15th February 1787.

SIR-Pardon my seeming neglect in delaying so long to acknowledge the honour you have done me in your kind notice of me, January 23d. Not many months ago I knew no other employment than following the plough, nor could boast anything higher than a distant acquaintance with a country clergyman. Mere greatness never embarrasses me; I have nothing to ask from the great, and I do not fear their judgment; but genius, polished by learning, and at its proper point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I frequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see with frequent wringings of heart that the novelty of my character, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my abilities.

For the honour Miss Williams has done me, please, sir, return her in my name my most grateful thanks. I have more than once thought of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before heard of her; but the other day I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore:

1 These particulars are obligingly communicated by James Nasmyth, Esq. of Patricroft near Manchester, son of the painter.

2 Information derived many years ago from the late Mr Matthew Stobie, Kirklandhill, Haddingtonshire, who lived in Roslin at the time.

there are, I think, two characteristic features in her poetry- the unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre tenderness of time-settled sorrow.'

I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why. R. B.

The answer of Dr Moore to the foregoing was as follows::CLIFFORD STREET, 28th February 1787. DEAR SIR-Your letter of the 15th gave me a great deal of pleaIt is not surprising that you improve in correctness and taste, considering where you have been for some time past. And I dare swear there is no danger of your admitting any polish which might weaken the vigour of your native powers.

sure.

I am glad to perceive that you disdain the nauseous affectation of decrying your own merit as a poet, an affectation which is displayed with most ostentation by those who have the greatest share of selfconceit, and which only adds undeceiving falsehood to disgusting vanity. For you to deny the merit of your poems, would be arraigning the fixed opinion of the public.

As the new edition of my View of Society is not yet ready, I have sent you the former edition, which I beg you will accept as a small mark of my esteem. It is sent by sea to the care of Mr Creech; and, along with these four volumes for yourself, I have also sent my Medical Sketches, in one volume, for my friend Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop; this you will be so obliging as to transmit, or, if you chance to pass soon by Dunlop, to give to her.

I am happy to hear that your subscription is so ample, and shall rejoice at every piece of good fortune that befalls you; for you are a very great favourite in my family; and this is a higher compliment than perhaps you are aware of. It includes almost all the professions, and is of course a proof that your writings are adapted to various tastes and situations. My youngest son, who is at Winchester school, writes to me that he is translating some stanzas of your Halloween into Latin verse for the benefit of his comrades. This union of taste partly proceeds no doubt from the cement of Scottish partiality with which they are all somewhat tinctured. Even your translator, who left Scotland too early in life for recollection, is not without it. I remain, with great sincerity, your obedient servant, J. MOORE.

TO JOHN BALLANTINE, ESQ.

EDINBURGH, Feb. 24, 1787.

MY HONOURED FRIEND-I will soon be with you now, in guid black prent-in a week, or ten days at farthest. I am obliged, against my own wish, to print subscribers' names; so if any of my Ayr friends have subscription-bills, they must be sent into Creech

A MONUMENT TO FERGUSSON.

45

directly. I am getting my phiz done by an eminent engraver, and if it can be ready in time, I will appear in my book, looking, like all other fools, to my title-page. R. B.

Before this time Burns had gratified his own generous feelings by an act of piety towards his unfortunate precursor Fergusson. The first step he took in the matter is fully expressed in an excerpt from the session-records of the parish of Canongate :—

Session-house within the parish of Canongate, the twenty-second day of February, one thousand seven hundred eighty-seven years.

Sederunt of the Managers of the Kirk and Kirkyard Funds of

Canongate;

Which day, the treasurer to the said funds produced a letter from Mr Robert Burns, of date the 6th current, which was read and appointed to be engrossed in their sederunt-book, and of which letter the tenor follows:

To the honourable bailies of Canongate, Edinburgh, Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains of Robert Fergusson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man whose talents for ages to come will do honour to our Caledonian name, lie in your churchyard among the ignoble dead, unnoticed and unknown.

'Some memorial to direct the steps of the lovers of Scottish song, when they wish to shed a tear over the "narrow house" of the bard who is no more, is surely a tribute due to Fergusson's memory —a tribute I wish to have the honour of paying.

'I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit me to lay a simple stone over his revered ashes, to remain an unalienable property to his deathless fame. I have the honour to be, gentlemen, your very humble servant (sic subscribitur), ROBERT BURNS.'

Therefore the said managers, in consideration of the laudable and disinterested motion of Mr Burns, and the propriety of his request, did, and hereby do, unanimously, grant power and liberty to the said Robert Burns to erect a headstone at the grave of the said Robert Fergusson, and to keep up and preserve the same to his memory in all time coming. Extracted forth of the records of the managers, by WILLIAM SPROTT, Clerk.

ΤΟ

EDINBURGH [February 1787.]

MY DEAR SIR-You may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so many repeated instances of kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to paper to say thank you; but if you knew what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that account, your good heart would think yourself too much

avenged. By the by, there is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to be so unaccountable as that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of use; but at the beginning of the business, his feeble efforts are to the workings of passion as the infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the unclouded fervour of the rising sun: and no sooner are the tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter native consequences of folly in the very vortex of our horrors, up starts Conscience, and harrows us with the feelings of the damned.

I have enclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose, that, if they merit a place in your truly-entertaining miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr Sprott

sent it me.

The inscription on the stone is as follows:

'HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET. Born, September 5th, 1751-Died, 16th October 1774.

No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,
"No storied urn, nor animated bust;
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust."

On the other side of the stone is as follows:

By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson.'1

Dr Currie printed this letter, without letting us know to whom it was addressed, only intimating that he was one of the ablest of our poet's correspondents.' From an expression in the letter, it may be presumed that he was the conductor of a periodical work. Dr Currie also publishes the reply to Burns, dated 8th March, containing a very absurd tirade against the poor Canongate magistrates, as if they had been concerned in starving the poet whose grave they now allowed Burns to adorn. This letter, however, is serviceable in informing us of the country rumour regarding Burns's position and doings in Edinburgh. 'Next week,' says the writer, 'I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edinburgh, and, as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I wish you or ***** would take a snug well-aired bedroom for me, where I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of tea. But by all accounts it will be a matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week before

1 If this order of the managers was designed to set aside the ground from all future use as a part of the general place of sepulture, I am sorry to remark that it has been, through inadvertence in some quarter, violated, as I was present some years ago when the remains of Mr John Inverarity, a nephew of Fergusson, were deposited in the grave of the poet.