BURNS'S JACOBITISM. 137 included. My farthest stretch was about ten miles beyond Inverness. I went through the heart of the Highlands by Crieff, Taymouth, the famous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among cascades and Druidical circles of stones, to Dunkeld, a seat of the Duke of Athole; thence across Tay, and up one of his tributary streams to Blair of Athole, another of the duke's seats, where I had the honour of spending nearly two days with his Grace and family; thence many miles through a wild country among cliffs gray with eternal snows and gloomy savage glens till I crossed Spey, and went down the stream through Strathspey, so famous in Scottish music;1 Badenoch, &c. till I reached Grant Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James Grant and family; and then crossed the country for FortGeorge, but called by the way at Cawdor, the ancient seat of Macbeth; there I saw the identical bed in which tradition says King Duncan was murdered; lastly, from Fort-George to Inverness. "I returned by the coast, through Nairn, Forres, and so on, to Aberdeen, thence to Stonehive [Stonehaven], where James Burnes, from Montrose, met me by appointment. I spent two days among our relations, and found our aunts, Jean and Isabel2 still alive, and hale old women. John Caird, though born the same year with our father, walks as vigorously as I can-they have had several letters from his son in New York. William Brand is likewise a stout old fellow; but further particulars I delay till I see you, which will be in two or three weeks. The rest of my stages are not worth rehearsing warm as I was from Ossian's country, where I had seen his very grave, what cared I for fishing-towns or fertile carses? I slept at the famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined at Gordon Castle next day, with the duke, duchess, and family. I am thinking to cause my old mare to meet me, by means of John Ronald,4 at Glasgow; but you shall hear farther from me before I leave Edinburgh. My duty and many compliments from the north to my mother; and my brotherly compliments to the rest. I have been trying for a berth for William,5 but am not likely to be successful. Farewell. R. B. Journeying through the Highlands with a Jacobite companion, Burns could not but feel a little more enthusiastic than he generally did regarding the memory of the Stuarts. His visit to the natal district of those ancestors whom he believed to have followed the cavalier standard, would give increased energy to his feelings 1 A quick kind of dancing tunes are called Strathspeys, from this vale, the place of their nativity. 2 Jean married John Burness, tenant of Bogjorgan. Isabel married William Brand, at Auchenblae, mentioned below. 3 John Caird was the husband of Elspeth, another of the sisters. He is described as in Denside of Dunnottar.' 4 A carrier between Mauchline and Glasgow; uncle to William Ronald, ploughman at Mossgiel, for whose testimony to the eloquence of the poet's family prayers see Vol. I. p. 160. 6 A younger brother of the poet, who had been brought up as a saddler. of romantic loyalty. Connecting these considerations with the fact of Prince Charles having this very month declared the legitimacy of his hitherto supposed natural daughter styled Duchess of Albany, I deem it probable that it was at this time that Burns composed a song in honour of that lady which has not till now seen the light. The Prince had, as is well known, lived many years with Clementina Walkinshaw, who bore him this single child. There are some who, not without grounds, believe that he was married to the lady. The Jacobites, who had long deplored his being without ostensible legitimate offspring, heard with a throb of melancholy interest that his one child, whatever were the circumstances of her birth, was legitimated by a deed registered (September 6, 1787) by the parliament of Paris. We can imagine Burns led by the intelligence into a reverie of those politics of the heart by which he did not disdain to admit that he was animated, and in that reverie composing, in imitation of the old ballad manner, 1 Bute. THE BONNY 'LASS OF ALBANY. TUNE-Mary's Dream. My heart is wae, and unco wae, This lovely maid's of royal blood They've wranged the Lass of Albany. In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde But there's a youth, a witless youth, That fills the place where she should be ;3 And bring our ain sweet Albany. Alas the day, and wo the day, A false usurper wan the gree, superiority Who now commands the towers and lands— The royal right of Albany. Rothsay, the county town of Bute, gave a title to the eldest sons of the kings of Scotland (Duke of Rothsay.) 8 An allusion to the Prince of Wales. LETTER TO MR MILLER OF DALSWINTON. We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray, On bended knees most fervently, The time may come, with pipe and drum 139 On the 28th of September Burns was still in Edinburgh. At his meeting with Mr Miller of Dalswinton in June, he had promised to return in August, in order to look more carefully over his farms. He had been unable to fulfil this engagement, and he could not even now contemplate an immediate visit to Dumfriesshire. We have a letter written by him to Mr Miller on the above day, explanatory of his intended movements, and containing some characteristic sentiments: 2 TO PATRICK MILLER, ESQ., DALS WINTON. EDINBURGH, 28th September 1787. SIR-I have been on a tour through the Highlands, and arrived in town but the other day, so could not wait on you at Dalswinton about the latter end of August, as I had promised and intended. Independent of any views of future connections, what I owe you for the past, as a friend and benefactor, when friends I had few, and benefactors I had none, strongly in my bosom prohibits the most distant instance of ungrateful disrespect. I am informed you do not come to town for a month still, and within that time I shall certainly wait on you, as by this time I suppose you will have settled your scheme with respect to your farms. My journey through the Highlands was perfectly inspiring, and I hope I have laid in a good stock of new poetical ideas from it. I shall make no apology for sending you the enclosed :3 it is a small but grateful tribute to the memory of our common countryman. I have the honour to be, with the most grateful sincerity, sir, your obliged humble servant, ROBT. BURNS. P.S.-I have added another poem,4 partly as it alludes to some folks nearly and dearly connected with Ayrshire, and partly as rhymes are the only coin in which the poor poet can pay his debts of gratitude. The lady alluded to is Miss Isabella M'Leod, aunt to the young Countess of Loudon. As I am determined not to leave Edinburgh till I wind up my matters with Mr Creech, which I am afraid will be a tedious busi 1 Prince Charles, at his death in 1788, left the Duchess of Albany his sole heir, but she did not long survive him. The above song is printed from a portion of a manuscript book in Burns's handwriting, which has been described as in the possession of Mr B. Nightingale, London. It occurs after the verses on the Stirling window, under the title of A Song by the Same Hand. 2 I am indebted for a copy of this letter to Mr W. C. Aitken, Broad Street, Birming ham. 3 Evidently, from the expression our common countryman,' referring to the Elegy on Sir James Hunter Blair-Mr Miller being, like Sir James and the poet, a native of Ayrshire. The Verses on the Death of Mr John M'Leod. ness, should I unfortunately miss you at Dalswinton, perhaps your factor will be able to inform me of your intentions with respect to the Elesland farm [so in MS.], which will save me a jaunt to Edinburgh again. There is something so suspicious in the professions of attachment from a little man to a great man, that I know not how to do justice to the grateful warmth of my heart when I would say how truly I am interested in the welfare of your little troop of angels, and how much I have the honour to be again, sir, your obliged humble servant, ROBT. BURNS. When worthy Mr Skinner learned from his son the bishop, or, as he called him, his chill (that is, chiel or child), that Burns had passed near his residence and missed seeing him, though anxious to do so, he felt a regret corresponding to that of the Ayrshire Bard, for, though now near seventy, his poetical and social affections were as vivid as ever. He resolved, as the next best, to attempt an interchange of correspondence with Burns, in the style of certain versified epistles which Allan Ramsay and Hamilton of Gilbertfield had launched at each other. His own first address to our bard, dated the 25th of September, opens with an expression of his joy that his son had met Burns, joined with a lament for his own absence on the interesting occasion :— 'Oh happy hour for evermair, That led my chill up Chalmers' stair,1 Sae braw a skance Of Ayrshire's dainty poet there By lucky chance. sight Waes my auld heart, I was na wi' you, When ye was north, I'm bauld to send my service to you, After some verses expressing admiration of Burns and his several poems, the kind old man urges further labours in the field of poesy, and concludes by proposing a correspondence: thanks to Praise, you're in your prime, And may chant on this lang, lang time; To haud your tongue, Wi' sic a knack ye hae at rhyme, The stair of Mr Chalmers's printing-office in Aberdeen, where Burns was when Bishop Skinner encountered him. Rhymer Robin greatly enjoyed any such recognition from an elder brother in the Muses, for these men had been the gods of his idolatry during his youthful and obscure days, when he did not hope to be ever heard of beyond the bounds of his own parish. He did not, however, answer immediately; and when he did, it was not in rhyming ware:' TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER. [EDINBURGH, October 25, 1787.] REVEREND AND VENERABLE SIR-Accept, in plain dull prose, my most sincere thanks for the best poetical compliment I ever received. I assure you, sir, as a poet, you have conjured up an airy demon of vanity in my fancy, which the best abilities in your other capacity would be ill able to lay. I regret, and while I live I shall regret, that when I was in the north, I had not the pleasure of paying a younger brother's dutiful respect to the author of the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw-Tullochgorum's my delight!' The world may think slightingly of the craft of song-making, if they please; but, as Job says, 'Oh that mine adversary had written a book!'-let them try. There is a certain something in the old Scotch songs, a wild happiness of thought and expression, which peculiarly marks them, not only from English songs, but also from the modern efforts of song-wrights, in our native manner and language. The only remains of this enchantment, these spells of the imagination, rest with you. Our true brother, Ross of Lochlee, was likewise 'owre cannie'-'a wild warlock'-but now he sings among the 'sons of the morning!' |