theme of my song, as you and I are two downright singularities in human nature. You will probably start at this assertion; but I believe it will be allowed that a woman exquisitely charming, without the least seeming consciousness of it, and a poet who never paid a compliment but where it was justly due, are two of the greatest rarities on earth. I have the honor to be, &c., R. B. SONG,-Tune-"The Quaker's Wife." Blythe hae I been on yon hill, As the lambs before me; Careless ilka thought and free As the breeze blew o'er me, &c. (See page 163, supra.) On 25th June 1793 our poet wrote to George Thomson, enclosing a new song to the tune of "Logan Braes," in which occurs this indignant stanza, "Oh wae be to you, Men o' state, That brethren rouse to deadly hate! Sae may it on your heads return!" See Thomson Correspondence, Vol. V. () TO MISS M'MURDO, DRUMLANRIG, ENCLOSING A BALLAD I HAD COMPOSED ON HER. (DOUGLASS, 1877.) DUMFRIES, July 1793. MADAM,-Amid the profusion of compliments and addresses which your age, sex, and accomplishments will now bring you, permit me to approach with my devoirs, which, however deficient may be their consequence in other respects, have the double novelty and merit, in these frivolous, hollow times, of being poetic and sincere. In the inclosed ballad I have, I think, hit off a few outlines of your portrait. The personal charms, the purity of mind, the ingenious naivête of heart and manners in my heroine are, I flatter myself, a pretty just likeness of Miss M'Murdo in a cottage. Every composition of this kind must have a series of dramatic incidents in it, so I have had recourse to my invention to finish the rest of my ballad. So much from the poet. Now let me add a few wishes which every man who has himself the honor of being a father must breathe when he sees female youth, beauty, and innocence about to enter into this checquered, and very precarious world. May you, my young Madam, escape that frivolity which threatens universally to pervade the minds and manners of fashionable life, though it may pass by the rougher and more degenerate sex. The mob of fashionable female youth, what are they? are they anything? They prattle, laugh, sing, dance, finger a lesson, or perhaps turn over the parts of a fashionable novel, but are their minds stored with any information worthy of the noble powers of reason and judgment? or do their hearts glow with sentiment, ardent, generous, or humane? Were I to poetise on the subject, I would call them the butterflies of the human kind, remarkable only for, and distinguished only by, the idle variety of their ordinary glare, sillily straying from one blossoming weed to another, without a meaning and without an aim, the idiot prey of every pirate of the skies who thinks them worth his while as he wings his way by them, and speedily by wintry time swept to that oblivion whence they might as well never have appeared. Amid this crowd of nothings may you, Madam, be something-may yours be a character dignified; a rational and immortal being. A still more formidable plague in life-unfeeling, interested selfishness, is a contagion too impure to touch you. The selfish drift to bless yourself alone, to build your fame on another's ruin, to look on the ÆT. 35.] JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ., DRUMLANRIG. 359 child of misfortune without commiseration, or even the victim of folly without pity-these, and every other feature of a heart rotten at the core, are what you are totally incapable of. These wishes, Madam, are of no consequence to you, but to me they are of the utmost, as they give me an opportunity of declaring with what respect I have the honor to be, &c.,' R. B. (5) TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ., DRUMLANRIG. (DOUGLAS, 1877.) [Dumfries, July 1793.] SIR,-There is a beautiful, simple Scots air, which Mr. Clarke tells me has the good fortune to meet your approbation, and which he says he has taught to your young ladies, together with the rudiments of a Song which I intend to suit the tune.† That Ballad I enclose finished and, in my own opinion, in my best style; and I now beg leave to present to Miss M'Murdo the composition, as I think I have made it worthy, in some degree, of the subject. She I, from the beginning, meant for the Heroine of it. Sincere respect, Sir, even from those who can bestow nothing else, or who are themselves of no consequence as folk of the world-such respect and tribute of the heart is an offering grateful to every mind. You know that it is a tribute I never pay but in the willing ardor of my soul. Kings give Coronets-alas! I can only bestow a Ballad. Still, however, I proud *The foregoing rather prosy, moralising letter (as it seems to us under the circumstances) is extracted from the volume of the author's letters collected for Mr. Riddell of Glenriddell. There is nothing of later date contained in that book, although this one ranks number 10 out of 28 examples so recorded. We shall find that at Christmas following the author was still employed in tran. scribing these letters into the collection. † Page 167, supra. ly claim one superiority even over Monarchs; my presents, so far as I am a Poet, are the presents of Genius; and as the gifts of R. Burns, they are the gifts of respectful gratitude to the Worthy. I assure you I am not a little flattered with the idea when I anticipate children pointing out in future publications the tributes of respect I have bestowed on their Mothers. The merits of the Scots airs to which many of my Songs are-and more will be-set, give me this pleasing hope. You I believe are a subscriber to that splendid edition of Scots Music in which Pleyel presides over the musical department. In a future number of that Work (the first number is already published) this Ballad will probably appear. I have the honor to be, Sir, your obliged, humble servt. ROBT. BURNS. (8) TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., WRITER, MAUCHLINE? (DOUGLAS, 1877.)* DUMFRIES, 16th July 1793. MY DEAR SIR,-I understand that our friend, Mrs. Muir, of Tarbolton Mill, is likely to be involved in great difficulties as to the Settlement the late Miller made. Will you be so obliging as to let me know the state of the case; and if you think it would answer any good purpose to advocate the cause to Edinburgh at once, I can answer for her-a Writer to the Signet, an intimate friend of mine, will cheerfully undertake the business, without a single sixpence of fees; and our countryman, David Cathcart, lies under The original MS., which wants the address (here supplied from conjecture) is in Detroit. We print from a copy in the "Scottish American Journal." This was Wm. Muir whose Epitaph is printed at page 59, Vol. I., and who occupied the "Willie's Mill" of "Death and Dr. Hornbook." ET. 35.] GEORGE THOMSON'S FIRST PUBLICATION. 361 promise to me to advocate at small expense whenever I represent female poverty in distress. I am much interested for her, and will, as far as I have interest in either, move heaven and earth in her behalf. My interest in the first is vastly improved since you and I were first acquainted. Oh, there is nothing like matrimony for setting a man's face Zionward; whether it be that it sublimates a man above the visible diurnal sphere, or whether it tires him of this sublunary state, or whether the delicious morsel of happiness which he enjoys in the conjugal yoke gives him a longing for the feasts above, or whether a poor husband thinks he has every chance in his favor, as, should he go to hell, he can be no worse-I shall leave to a weel-waled Presbytery of orthodox Ayrshire priests to determine.-Yours most sincerely, ROBT. BURNS. In July of this year, Mr. George Thomson, published the first half volume of his Select Scottish Melodies, containing five of the songs written by Burns for that work. On receiving a copy of it, the poet thus wrote to the musical editor:-"Allow me to congratulate you now as a brother of the quill. You have committed your character and fame, which will be tried for ages to come by the illustrious jury of the Sons and Daughters of Taste-all whom poesy can please, or music charm. Being a bard of Nature, I have some pretensions to second-sight; and I am warranted by the spirit to foretell and affirm, that your great-great-grandchild will hold up your volumes, and say with honest pride:'This so-much-admired selection was the work of my ancestor!'"'* It was at this time that Burns, under the influence of a morbid sentiment of independence, wrote in angry terms to Thomson for having presumed to remit him five pounds, "as a small mark of gratitude." "Your pecuniary parcel," he thus wrote, degrades me in my own eyes; however, to return it would savor of bombast affectation. . . Burns's * It is perhaps not universally known that the sons and daughters of the late Charles Dickens are the great-grandchildren of George Thomson. |
