And when those legs to guid, warm kail, A lee dike-side, a sybow-tail, And barley-scone, shall cheer me. Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath And bless your bonny lasses baith I'm tauld they're lo'esome kimmers! leek girls And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, And may he wear an auld man's beard, We are told by Gilbert Burns, that Sir William Cunningham of Robertland paid the bard some flattering attentions. It also appears that a lady whom he had approached in earlier days, when accompanying David Sillar to chat with the maidens in her hall, now renewed his acquaintance in a manner which he felt to be kind and considerate. He addressed her thus: TO MRS STEWART OF STAIR. [August ?] 1786. MADAM-The hurry of my preparations for going abroad has hindered me from performing my promise so soon as I intended. I have here sent you a parcel of songs, &c., which never made their appearance, except to a friend or two at most. Perhaps some of them may be no great entertainment to you, but of that I am far from being an adequate judge. The song to the tune of Ettrick Banks [The Bonnie Lass of Ballochmyle] you will easily see the impropriety of exposing much, even in manuscript. I think myself it has some merit, both as a tolerable description of one of Nature's sweetest scenes, a July evening, and one of the finest pieces of Nature's workmanship, the finest, indeed, we know anything of-an amiable, beautiful young woman;' but I have no common friend to procure me that permission, without which I would not dare to spread the copy. I am quite aware, madam, what task the world would assign me in this letter. The obscure bard, when any of the great condescend to take notice of him, should heap the altar with the incense of flattery. Their high ancestry, their own great and godlike qualities and actions, should be recounted with the most exaggerated description. This, madam, is a task for which I am altogether unfit. Besides a certain disqualifying pride of heart, I know nothing 1 Miss Alexander. of your connections in life, and have no access to where your real character is to be found-the company of your compeers; and more, I am afraid that even the most refined adulation is by no means the road to your good opinion. One feature of your character I shall ever with grateful pleasure remember the reception I got when I had the honour of waiting on you at Stair. I am little acquainted with politeness, but I know a good deal of benevolence of temper and goodness of heart. Surely did those in exalted stations know how happy they could make some classes of their inferiors by condescension and affability, they would never stand so high, measuring out with every look the height of their elevation, but condescend as sweetly as did Mrs Stewart of Stair. R. B. Another person of local eminence whose friendly regard Burns obtained through the merit of his poetical volume, was the Rev. Mr George Lawrie, minister of the parish of Loudon, a few miles from Mossgiel. This appears to have been a remarkably fine specimen of the old moderate clergy of the Scottish establishment -sensible, upright, kind-hearted, and with no mean taste in literature. He was the friend of Blair, Robertson, Blacklock, and other distinguished men of the period, and it had been his fortune to serve as the medium by which Macpherson's Ossianic fragments were brought under the attention of the first mentioned of these literati, by whom they were submitted to the world. Lawrie had read the Poems with a high sense of their merit, but in a case so extraordinary, he was not inclined to trust entirely to his own judgment. He sent the book to his friend Blacklock in Edinburgh, asking his opinion of it, and hinting that it would be well to communicate it to Dr Blair, if that could be conveniently accomplished. At Loudon manse, in a beautiful situation on Irvine Water, entitled St Margaret's Hill, the rustic bard paid the good minister a visit. He was received with the greatest cordiality, and immediately found himself in the midst of what was to him a scene equally novel and charming. Besides the mild matron, there were a son rising into manhood, three beautiful and accomplished daughters, 'woman-grown,' and one of tenderer years. One of the young ladies played the spinnet to Burns-the first time he had ever heard such an instrument. He told her that she knew the magic way to a poet's heart. Among the liberalities of Mr Lawrie was a love of dancing, with a conviction that it was useful in promoting health and cheerfulness in his house. Scarcely a day passed in the manse when this exercise was not indulged. It was, therefore, exactly what might have been expected, that after dinner, or in the course of the evening, there was a dance, led by the excellent pastor and his lady, and in which Burns and other guests joined. Burns, it may be observed, though somewhat heavy-limbed, was a good dancer. Miss Louisa afterwards stated the interesting observation she made on this occasion, that the bard 'kept time admirably.' He retired for the night, with feelings deeply touched by the simple refinement, good-nature, and mutual affection of this family, as well as by the unaffected kindness which had been shewn to himself. In the morning, finding him somewhat unprompt in coming down to breakfast, young Mr Archibald went up to inquire for him, and meeting him on the stair, asked how he had slept. 'Not well,' said the bard; the fact is, I have been praying half the night. If you go up to my room, you will find my prayers on the table.' It really was so. The young man found the well-known verses afterwards published by Burns with a descriptive title: LYING AT A FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING VERSES IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT: Oh thou dread Power, who reign'st above, I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and love The hoary sire-the mortal stroke, And shew what good men are. She, who her lovely offspring eyes Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, In manhood's dawning blush— Bless him, thou God of love and truth, The beauteous, scraph sister-band, With earnest tears I pray, Thou know'st the snares on every hand Guide thou their steps alway. When soon or late they reach that coast, May they rejoice, no wanderer lost- It may be imagined with what pleasure the family would receive this elegant tribute of regard from one whom they only knew in consequence of the admiration in which they held his talents. But it appears, that we are not to consider the Prayer as the only expression which the poet gave of the feeling inspired by the mirthful scene of the preceding evening. Miss Louisa Lawrie possessed a scrap of verse in the poet's handwriting—a mere trifle, but apparently intended as part of a lyric description of the manse festivities. The locality,' says a relative of the family, 'corresponds perfectly-the old castle of Newmills, visible from the manse windows in those days, before the trees were grown up the hills opposite to the south-and the actual scene of enjoyment, standing on the very banks of the Irvine. Some little licence must be granted to the poet with respect to his lengthening the domestic dance so far into the night.' The night was still, and o'er the hill Sae merrily they danced the ring, Was Irvine's bairns are bonny a'. The time for parting came, and the benevolent host was left by Burns under feelings deeply affected by the consideration that so bright a genius should be contemplating a destiny so dismal as a clerkship in the West Indies. As yet, however, Mr Lawrie felt himself unable to suggest or promote any plan by which a better prospect might be opened to the young poet. A wide stretch of moor had to be passed by Burns on his way home.1 'His mind was strongly affected by parting for ever with a scene where he had tasted so much elegant and social pleasure, and depressed by the contrasted gloom of his prospects. The aspect of nature harmonised with his feelings. It was a lowering and heavy evening in the end [beginning?] of autumn. The wind was 1 Professor Walker gives the ensuing narration from the conversation of Burns in Edinburgh. up, and whistled through the rushes and long spear-grass which bent before it. The clouds were driving across the sky; and cold pelting showers at intervals added discomfort of body to cheerlessness of mind.' Under these circumstances, and in this frame, Burns composed what he considered as 'the last song he should ever measure in Caledonia :' THE GLOOMY NIGHT IS GATHERING FAST. TUNE-Roslin Castle. The gloomy night is gathering fast, The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, "Tis not the surging billow's roar, Farewell old Coila's hills and dales, Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! In a modest mansion in the outskirts of Edinburgh dwelt that remarkable man, Dr Thomas Blacklock-blind from early infancy, |