And may their souls Even love the warlock glens, which through The tempest howls. To eternize such themes as these, And high in fame To future times will justly raise Thy patriot name. While all the venal tribes decay, Thy works shall gain O'er every mind a boundless sway, And lasting reign. When winter binds the harden'd plains, Our blessing with our sons remain, And Burns's lay! No. III. (First inserted in the second edition.) THE editor has particular pleasure in presenting to the public the following letter, to the due understanding of which, a few previous observations are necessary. The biographer of Burns was naturally desirous of hearing the opinion of the friend and brother of the poet, on the manner in which he had executed his task, before a second edition should be committed to the press. He had the satisfaction of receiving this opinion, in a letter dated the 24th of August, approving of the life in very obliging terms, and offering one or two trivial corrections, as to names and dates chiefly, which are made in this edition. One or two observations were offered of a different kind. In the 319th page of the first volume, first edition, a quotation is made from the pastoral song, Etrick Banks, and an explanation given of the phrase mony feck" which occurs in this quotation. Supposing the sense to be complete after "mony," the editor had considered "feck" as a rustic oath, which confirmed the assertion. The words were, therefore, separated by a comma. Mr. Burns considered this as an error. Feck," he presumes, is the Scottish word for quantity, mony feck" to mean simply, very many. The editor, in yielding to this authority, expressed some hesitation, and hinted that the phrase and " mony feek," was, in Mr. Burns' sense, a pleonasm or barbarism, which deformed this beautiful song. His reply to this observation, makes the first clause of the following letter. In the same communication, he informed me that the Mirror and the Lounger were proposed by him to the Conversation Club of Mauchline, and that he had thoughts of giving me his sentiments on the remarks I had made respecting the fitness of such works for such societies. The observations of such a man, on such a subject, the editor conceived, would be received with particular interest by the public, and having pressed earnestly for them, they will be found in the following letter. Of the value of this communica The correction made by Gilbert Burns, has also been suggested by a writer in the Monthly Magazine, under the signature of Alboin, who, for taking this trouble, and for mentioning the author of the poem of Donocht-head, deserves the editor's thanks. tion, delicacy towards his very respectable correspondent prevents him from expressing his opinion. The original letter is in the hands of Messrs. Cadell and Davies. Dinning, Dumfriesshire, 24th Oct. 1800. Dear sir, Yours of the 17th inst. came to my hand yesterday, and I sit down this afternoon to write you in return; but when I shall be able to finish all I wish to say to you, I cannot tell. I am sorry your conviction is not complete respecting feck. There is no doubt, that, if you take two English words, which appear synonymous to mony feck, and judge by the rules of English construction, it will appear a barbarism. I believe, if you take this mode of translating from any language, the effect will frequently be the same. But, if you take the expression mony feck to have, as I have stated it, the same meaning with the English expression very many (and such licence every translator must be allowed, especially when he translates from a simple dialect, which has never been subjected to rule, and where the precise meaning of words is of consequence not minutely attended to), it will be well enough. One thing I am certain of, that ours is the sense universally understood in this country; and, I believe, no Scotsman who has lived contented at home, pleased with the simple manners, the simple melodies, and the simple dialect of his native country, unvitiated by foreign intercourse," whose soul proud seience never taught to stray," ever discovered bar barism in the song of Etrick Banks. The story you have heard of the gable of my father's house falling down, is simply as follows*: When my father built his "clay biggin," he put in two stone jambs, as they are called, and a lin *The editor had heard a report, that the poet was born in the midst of a storm, which blew down a part of the house. E. tel, carrying up a chimney in his clay gable. The consequence was, that, as the gable subsided, the jambs, remaining firm, threw it off its centre; and, one very stormy morning, when my brother was nine or ten days old, a little before day-light, a part of the gable fell out, and the rest appeared so shattered, that my mother, with the young poet, had to be carried through the storm to a neighbour's house, where they remained a week, till their own dwelling was adjusted. That you may not think too meanly of this house, or of my father's taste in building, by supposing the poet's description in the Vision (which is entirely a faney picture) applicable to it, allow me to take notice to you, that the house consisted of a kitchen in one end, and a room in the other, with a fireplace and chimney; that my father had constructed a concealed bed in the kitchen, with a small closet at the end, of the same materials with the house, and when altogether cast over, outside and in, with lime, it had a neat, comfortable appearance, such as no family of the same rank, in the present improved style of living, would think themselves ill lodged in. I wish, likewise, to take notice in passing, that, although the "Cotter," in the Saturday Night, is an exact copy of my father in his manners, his family devotion, and exhortations, yet, the other parts of the description do not apply to our family. None of us were ever "At service out amang the neebors roun." Instead of our depositing our "fair won penny fee" with our parents, my father laboured hard, and lived with the most rigid economy, that he might be able to keep his children at home, thereby having an opportunity of watching the progress of our young minds, and forming in them early habits of piety and virtue; and from this motive alone, did he engage in farming, the source of all his difficulties and distresses. When I threatened you in my last with a long letter on the subject of the books I recommended to the Mauchline club, and the effects of refine ment of taste on the labouring classes of men, I meant merely that I wished to write you on that subject, with the view that, in some future communication to the public, you might take up the subject more at large, that, by means of your happy manner of writing, the attention of people of power and influence might be fixed on it. I had little expectation, however, that I should overcome my indolence and the difficulty of arranging my thoughts so far as to put my threat in execution, till some time ago, before I had finished my harvest, having a call from Mr. Ewart with a message from you, pressing me to the performance of this task, I thought myself no longer at liberty to decline it, and resolved to set about it with my first leisure. I will now, there fore, endeavour to lay before you what has occur red to my mind on a subject where people, capable of observation, and of placing their remarks in a proper point of view, have seldom an opportunity of making their remarks on real life. In doing this, I may perhaps be led sometimes to write more in the manner of a person communicating information to you, which you did not know before, and at other times more in the style of egotism, than I would choose to do to any per son in whose candour, and even personal good will, I had less confidence. There are two several lines of study that open to every man as he enters life: the one, the general science of life, of duty, and of happiness; the other, the particular arts of his employment or situation in society, and the several branches of knowledge therewith connected. This last is cer tainly indispensable, as nothing can be more disgraceful than ignorance in the way of one's own profession; and, whatever a man's speculative knowledge may be, if he is ill informed there, he can neither be a useful, nor a respectable member The editor's friend, Mr. Peter Ewart, of Manchester. E. |