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through the streets of Dumfries, with my name at the head of them as the author, though it was the first time I had ever seen them.

I thank you for admitting "Cragie-burn Wood," and I shall take care to furnish you with a new chorus. In fact, the chorus was not my work, but a part of some old verses to the air. If I can catch myself in a more than ordinarily propitious moment, I shall write a new "Cragie-burn Wood" altogether. My heart is much in the theme.

I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the request; 'tis dunning your generosity; but in a moment when I had forgotten whether I was rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of your songs. It wrings my honest pride to write you this, but an ungracious request is doubly so by a tedious apology. To make you some amends, as soon as I have extracted the necessary information out of them, I will return you Ritson's volumes.

The lady is not a little proud that she is to make so distinguished a figure in your collection, and I am not a little proud that I have it in my power to please her so much. Lucky it is for your patience that my paper is done, for, when I am in a scribbling humour, I know not when to give over.

No. LXIV.

G. THOMSON TO BURNS.

MY GOOD SIR:

R. B.

15th November, 1794.

SINCE receiving your last, I have had another interview with Mr. Clarke, and a long consultation. He thinks the "Caledonian Hunt" is more Bacchanalian than amorous in its nature, and recommends it to you to match the air accordingly. Pray did it ever occur to you how peculiarly well the Scottish airs are adapted for verses in the form of a dialogue? The first part of the air is generally low, and suited for a man's voice, and the second part, in many instances, cannot be sung, at concert pitch, but by a female voice. A song, thus performed, makes an agreeable variety, but few of ours are

[Chloris, it is said, was so pleased to see herself reflected in verse, and associated with the genius of Burns, that she showed the works of Thomson to her friends or admirers; and, as they were not few, it soon became publicly known that her flaxen locks, blue eyes, and "passing, pleasing tongue" would communicate new charms to northern song. This, it sems, gave some offence to the more staid and stately of the Poet's friends; they remonstrated with him, not on the impropriety of resorting to the beauty of a farmer's daughter to bestow grace or tenderness on his strains, but because he had given her copies of his songs, both in manuscript and print, which, in the careless gaiety of her nature, she exhibited to the world. The Poet saw that he had acted imprudently; a mutual friend was employed to reclaim the manuscripts; the lady gave them up with reluctance, but retained, and, perhaps, still retains, the work of Thomson.]

† ["The anecdotes promised by the Poet were but in part

written in this form: I wish you would think of it in some of those that remain. The only one of the kind you have sent me is admirable, and will be an universal favourite.

Your verses for "Rothemurche" are so sweetly pastoral, and your serenade to Chloris, for "Deil tak the Wars," so passionately tender, that I have sung myself into raptures with them. Your song for "My lodging is on the cold ground," is likewise a diamond of the first water; I am quite dazzled and delighted with it. Some of your Chlorises, I suppose, have flaxen hair, from your partiality for this colour: else we differ about it; for I should scarcely conceive a woman to be a beauty, and reading that she had lint-white locks!

"Farewell thou stream that winding flows," I think excellent, but it is much too serious to come after "Nancy:" at least it would seem an incongruity to provide the same air with merry Scottish, and melancholy English, verses! The more that the two sets of verses resemble each other in their general character, the better. Those you have manufactured for "Dainty Davie" will answer charmingly. I am happy to find you have begun your anecdotes: 1 care not how long they be, for it is impossible that any thing from your pen can be tedious. Let me beseech you not to use ceremony in telling me when you wish to present any of your friends with the songs: the next carrier will bring you three copies, and you are as welcome to twenty as to a pinch of snuff.

No. LXV.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

19th November, 1794.

You see, my dear Sir, what a punctual correspondent I am; though indeed you may thank yourself for the tedium of my letters, as you have so flattered me on my horsemanship with my favourite hobby, and have praised the grace of his ambling so much, that I am scarcely ever off his back. For instance, this morning, though a keen blowing frost, in my walk before breakfast, I finished my duet, which you

written: a rich treat has thus been lost to all his admirers. He would have given us a chapter on the human heart, is formed us of the various feelings and impulses under which he wrote his lyrics-the hour and the season in which they were produced-the walks in which he mused, and the hero ines who lent look and life to the strains. Of each we would have known as much as we do of Highland Mary; nor could this have been otherwise than acceptable to the ladies themselves. We have been left to tradition, or conjecture, of accidental intimations: and the honour done to the charms of one has, we fear, sometimes been conferred on another. The Poet wrote notes of another kind on Johnson's Museum: These will be found in another portion of the volume. They are at once old and new, serious and comic, full of anecdotes and scraps of quaint and curious song, and marked every where with that peculiar spirit and feeling which distinguished Burns amongst all the sons of Caledonia." CUNNINGHAM

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SHE.

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
I care na wealth a single flie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,

And that's my ain dear Willy. Tell me, honestly, how you like it; and point out whatever you think faulty.

I am much pleased with your idea of singing our songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that you did not hint it to me sooner. In those that remain I shall have it in my eye. I remember your objections to the name, Philly; but it is the common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally, the only other name that suits, has, to my ear, a vulgarity about it, which unfits it for anything except burlesque. The legion of Scottish poetasters of the day, whom your brother editor, Mr. Ritson, ranks with me, as my coevals, have always mistaken vulgarity for simplicity: whereas, simplicity is as much eloignée from vulgarity, on the one hand, as from affected point and puerile conceit on the other.

I agree with you, as to the air "Craigie-burn Wood," that a chorus would, in some degree, spoil the effect; and shall certainly have none in my projected song to it. It is not, however, a case in point with "Rothemurche;" there, as in "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," a chorus goes, to my taste, well enough. As to the chorus going first, that is the case with "Roy's Wife" as well as "Rothemurche." In fact, in the first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so peculiar and irregular, and on that irregularity depends so much of their beauty, that we must e'en take them with all their wildness, and humour the verse accordingly. Leaving out the starting-note in both tunes has, I think, an effect that no regularity could counterbalance the want of:

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Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable strike you? In the last case, with the true furor of genius, you strike at once into the wild originality of the air; whercas, in the first insipid method; it is like the grating screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into tune. This is my taste; if I am wrong I beg pardon of the cognoscenti.

"The Caledonian Hunt" is so charming that it would make any subject in a song go down; but pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scottish Bacchanalians we certainly want, though the few we have are excellent. For instance, "Todlin Hame" is, for wit and humour, an unparalleled composition; and "Andrew and his cutty Gun" is the work of a master. By the way, are you not quite vexed to think that those

496

SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE

men of genius, for such they certainly were, who composed our fine Scottish lyrics, should be unknown? It has given me many a heartache. Apropos to Bacchanalian songs in Scottish; I composed one yesterday, for an air I like much" Lumps o' pudding":

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[Pastoral verse exhibits many examples of the dramatic mode of composition: compliments and scorn, praise and censure, are bandied about by shepherds and shepherdesses, till the subjectmatter is exhausted. In like manner, Willy and Philly, in the first of these lyrics, carry on the pleasant strife of compliment, till flowery comparisons grow scant, and the lovers are reduced to silence. Phillis is a favourite in northern song; in the present instance it is the true name of the heroine, Miss Phillis M'Murdo, of Dumlanrig.]

[One of the happiest examples of free wit and humour may be found in the "Auld Gude

man:"

НЕ.

"The auld gudeman that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born,
Was but a silly poor vagabond,
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn;

For he did spend and make an end
Of gear that his forefathers wan;
He gart the poor stand frae the door,-
Sae tell nae mair o' the auld gudeman.

SHE.

My heart alake is liken to break,
When I think on my winsome John;

His blinkan e'e and gate sae free,

Was naething like thee, thou dosen'd drone. His rosie cheek and flaxen hair,

And a skin as white as onie swan, Was large and tall and comely withal,

And thou'lt never be like my auld gudeman."

Yet

Tradition has recorded that Burns wrote "Contented wi' little" in a moment of hope, when fortune seemed inclined to pause in her persecution, and the frozen finger of the Excise pointed to the situation of of super supervisor. hope did not hinder him from thinking of independence, even while keeping sorrow and care at bay with a cup and song: he forgot not that his freedom was a 'lairdship nae monarch dare touch.' Of songs which honour fire-side happiness and domestic felicity we have but few, compared with those which treat of love and wine; yet of these, some are truly excellent: and, among the latter, who can refuse to include

"Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair!" CUNNINGHAM.]

No. LXVI.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

SINCE yesterday's penmanship, I have framed a couple of English stanzas, by way of an English song to "Roy's Wife." You will allow me that, in this instance, my English corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish :

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?

Tune-Roy's Wife.

I.

Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?
Is this thy faithful swain's reward-
An aching, broken heart, my Katy!
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy!
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Well thou know'st my aching heart-
And canst thou leave me thus for pity?

II.

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy!

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? Well thou know'st my aching heart

the corn-stems are green and full-grown. The

And canst thou leave me thus for pity?

Well! I think this, to be done in two or three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am determined to have my quantum of applause from somebody.

Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the trifling circumstance of being known to one another to be the best friends on earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I have at last gotten one; but it is a very rude instrument: it is cor composed of three parts; the stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mutton-ham; the horn, which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut off at the smaller end, until the aperture be large enough to admit the stock to be pushed up through the horn, until it be held by the thicker end of the thigh bone; and lastly, an oaten reed, exactly cut and notched like that which you see every shepherd-boy have, when

• [This is an interesting and minute account of an ancient instrument of music, well known to the peasantry of Scotland. In the Complaynt of Scotland, written in 1548, the author draws this graphic picture of the manners of our pastoral ancestors. "I rais and returnit to the fresche fieldis that I cam fra, quhar I beheld mony hudit hirdis blawand ther buc hornis and ther corne pipis, calland and convoyand mony fat floc to be fed on the fieldis. Than the scheiphirdis pat ther scheip on bankis and brais and on dry hillis, to get ther pastour. Than I beheld the scheiphirdis wyvis and ther childer that brocht there morning bracfast to the scheiphirdis. Than the scheiphirdis wyvis cutt it rachis and seggis and gardit mony fragrant grene meduart, with the quhilkis tha covurit the end of a leye rig, and syne sat doune altogyddir to tak there refectione, quhar thai maid grit cheir of evyrie sort of mylk, baitht of ky mylk, and zoue mylk, sucit mylk, and sour milk, curdis and quhaye, sourkittis, fresche buttir, and salt buttir, reyme, flot quhaye, grene cheis, kyrn mylk. Evyrie scheiphird hed an horne spune in the lug of there bonet: thai had na breyd, but ry caikis and fustean skonnis maid of flour. Than eftir there disjune, thai began to talk of grit myrrynes that was rycht plesand to be hard."

The things "rycht plesand to be hard," consisted of "gude tailis and fabillis," and "sueit melodious sangis of natural music of the antiquete," after enumerating which our author goes on to tell the different musical instruments wherewith the shepherds enlivened the dance. "Than eftir this sueit celest armonye, thai began to dance in ane ring; evyrie ald scheiphird led his wyfe be the hand, and evyrie zong scheiphird led hyr quhome he luffit best. There was viij scheiphirdis, and ilk ane of them hed ane syndry instrument to play to the laif. The first hed ane drone bag pipe, the nyxt hed ane pipe maid of ane bleddir and of ane reid, the third playit on ane trump, the feyrd on ane corne pipe, the fyft playit on ane pipe maid of ain gait horne, the sext playit on ane recordar, the sevint plait on ane fiddil, and the last plait on ane quhissil."

The late Dr. Leyden, who edited the curious work from which the above extracts are given, has enriched his edition with a learned and valuable dissertation, from which we take the following passages, as illustrative of the subject in question, for he has exhausted all that can be said about it.

"The 'pipe maid of ane gait horne,' is the stock and horn, or 'buck horne' of the Scottish peasantry, formed by inserting a reed, or pipe, into a horn, which gives a full and mellow expression to the sound. The reed or whistle was often formed of the excavated elder branch, to which practice there is an allusion in Cockelby's Sow, where the pype maid of a

reed is not made fast in the bone, but is held by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of the stock; while the stock, with the horn hanging on its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock has six or seven ventiges on the upper side, and one back-ventige, like the common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds were wont to use in that

country.

However, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, or else we have not the art of blowing it rightly; for we can make little of it. If Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him a sight of mine; as I look on myself to be a kind of brother-brush with him. "Pride in poets is nae sin," and, I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real painters of Scottish costume in the world.*

[To the Song "Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?" written in the character of a forsaken lover, a reply was found on the part of the lady, among the MSS. of Burns, evidently in a female hand-writing. The temptation to give it to the public is irresistible; and if, in so doing, offence should be given to the fair authoress, the beauty of her verses must plead

bourit bourtre,' is mentioned as the appropriate musical instrument of the 'nolt hirdis.' The 'stoc-horn,' mentioned in the same poem, is merely a species of bugle, or open cow's horn, used for giving an alarm, like the Irish stuic or stoc, a brazen tube formed like the horn of a cow, and employed as a speaking trumpet. The pib-corn, used in some districts of Wales, seems to be only an improved species of the stock and horn, from which it differs, in having both extremities of the pipe or whistle inserted in a horn. The Welch, according to Higden, employed these 'hornes of gheet,' as he terms them, at their funerals. The stock and horn may likewise be considered as synonymous with the chalemaulx de Cornouaille' in the Romaunt of the Rose, rendered by Chaucer, 'horn pipes of Cornewaile.' In Merciai's 'Les Vigiles de la mort du Roi Charles Septiesme,' the Horn pipe is likewise mentioned as a favourite pastoral instrument.

"There can be no doubt but this instrument is the 'liltyng horn' of Chaucer, such

'As haue these little heerde gromes,
That kepen beastes in the bromes.'

"The stock and horn was so formed that the parts could be easily separated, while the horn might be employed as a bugle, and the pipe, as a simple pipe or whistle. The stock hom, in the strict sense, is the cornet, or crumhorn of the Germans, the shalmey, or chalumeau, used with the trumpet at tilts and tournaments. Thus,

'Trumpettis and schalmis with a schout
Played or the rink began.'

"The shalmele is enumerated by Gower among the instruments of music in the court of Venus.

'In suche accorde and such a sowne
Of bumbarde and of clariowne,
With cornemuse and shalmele,
That it was halfe a mannes hele
So glad a noise for to here.-'

"It is curious that the pipe is excluded from 'the companie of Eldie,' in the court of Venus.

But yet I herde no pipes there
To make mirthe in mannes ere;
But the musike I might knowe
For olde men which sowned lowe,
With harpe and lute and the citole;
The houe dance and the carole,
In such a wise as loue hath bede,
A softe paas thei daunce and trede."

our excuse:

Tune-Roy's Wife.

TELL me that thou yet art true,

And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven,
And when this heart proves fause to thee,
Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven.

Stay, my Willie-yet believe me,
Stay, my Willie-yet believe me,
For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang

Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave me.

But to think I was betray'd,

That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder! To take the flow'ret to my breast,

And find the guilefu' serpent under.

Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive,
Celestial pleasures, might I choose 'em,
I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres
That heaven I'd find within thy bosom.

Stay my Willie-yet believe me,
Stay my Willie-yet believe me,
For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang

Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave me.]

["It may amuse the reader to be told that, on this occasion, the gentleman and the lady have

exchanged the dialects of their respective countries. The Scottish Bard makes his address in pure English: the reply on the part of the lady in the Scottish dialect is, if we mistake not, by a young and beautiful Englishwoman." CURRIE.]

[This reply was written by a young and beautiful Englishwoman-Mrs. Riddel. She alludes to her quarrel with the Poet: she took a flower to her bosom, and found a serpent under. In that metaphorical way she intimated that the Poet had the presumption to attempt to salute her a piece of forwardness which a coldness of two years' continuance more than

punished.-CUNNINGHAM.]

No. LXVII.

G. THOMSON TO BURNS.

29th November, 1794.

I ACKNOWLEDGE, my dear Sir, you are not only the most punctual, but the most delectable, correspondent I ever met with. To attempt flattering you never entered my head; the truth is, I look back with surprise at my impudence, in so frequently nibbling at lines and couplets of your incomparable lyrics, for which, perhaps, if you had served me right, you would have sent me to the devil. On the contrary,

* The query put by Thomson is sufficiently answered by the lengthened note to the preceding letter, the value of which

however, you have, all along, condescended to invite my criticism with so much courtesy that it ceases to be wonderful if I have sometimes given myself the airs of a reviewer. Your last budget demands unqualified praise: all the songs are charming, but the duet is a chef d'œuvre. "Lumps of pudding" shall certainly make one of my family dishes: you have cooked it so capitally that it will please all palates. Do give us a few more of this cat, when you find yourself in good spirits; these convivial songs are more wanted than those of the amorous kind, of which we have great choice. Besides, one does not often meet with a singer capable of giving the proper effect to the latter, while the former are easily sung, and aeceptable to every body. I participate in your regret that the authors of some of our best songs are unknown: it is provoking to every admirer of genius.

I mean to have a picture painted from your beautiful ballad, "The Soldier's Return," to be engraved for one of my frontispieces. The most interesting point of time appears to me, when she recognizes her ain dear Willy, "She gaz'd, she reddened like a rose." The three lines immediately following are, no doubt, more impressive on the reader's feelings; but were the painter to fix on these, then you'll observe the animation and anxiety of her countenance is gone, and he could only represent her faint But I submit the ing in the soldier's arms. matter to you, and beg your opinion.

Allan desires me to thank you for your aces rate description of the stock and horn, and for the very gratifying compliment you pay him. in considering him worthy of standing in a niche, by the side of Burns, in the Scottish Pantheon. He has seen the rude instrument you describe, so does not want you to send it: but wishes to know whether you believe it to have ever been generally used as a musical pipe by the Scottish shepherds, and when, and what part of the country chiefly. I doubt much if it was capable of any thing but routing and roaring. A friend of mine says, he remembers to have heard one in his younger days (made of wood instead of your bone), and Do not. I beseech you, return any books.

that the sound was abominable.*

No. LXVIII.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

G. T.

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