I have lately been
rambling
over by Dumbarton and Inverary, and
running a drunken race on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild
Highlandman; his horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron or
leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, whose name is
Jenny Geddes, and down came the Highlandman, horse and all, and down
came Jenny and my bardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises
and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare venture
on my journey to Edinburgh.
running a drunken race on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild
Highlandman; his horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron or
leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, whose name is
Jenny Geddes, and down came the Highlandman, horse and all, and down
came Jenny and my bardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises
and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare venture
on my journey to Edinburgh.
Robert Forst
I
frequently visited her when I was in ----, and after passing regularly
the intermediate degrees between the distant formal bow and the
familiar grasp round the waist, I ventured, in my careless way, to
talk of friendship in rather ambiguous terms; and after her return
to ----, I wrote to her in the same style. Miss, construing my words
farther I suppose than even I intended, flew off in a tangent of
female dignity and reserve, like a mounting lark in an April morning;
and wrote me an answer which measured me out very completely what an
immense way I had to travel before I could reach the climate of her
favour. But I am an old hawk at the sport, and wrote her such a cool,
deliberate, prudent reply, as brought my bird from her aerial
towerings, pop, down at my foot, like Corporal Trim's hat.
As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, and all my wise sayings, and
why my mare was called Jenny Geddes, they shall be recorded in a few
weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the chronicles of your memory, by
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXI.
TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND.
[Mr. John Richmond, writer, was one of the poet's earliest and firmest
friends; he shared his room with him when they met in Edinburgh, and
did him many little offices of kindness and regard. ]
_Mossgiel, 7th July, 1787. _
MY DEAR RICHMOND,
I am all impatience to hear of your fate since the old confounder of
right and wrong has turned you out of place, by his journey to answer
his indictment at the bar of the other world. He will find the
practice of the court so different from the practice in which he has
for so many years been thoroughly hackneyed, that his friends, if he
had any connexions truly of that kind, which I rather doubt, may well
tremble for his sake. His chicane, his left-handed wisdom, which stood
so firmly by him, to such good purpose, here, like other accomplices
in robbery and plunder, will, now the piratical business is blown, in
all probability turn the king's evidences, and then the devil's
bagpiper will touch him off "Bundle and go! "
If he has left you any legacy, I beg your pardon for all this; if not,
I know you will swear to every word I said about him.
I have lately been rambling over by Dumbarton and Inverary, and
running a drunken race on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild
Highlandman; his horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron or
leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, whose name is
Jenny Geddes, and down came the Highlandman, horse and all, and down
came Jenny and my bardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises
and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare venture
on my journey to Edinburgh.
Not one new thing under the sun has happened in Mauchline since you
left it. I hope this will find you as comfortably situated as
formerly, or, if heaven pleases, more so; but, at all events, I trust
you will let me know of course how matters stand with you, well or
ill. 'Tis but poor consolation to tell the world when matters go
wrong; but you know very well your connexion and mine stands on a
different footing.
I am ever, my dear friend, yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXII.
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[This letter, were proof wanting, shows the friendly and familiar
footing on which Burns stood with the Ainslies, and more particularly
with the author of that popular work, the "Reasons for the Hope that
is in us. "]
_Mauchline, 23d July, 1787. _
MY DEAR AINSLIE,
There is one thing for which I set great store by you as a friend, and
it is this, that I have not a friend upon earth, besides yourself, to
whom I can talk nonsense without forfeiting some degree of his esteem.
Now, to one like me, who never cares for speaking anything else but
nonsense, such a friend as you is an invaluable treasure. I was never
a rogue, but have been a fool all my life; and, in spite of all my
endeavours, I see now plainly that I shall never be wise. Now it
rejoices my heart to have met with such a fellow as you, who, though
you are not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust you will never
listen so much to the temptations of the devil as to grow so very wise
that you will in the least disrespect an honest follow because he is a
fool. In short, I have set you down as the staff of my old age, when
the whole list of my friends will, after a decent share of pity, have
forgot me.
Though in the morn comes sturt and strife,
Yet joy may come at noon;
And I hope to live a merry, merry life
When a' thir days are done.
frequently visited her when I was in ----, and after passing regularly
the intermediate degrees between the distant formal bow and the
familiar grasp round the waist, I ventured, in my careless way, to
talk of friendship in rather ambiguous terms; and after her return
to ----, I wrote to her in the same style. Miss, construing my words
farther I suppose than even I intended, flew off in a tangent of
female dignity and reserve, like a mounting lark in an April morning;
and wrote me an answer which measured me out very completely what an
immense way I had to travel before I could reach the climate of her
favour. But I am an old hawk at the sport, and wrote her such a cool,
deliberate, prudent reply, as brought my bird from her aerial
towerings, pop, down at my foot, like Corporal Trim's hat.
As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, and all my wise sayings, and
why my mare was called Jenny Geddes, they shall be recorded in a few
weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the chronicles of your memory, by
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXI.
TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND.
[Mr. John Richmond, writer, was one of the poet's earliest and firmest
friends; he shared his room with him when they met in Edinburgh, and
did him many little offices of kindness and regard. ]
_Mossgiel, 7th July, 1787. _
MY DEAR RICHMOND,
I am all impatience to hear of your fate since the old confounder of
right and wrong has turned you out of place, by his journey to answer
his indictment at the bar of the other world. He will find the
practice of the court so different from the practice in which he has
for so many years been thoroughly hackneyed, that his friends, if he
had any connexions truly of that kind, which I rather doubt, may well
tremble for his sake. His chicane, his left-handed wisdom, which stood
so firmly by him, to such good purpose, here, like other accomplices
in robbery and plunder, will, now the piratical business is blown, in
all probability turn the king's evidences, and then the devil's
bagpiper will touch him off "Bundle and go! "
If he has left you any legacy, I beg your pardon for all this; if not,
I know you will swear to every word I said about him.
I have lately been rambling over by Dumbarton and Inverary, and
running a drunken race on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild
Highlandman; his horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron or
leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, whose name is
Jenny Geddes, and down came the Highlandman, horse and all, and down
came Jenny and my bardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises
and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare venture
on my journey to Edinburgh.
Not one new thing under the sun has happened in Mauchline since you
left it. I hope this will find you as comfortably situated as
formerly, or, if heaven pleases, more so; but, at all events, I trust
you will let me know of course how matters stand with you, well or
ill. 'Tis but poor consolation to tell the world when matters go
wrong; but you know very well your connexion and mine stands on a
different footing.
I am ever, my dear friend, yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXII.
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[This letter, were proof wanting, shows the friendly and familiar
footing on which Burns stood with the Ainslies, and more particularly
with the author of that popular work, the "Reasons for the Hope that
is in us. "]
_Mauchline, 23d July, 1787. _
MY DEAR AINSLIE,
There is one thing for which I set great store by you as a friend, and
it is this, that I have not a friend upon earth, besides yourself, to
whom I can talk nonsense without forfeiting some degree of his esteem.
Now, to one like me, who never cares for speaking anything else but
nonsense, such a friend as you is an invaluable treasure. I was never
a rogue, but have been a fool all my life; and, in spite of all my
endeavours, I see now plainly that I shall never be wise. Now it
rejoices my heart to have met with such a fellow as you, who, though
you are not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust you will never
listen so much to the temptations of the devil as to grow so very wise
that you will in the least disrespect an honest follow because he is a
fool. In short, I have set you down as the staff of my old age, when
the whole list of my friends will, after a decent share of pity, have
forgot me.
Though in the morn comes sturt and strife,
Yet joy may come at noon;
And I hope to live a merry, merry life
When a' thir days are done.
