)
[To Margaret Chalmers, the youngest daughter of James Chalmers, Esq.
[To Margaret Chalmers, the youngest daughter of James Chalmers, Esq.
Robert Burns
I spent two days among our relations, and found our aunts,
Jean and Isabel, still alive, and hale old women. John Cairn, though
born the same year with our father, walks as vigorously as I can: they
have had several letters from his son in New York. William Brand is
likewise a stout old fellow; but further particulars I delay till I see
you, which will be in two or three weeks. The rest of my stages are not
worth rehearsing: warm as I was from Ossian's country, where I had seen
his very grave, what cared I for fishing-towns or fertile carses? I
slept at the famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined at Gordon
Castle next day, with the duke, duchess and family. I am thinking to
cause my old mare to meet me, by means of John Ronald, at Glasgow; but
you shall hear farther from me before I leave Edinburgh. My duty and
many compliments from the north to my mother; and my brotherly
compliments to the rest. I have been trying for a berth for William, but
am not likely to be successful. Farewell.
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXX.
TO MISS MARGARET CHALMERS.
(NOW MRS. HAY.
)
[To Margaret Chalmers, the youngest daughter of James Chalmers, Esq. ,
of Fingland, it is said that Burns confided his affection to Charlotte
Hamilton: his letters to Miss Chalmers, like those to Mrs. Dunlop, are
distinguished for their good sense and delicacy as well as freedom. ]
_Sept. 26, 1787. _
I send Charlotte the first number of the songs; I would not wait for
the second number; I hate delays in little marks of friendship, as I
hate dissimulation in the language of the heart. I am determined to
pay Charlotte a poetic compliment, if I could hit on some glorious old
Scotch air, in number second. [179] You will see a small attempt on a
shred of paper in the book: but though Dr. Blacklock commended it very
highly, I am not just satisfied with it myself. I intend to make it a
description of some kind: the whining cant of love, except in real
passion, and by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as the
preaching cant of old Father Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs.
Darts, flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a
Mauchline * * * * a senseless rabble.
I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight from the old, venerable
author of "Tullochgorum," "John of Badenyon," &c. I suppose you know
he is a clergyman. It is by far the finest poetic compliment I ever
got. I will send you a copy of it.
I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to wait on Mr.
Jean and Isabel, still alive, and hale old women. John Cairn, though
born the same year with our father, walks as vigorously as I can: they
have had several letters from his son in New York. William Brand is
likewise a stout old fellow; but further particulars I delay till I see
you, which will be in two or three weeks. The rest of my stages are not
worth rehearsing: warm as I was from Ossian's country, where I had seen
his very grave, what cared I for fishing-towns or fertile carses? I
slept at the famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined at Gordon
Castle next day, with the duke, duchess and family. I am thinking to
cause my old mare to meet me, by means of John Ronald, at Glasgow; but
you shall hear farther from me before I leave Edinburgh. My duty and
many compliments from the north to my mother; and my brotherly
compliments to the rest. I have been trying for a berth for William, but
am not likely to be successful. Farewell.
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXX.
TO MISS MARGARET CHALMERS.
(NOW MRS. HAY.
)
[To Margaret Chalmers, the youngest daughter of James Chalmers, Esq. ,
of Fingland, it is said that Burns confided his affection to Charlotte
Hamilton: his letters to Miss Chalmers, like those to Mrs. Dunlop, are
distinguished for their good sense and delicacy as well as freedom. ]
_Sept. 26, 1787. _
I send Charlotte the first number of the songs; I would not wait for
the second number; I hate delays in little marks of friendship, as I
hate dissimulation in the language of the heart. I am determined to
pay Charlotte a poetic compliment, if I could hit on some glorious old
Scotch air, in number second. [179] You will see a small attempt on a
shred of paper in the book: but though Dr. Blacklock commended it very
highly, I am not just satisfied with it myself. I intend to make it a
description of some kind: the whining cant of love, except in real
passion, and by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as the
preaching cant of old Father Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs.
Darts, flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a
Mauchline * * * * a senseless rabble.
I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight from the old, venerable
author of "Tullochgorum," "John of Badenyon," &c. I suppose you know
he is a clergyman. It is by far the finest poetic compliment I ever
got. I will send you a copy of it.
I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to wait on Mr.
