either of two women, the one a girl of large for-
tune, but neither handsome in person, nor agree-
able in conversation, but who can manage the
household affairs of a farm well enough ; the
other of them a girl every way agreeable, in
person, conversation, and behaviour, but without
any fortune : which of them shall he choose f
Finding ourselves very happy in our society,
we resolved to continue to meet once a month
in the same house, in the way and manner pro-
posed, and shortly thereafter we chose Robert
Ritchie for another member. In May, 1781,
we brought in David Sillar,* and in June,
Adam
* The person to whom Burns addressed his Epistle to
Davie, a brother poet.
ROBERT BURNS. 107
Adam Jamaison, as members. About the be-
ginning of the year 1782, we admitted Mat-
thew Patterson, and John Orr, and in June fol-
lowing we chose James Patterson as a proper
brother for such a society. The club being
thus increased, we resolved to meet at Tarbolton
on the race-night, the July following, and have
a dance in honour of our society. Accordingly
we did meet, each one with a partner, and spent
the evening in such innocence and merriment,
such cheerfulness and good humour, that every
brother will long remember it with pleasure and
delight." To this preamble are subjoined the
rules and regulations.*
The philosophical mind will dwell with inte-
rest and pleasure, on an institution that com-
bined so skilfully the means of instruction and
of happiness j and if grandeur look down with
a smile on these simple annals, let us trust that
it will be a smile of benevolence and approba-
tion. It is with regret that the sequel of the
history of the Bachelor's Club of Tarbolton
must be told. It survived several years after
our poet removed from Ayrshire, but no longer
sustained by his talents, or cemented by his so-
cial affections, its meetings lost much of their
attraction j and at length, in an evil hour, dis-
sension
* For which see Appendix, No. II. Note C.
108 THE LIFE OF
sension arising amongst its members, the insti-
tution was given up, and the records committed
to the flames. Happily the preamble and the
regulations were spared ; and, as matter of in-
struction and of example, they are transmitted
to posterity.
After the family of our bard removed from
Tarbolton to the neighbourhood of Mauchline,
he and his brother were requested to assist in
forming a similar institution there. The regu-
lations of the club at Mauchline were nearly
the same as those of the club at Tarbolton ; but
one laudable alteration was made. The fines
for non-attendance had at Tarbolton been spent
in enlarging their scanty potations : at Mauch-
line it was fixed, that the money so arising,
should be set apart for the purchase of books,
and the first work procured in this manner was
the Mirror, the separate numbers of which were
at that time recently collected and published in
volumes. After it, followed a number of other
works, chiefly of the same nature, and among
these the Lounger. The society of Mauchline
still subsists, and appeared in the list of sub-
scribers to the first edition of the works of its
celebrated associate.
The members of these two societies were ori-
ginally all young men from the country, and
chiefly
ROBERT BURNS. 109
chiefly sons of farmers ; a description of persons,
in the opinion of our poet, more agreeable in
their manners, more virtuous in their conduct,
and more susceptible of improvement, than
the self-sufficient mechanics of country-towns.
With deference to the Conversation-society of
Mauchline, it may be doubted, whether the
books which they purchased were of a kind best
adapted to promote the interest and happiness
of persons in this situation of life. The Mirror
and the Lounger, though works of great merit,
may be said, on a general view of their con-
tents, to be less calculated to increase the know-
ledge, than to refine the taste of those who
read them ; and to this last object their morality
itself, which is however always perfectly pure,
may be considered as subordinate. As works of
taste, they deserve great praise. They are, in-
deed, refined to a high degree of delicacy ; and
to this circumstance it is perhaps owing, that
they exhibit little or nothing of the peculiar
manners of the age or country in which they
were produced. But delicacy of taste, though
the source of many pleasures, is not without
some disadvantages ; and to render it desirable,
the possessor should perhaps in all cases be
raised above the necessity of bodily labour, un-
less indeed we should include under this term
the exercise of the imitative arts, over which
taste immediately presides. Delicacy of taste
may
110 THE LIFE OF
may be a blessing to him who has the disposal
of his own time, and who can choose what book
he shall read, of what diversion he shall partake,
and what company he shall keep. To men so
situated, the cultivation of taste affords a grate-
ful occupation in itself, and opens a path to
many other gratifications. To men of genius,
in the possession of opulence and leisure, the
cultivation of the taste may be said to be essen-
tial ; since it affords employment to those fa-
culties, which without employment would de-
stroy the happiness of the possessor, and cor-
rects that morbid sensibility, or, to use the ex-
pression of Mr. Hume, that delicacy of passion,
which is the bane of the temperament of genius.
Happy had it been for our bard, after he
emerged from the condition of a peasant, had
the delicacy of his taste equalled the sensibility
of his passions, regulating all the effusions of
his muse, and presiding over all his social enjoy-
ments. But to the thousands who share the ori-
ginal condition of Burns, and who are doomed
to pass their lives in the station in which they
were born, delicacy of taste, were it even of
easy attainment, would, if not a positive evil,
be at least a doubtful blessing. Delicacy of
taste may make many necessary labours irksome
or disgusting ; and should it render the culti-
vator of the soil unhappy in his situation, it
presents no means by which that situation may
be
ROBERT BURNS. Ill
be improved. Taste and literature, which dif-
fuse so many charms throughout society, which
sometimes secure to their votaries distinction
while living, and which still more frequently
obtain for them posthumous fame, seldom pro-
cure opulence, or even independence, when
cultivated with the utmost attention, and can
scarcely be pursued with advantage by the pea-
sant in the short intervals of leisure which his
occupations allow. Those who raise themselves
from the condition of daily labour, are usually
men who excel in the practice of some useful
art, or who join habits of industry and sobriety
to an acquaintance with some of the more com-
mon branches of knowledge. The penmanship
of Butterworth, and the arithmetic of Cocker,
may be studied by men in the humblest walks
of life ; and they will assist the peasant more in
the pursuit of independence, than the study of
Homer or of Shakespeare, though he could
comprehend, and even imitate, the beauties of
those immortal bards.
These observations are not offered without
some portion of doubt and hesitation. The
subject has many relations, and would justify an
ample discussion. It may be observed, on the
other hand, that the first step to improvement
is to awaken the desire of improvement, and
that this will be most effectually done by such
reading
112 THE LIFE OF
reading as interests the heart and excites the
imagination. The greater part of the sacred
writings themselves, which in Scotland are more
especially the manual of the poor, come under
this description. It may be farther observed,
that every human being is the proper judge of
his own happiness, and within the path of in-
nocence, ought to be permitted to pursue it.
Since it is the taste of the Scottish peasantry to
give a preference to works of taste and of fan-
cy,* it may be presumed they find a superior
gratification in the perusal of such works ; and
it may be added, that it is of more consequence
they should be made happy in their original
condition, than furnished with the means, or
with the desire, of rising above it. Such con-
siderations are doubtless of much weight ; ne-
vertheless, the previous reflections may deserve
to be examined, and here we shall leave the
subject.
Though the records of the society at Tar-
bolton are lost, and those of the society at
Mauchline have not been transmitted, yet we
may
* In several lists of book-societies among the poorer
classes in Scotland which the Editor has seen, works of
this description form a great part. These societies are
by no means general, and it is not supposed that they are
increasing at present.
ROBERT BURNS. 113
may safely affirm, that our poet was a distin-
guished member of both these associations,
which were well calculated to excite and to de-
velope the powers of his mind. From seven to
twelve persons constituted the society of Tar-
bolton, and such a number is best suited to the
purposes of information. Where this is the ob-
ject of these societies, the number should be
such, that each person may have an opportunity
of imparting his sentiments, as well as of re-
ceiving those of others - 3 and the powers of pri-
vate conversation are to be employed, not those
of public debate. A limited society of this
kind, where the subject of conversation is fixed
beforehand, so that each member may revolve
it previously in his mind, is perhaps one of the
happiest contrivances hitherto discovered for
shortening the acquisition of knowledge, and
hastening the evolution of talents. Such an
association requires indeed somewhat more of
regulation than the rules of politeness establish
in common conversation ; or rather, perhaps, it
requires that the rules of politeness, which in
animated conversation are liable to perpetual
violation, should be vigorously enforced. The
order of speech established in the club at
Tarbolton, appears to have been more regular
than was required in so small a society $* where
VOL. I. I all
* See dppendix, No. II. Note C.
114 THE LIFE OF"
all that is necessary seems to be, the fixing on a
member to whom every speaker shall address
himself, and who shall in return secure the
speaker from interruption. Conversation, which
among men whom intimacy and friendship have
relieved from reserve and restraint, is liable,
when left to itself, to so many inequalities, and
which, as it becomes rapid, so often diverges
into separate and collateral branches, in which it
is dissipated and lost, being kept within its chan-
nel by a simple limitation of this kind, which
practice renders easy and familiar, flows along
in one full stream, and becomes smoother, and
clearer, and deeper, as it flows. It may also be
observed, that in this way the acquisition of
knowledge becomes more pleasant and more
easy, from the gradual improvement of the fa-
culty employed to convey it. Though some at-
tention has been paid to the eloquence of the
senate and the bar, which in this, as in all other
free governments, is productive of so much in-
fluence to the few who excel in it, yet little re-
gard has been paid to the humbler exercise of
speech in private conversation, an art that is of
consequence to exery description of persons un-
der every form of government, and on which elo-
quence of every kind ought perhaps to be founded.
The first requisite of every kind of elocu-
tion, a distinct utterance, is the offspring of
much
ROBERT BURNS. 115
much time, and of long practice. Children
are always defective in clear articulation, and
so are young people, though in a less degree.
What is called slurring in speech, prevails with
some persons through life, especially in those
who are taciturn. Articulation does not seem
to reach its utmost degree of distinctness in men
before the age of twenty, or upwards; in women
it reaches this point somewhat earlier. Female
occupations require much use of speech, because
they are duties in detail. Besides, their occupa-
tions being generally sedentary, the respira-
tion is left at liberty. Their nerves being more
delicate, their sensibility as well as fancy is more
lively; the natural consequence of which is, a
more frequent utterance of thought, a greater
fluency of speech, and a distinct articulation at
an earlier age. But in men who have not min-
gled early and familiarly with the world, though
rich perhaps in knowledge, and clear in appre-
hension, it is often painful to observe the diffi-
culty with which their ideas are communicated
by speech, through the want of those habits that
connect thoughts, words, and sounds together;
which, when established, seem as if they had
arisen spontaneously, but which, in truth, are
the result of long and painful practice, and when
analyzed, exhibit the phenomena of most curious
and complicated association.
I 2! Societies
116 THE LIFE OF
Societies then, such as we have been describ-
ing, while they may be said to put each member
in possession of the knowledge of all the rest,
improve the powers of utterance, and by the
collision of opinion, excite the faculties of rea-
son and reflection. To those who wish to im-
prove their minds in such intervals of labour as
the condition of a peasant allows, this method
of abbreviating instruction, may, under proper
regulations, be highly useful. To the student,
whose opinions, springing out of solitary obser-
vation and meditation, are seldom in the first
instance correct, and which have notwithstand-
ing, while confined to himself, an increasing
tendency to assume in his own eye the character
of demonstrations, an association of this kind,
where they may be examined as they arise, is of
the utmost importance ; since it may prevent
those illusions of imagination, by which genius
being bewildered, science is often debased, and
error propagated through successive generations.
And to men who having cultivated letters, or
general science, in the course of their education,
are engaged in the active occupations of life,
and no longer able to devote to study or to
books the time requisite for improving or pre-
serving their acquisitions, associations of this
kind, where the mind may unbend from its usual
cares in discussions of literature or science, af-
ford
ROBERT BURNS. 117
ford the most pleasing, the most useful, and the
most rational of gratifications.*
Whether in the humble societies of which he
was a member, Burns acquired much direct in-
formation, may perhaps be questioned. It can-
not however be doubted, that by collision, the
faculties of his mind would be excited, that by
practice, his habits of enunciation would be
established, and thus we have some explanation
of that early command of words and of ex-
pression which enabled him to pour forth his
thoughts in language not unworthy of his ge-
nius, and which, of all his endowments, seemed,
An
M. ' ' ' . - . .. _ . .
* When letters and philosophy were cultivated in
ancient Greece, the press had not multiplied the tablets
of learning and science, and necessity produced the
habit of studying as it were in common. Poets were
found reciting their own verses in public assemblies ; in
public schools only philosophers delivered their specu-
lations. The taste of the hearers, the ingenuity of the
scholars, were employed in appreciating and examining
the works of fancy and of speculation submitted to
their consideration, and the irrevocable words were not
given to the world before the composition, as well as
the sentiments, were again and again retouched and
improved. Death alone put the last seal on the labours
of genius. Hence, perhaps, may be in part explained
the extraordinary art and skill with which the monu-
ments of Grecian literature that remain to us, appear to
have been constructed.
118 THE LIFE OF
on his appearance in Edinburgh, the most ex-
traordinary.* For associations of a literary
nature, our poet acquired a considerable relish ;
and happy had it been for him, after he emerged
from the condition of a peasant, if fortune had
permitted him to enjoy them in the degree of
which he was capable, so as to have fortified his
principles of virtue by the purification of his
taste, and given to the energies of his mind ha-
bits of exertion that might have excluded other
associations, in which it must be acknowledged
they were too often wasted, as well as debased.
The
* It appears that our Poet made more preparation
than might be supposed, for the discussions of the so-
ciety of Tarbolton. There were found some detached
memoranda, evidently prepared for these meetings ;
and, among others, the heads of a speech on the ques-
tion mentioned in p. 106, in which, as might be ex-
pected, he takes the imprudent side of the question.
The following may serve as a farther specimen of the
questions debated in the society at Tarbolton: Whether
do we derive more happiness from love or friendship t -
Whether between friends, who have no reason to doubt
each other's friendship, there should be any reserve'?
Whether is the savage man, or the peasant of a civilized
country, in the most happy situation? Whether is a
young man of the lower ranks of life likeliest to be happy,
who has got a good education, and his mind well informed,
or he who has just the education and information of those
around him ?
ROBERT BURNS. 119
The whole course of the Ayr is fine; but the
banks of that river, as it bends to the eastward
above Mauchline, are singularly beautiful, and
they were frequented, as may be imagined, by
our poet in his solitary walks. Here the muse
often visited him. In one of these wanderings,
he met among the woods a celebrated Beauty
of the west of Scotland ; a lady, of whom it is
said, that the charms of her person correspond
with the character of her mind. This incident
gave rise, as might be expected, to a poem, of
which* an account will be found in the following
letter, in which he enclosed it to the object of
his inspiration :
To Miss .
Mossgiel, 18th Nov. 1786.
*' Madam,
" Poets are such outre beings, so much
the children of wayward fancy and capricious
whim, that I believe the world generally allows
them a larger latitude in the laws of propriety,
than the sober sons of judgment and prudence.
I mention this as an apology for the liberties
that a nameless stranger has taken with you in
the enclosed poem, which he begs leave to pre-
sent you with. "Whether it has poetical merit
any
120 THE LIFE OF
any way worthy of the theme, I am not the pro-
per judge; but it is the best my abilities can
produce ; and, what to a good heart will perhaps
be a superior grace, it is equally sincere as fer-
vent.
" The scenery was nearly taken from real
life, though I dare say, Madam, you do not
recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed
the poetic reveur as he wandered by you. I
had roved out as chance directed, in the fa-
vourite haunts of my muse, on the banks of
the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the
vernal year. The evening sun was flaming over
the distant western hills ; not a breath stirred
the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant
spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for
a poetic heart. I listened to the feathered
warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand,
with a congenial kindred regard, and frequently
turned out of my path, lest I should disturb
their little songs, or frighten them to another
station. Surely, said I to myself, he must be a
wretch indeed, who, regardless of your harmo-
nious endeavour to please him, can eye your
elusive flights to discover your secret recesses,
and to rob you of all the property nature gives
you, your dearest comforts, your helpless nest-
lings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot
across the way, what heart at such a time but
must
ROBERT BURNS. 121
must have been interested in its welfare, and
wished it preserved from the rudely-browsing
cattle, or the withering eastern blast ? Such was
the scene and such the hour, when in a cor-
ner of my prospect, I spied one of the fairest
pieces of Nature's workmanship that ever crown-
ed a poetic landscape, or met a poet's eye, those
visionary bards excepted who hold commerce
with aerial beings ! Had Calumny and Villany
taken my walk, they had at that moment sworn
eternal peace with such an object.
" What an hour of inspiration for a poet !
It would have raised plain, dull, historic prose
into metaphor and measure.
" The enclosed song was the work of my
return home; and perhaps it but poorly answers
what might have been expected from such a
scene.
3|g, 3 j| 3|g 3/f. j 3|(
" I have the honour to be,
" Madam,
<e Your most obedient, and very
" humble servant,
" Robert Burns."
'Twas
122 THE LIFE OF
Twas even the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang ;*
The Zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang :
In every glen the mavis sang,
All nature listening seemed the while,
Except where green- wood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward strayed,
My heart rejoiced in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,
A maiden fair I chanced to spy ,
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whispered passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle !-f-
Fair is the morn in flowery May,
And sweet is night in Autumn mild ;
When roving through the garden gay,
Or wandering in the lonely wild :
But woman, nature's darling child !
There all her charms she does compile ;
Even there her other works are foil'd
By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle.
O had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotland's plain,
Thro'
Hang, Scotticism for hung.
t Variation, The lily's hue and rose's dye
Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle.
ROBERT BURNS. 123
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, with rapture, I would toil ;
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb the slippery steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine ;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
Or downward seek the Indian mine ;
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks or till the soil,
And every day have joys divine,
With the bonny lass o'Ballochmyle.
In the manuscript book in which our poet
has recounted this incident, and into which the
letter and poem are copied, he complains that
the lady made no reply to his effusions, and this
appears to have wounded his self-love. It is not,
however, difficult to find an excuse for her si-
lence. Burns was at that time little known j
and where known at all, noted rather for the
wild strength of his humour, than for those
strains of tenderness in which he afterwards so
much excelled. To the lady herself his name
had perhaps never been mentioned, and of such
a poem she might not consider herself as the
proper judge. Her modesty might prevent her
from perceiving that the muse of Tibullus
breathed in this nameless poet, and that her
beauty was awakening strains destined to im-
mortality on the banks of the Ayr. It may be
conceived,
124 THE LIFE OF
conceived, also, that supposing the verse duly
appreciated, delicacy might find it difficult to
express its acknowledgments. The fervent ima-
gination of the rustic bard possessed more of
tenderness than of respect. Instead of raising
himself to the condition of the object of his ad-
miration, he presumed to reduce her to his own,
and to strain this high-born beauty to his dar-
ing bosom. It js true, Burns might have found
precedents for such freedoms among the poets
of Greece and Rome, and indeed of every
country. And it is not to be denied, that lovely
women have generally submitted to this sort of
profanation with patience and even with good
humour. To what purpose is it to repine at a
misfortune which is the necessary consequence
of their own charms, or to remonstrate with a
description of men who are incapable of con-
trol ?
" The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact."
It may be easily presumed, that the beauti-
ful nymph of Ballochmyle, whoever she may
have been, did not reject with scorn the adora-
tions of our poet, though she received them
with silent modesty and dignified reserve.
The sensibility of our bard's temper, and the
force of his imagination, exposed him in a par-