Mr. Graham of Fintry, prologue at Mr. Wood's benefit, letters to Clarinda, and much similar matter, which might well be forgotten had it not been written by him. One noble thing he did, however, which shows him in the light of a true man—he placed a stone and an epitaph on the grave of Robert Ferguson, poet, and this, be it remembered, before publishing a second time, or receiving the proceeds of a second edition of his works. The Edinburgh edition came out in April, 1787, no less than two thousand eight hundred copies being subscribed for, the Caledonian Hunt taking a hundred copies at a guinea apiece. By this edition Burns made about four hundred pounds, including one hundred pounds received for the copyright.
From Edinburgh he made an excursion through the south of Scotland and into England, as far as Newcastle. He visited Dunse, Coldstream, Kelso, Jedburgh, Innerleithen, Traquair, Berwick, Eyemouth, Dunbar, Alnwick, Newcastle, Carlisle, and Dumfries, and returned to Mauchline; from which place he again set out on a trip to the west Highlands, where "I have lately been rambling over by Dumbarton and Inverary, and running a drunken race on the side of Lochlomond with a wild Highlandman. His horse, which had never known the ornament of iron or leather, zig-zagged across my old spavined 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." He reached Edinburgh in August, and before the end of the month set out on his principal Highland tour, passing by Falkirk, Carron, Stirling, Bannockburn, Blair-Athole, Inverness, Banff, Aberdeen, Stonehaven, Montrose, Perth, Lochleven, Dunfermline, and back to Edinburgh, near the end of October. In Edinburgh he remained till February, writing the Clarinda letters, then made a short run through to Ayrshire; during which he concluded a bargain for the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, about five or six miles above the town of Dumfries. He made another short visit to Edinburgh, and left that city apparently on the 24th March, 1788. The above places visited by Burns we have enumerated, because these journeyings not only form the subject of many of his letters, but because traces of them have been left in his poems. He returned again to Ayrshire for a time, and in June, 1788, took up his residence at his new farm of Ellisland, where, among other things he wrote the wonderful song, "Auld Langsyne," which, from that day to this, has moved the heart of Scotland; and the, perhaps, more wonderful "Tam o' Shanter," in its construction and in its marvellous power of narration the most perfect of all hobgoblin epics.
In the autumn of 1789 Burns, moved by an increasing family, applied to Mr. Graham of Fintry to procure him an appointment as excise officer of the district. The appointment was granted, and Ellisland being as bad a bargain as usually fell to the lot of the poet, he thought that he had been "extremely lucky in getting an additional income of £50 a-year, while at the same time the appointment will not cost me above £10 or £12 per annum of expenses more than I must have eventually incurred." It had its drawbacks, however—"the worst circumstance is that the excise division which I have got is so extensive—no less than ten parishes to ride over—and it abounds, besides, with so much business that I can scarcely steal a spare moment." He had to ride from a hundred and fifty to two hundred miles a week, and for this he received a salary of £50 a year. This was his national reward. Genius was cheap in those days.
At Ellisland we catch a glimpse of him. "In the summer of 1791 two English gentlemen, who had before met him in Edinburgh, paid a visit to him at Ellisland. On calling at the house they were informed that he had walked out on the banks of the river; and, dismounting from their horses, they proceeded in search of him. On a rock that projected into the stream they saw a man employed in angling, of a singular appearance. He had a cap made of fox's skin on his head, a loose greatcoat fixed round him by a belt, from which depended an enormous Highland broadsword. It was Burns." Ellisland, however, was a bad, or, perhaps, rather an unprofitable farm, and Mr. Graham of Fintry once more exerted his influence to procure for Burns another appointment—that of exciseman at Dumfries, with a salary of £70. To Dumfries, therefore. Burns removed in Dec, 1791, leaving nothing at Ellisland but a putting-stone and £300 of his money. At Dumfries he remained in the performance of his duties till September, 1792, when he received a communication from Edinburgh, requesting him to contribute to the work afterwards published as the "Melodies of Scotland, with symphonies and accompaniments for the pianoforte, violin, &c. The poetry chiefly by Burns. The whole collected by George Thomson, F.A.S.E. In 5 vols. London: T. Preston; and Edinburgh, G. Thomson." To this work Burns contributed a hundred songs, for which he received £5, a shawl for his wife, and a picture by David Allan, representing the Cotter's Saturday Night. He did not return the money, as that "would savour of affectation; but as to any more traffic of that debtor and creditor kind, I swear by that honour, which crowns the upright statue of Robert Burns' integrity, on the least motion of it I will indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from that moment commence entire stranger to you." He would not write for money, which Mr. Robert Chambers, a publisher who has printed an edition of Burns' poems and letters, describes as a "sentiment highly honourable to him." Possibly.
From 1791 Burns remained at Dumfries, writing his many songs. He was an exciseman—ochone the day—and could reach no higher in social life, having no patronage, on account of his sympathies with the revolutionary movements of France; arising, in his case, from an intense love of liberty, and utter detestation of tyranny. He was soured. He saw that his fate was decided. Ambition died out of him, even though the spirit of poetry lingered to the last, with wreath in hand, to crown the grave, if it could not crown the poet. The dark shadows were closing around the great heart that had sung so nobly, and so well. Never having mastered himself, he had not been able to master fortune. He could not
" On reason build resolve,
That column of true majesty in man."
He took to the tavern, and wasted his heaven-born talents upon drunken boors. He came in contact with none who were worthy of him; but this, indeed, was the fate of his whole life. His lot was cast in an evil, small-souled generation. Of all who saw him, there is not one worthy of remembrance in connection with his story.
As early as December, 1794, when Burns was nearly thirty-six years of age, he began to feel that life was fading. "What a transient business is life. Very lately I was a boy; but t'other day I was a young man, and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast o'er my frame." A year later we find him with his health shattered. "His appetite," says Dr. Currie, "now began to fail, his hand shook, and his voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker and more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much dejected in his spirits, and too well aware of his real situation to entertain hopes of recovery, he was ever musing on the approaching desolation of his family, and his spirits sunk into a uniform gloom." In April, 1796, "I fear it will be some time before I tune my lyre again. By Babel's streams I have sat and wept. I have only known existence by the pressure of the heavy hand of sickness, and have counted time by the repercussions of pain. Rheumatism, cold, and fever have formed to me a terrible combination. I close my eyes in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the vernal day, and say with poor Ferguson—
" Say, wherefore has an all-indulgent heaven,
Light to the comfortless and wretched given."
On the 4th of July, for the benefit of his health, he went to Brow, a sea-bathing village on the Solway. "I was struck," says a lady who visited him there, "with his appearance on entering the room. The stamp of death was imprinted on his features. He seemed already touching the brink of eternity."
On the 12th he wrote thus to his cousin, Mr. James Burns, in Montrose—"When you offered me money assistance, little did I think I should want it so soon. A rascal of a haberdasher, to whom I owe a considerable bill" (£7. 4s. for patriotic volunteering uniform), "taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced a process against me, and will infallibly put my emaciated body in jail. Will you be so good as to accommodate me, and that by return of post, with ten pounds? Oh, James! did you know the pride of my heart, you would feel doubly for me. Alas! I am not used to beg."
