Page images
PDF
EPUB

You may tell Mr. Burns when you see him, that colonel Edmonstoune told me t'other day, that his cousin colonel George Crawford was no poet, but a greater singer of songs; but that his eldest brother Robert (by a former marriage) had a great turn that way, having written the words of the Bush aboon Traquair and Tweedside. That the Mary to whom it was addressed was Mary Stewart of the Castlemilk family, afterwards wife of Mr. John Relches. The colonel never saw Robert Crawford, though he was at his burial fiftyfive years ago, He was a pretty young man, and had lived long in France. Lady Ankerville is his niece, and may know more of his poetical vein. An epitaph-monger like me might moralize upon the vanity of life, and the vanity of those sweet effusions. But I have hardly room to offer my best compliments to Mrs. Blacklock, and am,

Dear doctor,

Your most obedient humble servant,

J. RAMSAY.

No. XXXIII.

From Mr. JOHN MURDOCH.

My dear sir,

London, 28th October, 1787.

As my friend, Mr. Brown, is going from this place to your neighbourhood, I embrace the opportunity of telling you that I am yet alive, tolerably well, and always in expectation of being better. By the much-valued letters before me, I see that it was my duty to have given you this intelligence about three years and nine months ago; and have nothing to allege as an excuse, but that we poor, busy, bustling bodies in London, are so much taken up with the various pursuits in which we are here engaged, that we seldom think of any person, creature, place, or thing, that is absents

But this is not altogether the case with me; for I often think of you, and Hornie, and Russel, and an unfathomed depth, and lowan brunstane, all in the same minute, although you and they are (as I suppose) at a considerable distance. I flatter myself, however, with the pleasing thought, that you and I shall meet some time or other, either in Scotland or England, If ever you come hither, you will have the satisfaction of seeing your poems relished by the Caledonians in London, ful as much as they can be by those of Edinburgh. We frequently repeat some of your verses in our Caledonian society; and you may believe that I am not a little vain, that I have had some share in cultivating such a genius. I was not absolutely certain that you were the author, till a few days ago, when I made a visit to Mrs. Hill, Dr. M'Comb's eldest daughter, who lives in town, and who told me that she was informed of it by a let. ter from her sister in Edinburgh, with whom you had been in company when in that capital.

Pray let me know if you have any intention of visiting this huge, overgrown metropolis. It would afford matter for a large poem. Here you would have an opportunity of indulging your vein in the study of mankind, perhaps to a greater degree than in any city upon the face of the globe; for the inhabitants of London, as you know, are a collection of all nations, kindreds, and tongues, who make it, as it were, the centre of their commerce.

Present my respectful compliments to Mrs. Burns, to my dear friend Gilbert, and all the rest of her amiable children. May the Father of the universe bless you all with those principles and dispositions, that the best of parents took such uncommon pains to instil into your minds, from your earliest infancy! May you live as he did! if you do, you can never be unhappy. I feel myself grown serious all at once, and affected in a man

ner I cannot describe. I shall only add, that it is one of the greatest pleasures I promise myself before I die, that of seeing the family of a man whose memory I revere more than that of any person that ever I was acquainted with.

I am, my dear friend,

Yours sincerely,

JOHN MURDOCH.

Sir,

No. XXXIV.

From Mr.

Gordon Castle, 31st October, 1787.

If you were not sensible of your fault as well as of your loss, in leaving this place so suddenly, I should condemn you to starve upon cauld kail for ae towmont at least; and as for Dick Latine* your travelling companion, without banning him wi a' the curses contained in your letter (which he'll no value a bawbee), I should give him nought but Stra'bogie castocks to chew for sax ouks, or aye until he was as sensible of his error as you seem to be of yours.

Your song I shewed without producing the author; and it was judged by the duchess to be the production of Dr. Beattie. I sent a copy of it by her grace's desire to a Mrs. M Pherson, in Ba denoch, who sings Morag, and all other Gaelic songs, in great perfection. I have recorded it likewise, by lady Charlotte's desire, in a book be longing to her ladyship; where it is in company with a great many other poems and verses, some of the writers of which are no less eminent for their political than for their poetical abilities.

* Mr. Nicol.

When the duchess was informed that you were the author, she wished you had written the ver ses in Scotch.

Any letter directed to me here will come to hand safely, and, if sent under the duke's cover, it will likewise come free; that is, as long as the duke is in this country.

I am, sir, yours sincerely.

Sir,

No. XXXV.

From the REVEREND JOHN SKINNER.

Linsheart, 14th November, 1787. Your kind return without date, but of post mark October 25th, came to my hand only this day, and to testify my punctuality to my poetic engage ment, I sit down immediately to answer it in kind. Your acknowledgment of my poor but just enco miums on your surprising genius, and your opi nion of my rhyming excursions, are both, I think, by far too high. The difference between our two tracks of education and ways of life is entirely in your favour, and gives you the preference every manner of way. I know a classical education will not create a versifying taste, but it mightily improves and assists it; and though, where both these meet, there may sometimes be ground for approbation, yet where taste appears single, as it were, and neither cramped nor supported by ac quisition, I will always sustain the justice of its prior claim to applause. A small portion of taste, this way, I have had almost from childhood, especially in the old Scottish dialect; and it is as old a thing as I remember, my fondness for Christ kirk o' the green, which I had by heart ere I was twelve years of age, and which some years ago I attempted to turn into Latin verse. While I was young I dabbled a good deal in these things: but on getting the black gown I gave it pretty much

over, 'till my daughters grew up, who, being af good singers, plagued me for words to some of their favourite tunes, and so extorted these effusions, which have made a public appearance beyond my expectations, and contrary to my intentions, at the same time that I hope there is nothing to be found in them uncharacteristic, or unbecom ing the cloth, which I would always wish to see respected.

As to the assistance you propose from me in the undertaking you are engaged in*, I am sorry I cannot give it so far as I could wish, and you perhaps expect. My daughters, who were my only intelligencers, are all foris familiate, and the old woman their mother has lost that taste.

There are two from my own pen, which I might give you if worth the while. One to the old Scotch tune of Dumbarton's drums.

The other perhaps you have met with, as your noble friend the duchess has, I am told, heard of it. It was squeezed out of me by a brother par son in her neighbourhood, to accommodate a new Highland reel for the marquis's birth day, to the stanza of

"Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, &c.

If this last answer your purpose, you may have it from a brother of mine, Mr. James Skinner, wri ter in Edinburgh, who I believe can give the mu

sic too.

There is another humorous thing, I have heard said to be done by the catholic priest, Geddes, and which hit my taste much.

"There was a wee wifeikie, was coming frae the fair,

Had gotten a little drapikie, which bred her mei. kle care;

* A plan of publishing a complete collection of Scottish songs, &c.

« PreviousContinue »