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Burness; I should be equally mortified should I drop in when she is abroad, but of that, I suppose, there is little chance. What I have wrote, heaven knows. I have not time to review it, so accept of it in the beaten way of friendship. With the ordinary phrase, and perhaps rather more than the ordinary sincerity, I am, dear Sir, ever yours, R. B. XXVI.-To MRS. STEWART, OF STAIR.
Gules, Purpure, Argent, etc., quite disowned me. All this is quite gratuitous and hardly in good taste. Yet, in spite of untoward circumstances, ceaseless drudgery, and insufficient diet, the family of Mount Oliphant was not utterly lost to happiness. With such a shrewd mother and such a father as William Burness a man of whom Scotland may be justly proud no home could be altogether unhappy.
About two o'clock in the morning of October 10, 1878, a police constable, Robinson by name, saw a light appear suddenly in a window at the back of a house in St. John's Park, Blackheath, the residence of a Mr. Burness. Had the looked-for opportunity arrived? Was the mysterious visitor, the disturber of the peace of Blackheath, at his burglarious employment?
'William Burness always treated superiors with a becoming respect, but he never gave the smallest encouragement to aristocratical arrogance'; and his son Robert was not less manly and independent. He was too sound in judgment; too conscious of his own worth, to sink into mean and abject servility.
When Robert was twenty-five years old his father, the good William Burness, died, and the family, who had kept well together, took a farm about eight miles distant from the old home, near Ayr. Here the young farmer-poet undertook to become a thorough and industrious husbandman.
Meanwhile I am your friend, ROBERT BURNESS. MOSSGAVIL, 11th Nov. 1784. MADAM, Permit me to present you with the enclosed song as a small though grateful tribute for the honour of your acquaintance. I have in these verses attempted some faint sketch of your portrait in the unembellished simple manner of descriptive truth.
We marched a quarter of a mile through the streets to the hospital, and it did not take us long to get to bed on some straw trusses. In finding our billets here Sergeant Burness and a piper had dropped through a hole in the floor. Burness was badly hurt and was unable to go any further.
Henley is "glad to agree with Lockhart." It is this book that is the subject of Carlyle's famous essay on Burns. I. The Poet in the Making Robert Burns was born on January 25, 1759, in a clay cottage at Alloway, two miles south of Ayr, and near the "auld brig o' Doon." His father, William Burnes, or Burness for so he spelt his name was from Kincardineshire.
Your conversation, and especially your correspondence, were at once highly entertaining and instructive. With what pleasure did I use to break up the seal! The remembrance yet adds one pulse more to my poor palpitating heart. Farewell!!! CCV. To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE. DUMFRIES, 12th July.
It ought not to be forgotten that Burns had a better education than most lads of his time. Even in the present day many in better positions have not the advantages that Robert and Gilbert Burns had, the sons of such a father as William Burness, and under such an earnest and thoughtful teacher as Mr. Murdoch.
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