Or how our merry lads at hame,

In Britain's court, kept up the game;

How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him! Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin',

smooth

itching

stretched

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in; thoughtless — fist
How Daddie Burke the plea was cookin';
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin';
How cesses, stents,1 and fees were raxed,
Or if bare
yet were taxed;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails;

mad

hussies

Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, any soberer And no a perfect kintra cooser.

A' this and mair I never heard of,

And but for you I might despaired of.
So gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you!
ELLISLAND, Monday Morning, 1790.

1 Valuations of property for purposes of taxation.

stallion

2

2 After all, from whatever cause, the gratuitous newspaper did not come very regularly, as appears from a subsequent note of remonstrance sent by the bard to head-quarters:

Dear Peter, dear Peter,

We poor sons of metre
Are often negleckit, ye ken;
For instance, your sheet, man,
(Though glad I'm to see't, man),
I get it no ae day in ten.-R. B.

SECOND EPISTLE TO MR. GRAHAM OF FINTRY.

The canvass for the Dumfries burghs had been proceeding with excessive vigor all this spring, and when the election, at length took place in July, the agitation and fervor of the public mind in the district exceeded everything of the kind previously known. The influence of the Duke of Queensberry on the Whig side proved too much for the merits of excellent "Westerhall," and the dismissal of his Grace from the bedchamber was revenged on Pitt by the return of Captain Miller. In a spirited verseepistle on the subject, addressed to his friend Mr. Graham, Burns still shows, under an affected impartiality, his Tory and even Cavalier leanings.

FINTRY, my stay in worldly strife,
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life,
Are ye as idle's I am?

Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg, country fling
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,
And ye shall see me try him.

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig1 bears,
Who left the all-important cares

Of princes and their darlings;

1 The Duke of Queensberry. Burns, for metre's sake, uses his Grace's second title.

And, bent on winning borough towns,

Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons, weaver And kissing barefit carlins.

Combustion through our boroughs rode,
Whistling his roaring pack abroad,
Of mad, unmuzzled lions ;

As Queensberry buff and blue1 unfurled,
And Westerha' and Hopetoun2 hurled
To every Whig defiance.

women

But Queensberry, cautious, left the war;
The unmannered dust might soil his star,
Besides, he hated bleeding;

But left behind him heroes bright,
Heroes in Cæsarean fight

Or Ciceronian pleading.

O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg,
To muster o'er each ardent Whig

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners;
Heroes and heroines commix
All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honours.

1 The livery of Mr. Fox.

2 The Earl of Hopetoun.

3

3 A piece of ordnance of extraordinary structure and magnitude, founded in the reign of James IV. of Scotland, about the end of the fifteenth century, and which is still exhibited, though in an infirm state, in Edinburgh Castle. The diameter of the bore is twenty inches.

M'Murdo1 and his lovely spouse
(The enamoured laurels kiss her brows)
Led on the loves and graces;
She won each gaping burgess' heart,
While he, all-conquering, played his part,
Among their wives and lasses.

Craigdarroch led a light-armed corps;
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,
Like Hecla streaming thunder;
Glenriddel, skilled in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs,
And bared the treason under.

In either wing two champions fought;
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought
The wildest savage Tory,

And Welsh," who ne'er yet flinched his ground,
High waved his magnum bonum round
With Cyclopean fury.

6

Miller brought up the artillery ranks,
The many-pounders of the Banks,

1 The Duke's chamberlain, a friend of Burns.

2 Mr. Fergusson of Craigdarroch; the victor of the Whistle

contest.

3 Captain Riddel of Glenriddel.

4 Provost of Dumfries.

5 The sheriff of the county.

6 Mr. Miller of Dalswinton, father of the candidate. He had been a banker.

Resistless desolation;

While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
Mid Lawson's port intrenched his hold,
And threatened worse damnation.

To these, what Tory hosts opposed,
With these, what Tory warriors closed,
Surpasses my descriving:
Squadrons extended long and large,
With furious speed rushed to the charge,
Like raging devils driving.

What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
The butcher deeds of bloody fate

Amid this mighty tulzie?

Grim Horror grinned; pale Terror roared,

conflict

As Murther at his thrapple shored; throat-threatened And hell mixt in the brulzie!

As Highland crags, by thunder cleft,
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,

Hurl down wi' crashing rattle ;
As flames amang a hundred woods ;
As headlong foam a hundred floods;
Such is the rage of battle.

The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly,
Before th' approaching fellers;

1 Sir Robert Lawrie, M. P. for the county.

broil

firmament