Mrs. Burns

“ The rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet, The rose upon the breir will be him trews an' doublet, Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat; Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
O Aye My Wife She Dang Me Chorus—O aye my wife she dang me, An' aft my wife she bang'd me, If ye gie a woman a' her will, Gude faith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye. On peace an' rest my mind was bent, And, fool I was! I married; But never honest man's intent Sane cursedly miscarried. ”

“ Then looking at me through a gold eye-glass:
"My dear child," she said, "how well you look—not at all altered. Were I not so short-sighted, I should have known you anywhere—would not you, Edward?"
"No," he replied, quietly; "I find Miss Burns much altered; and if I recognised her, it was in spite of the change seven years have worked."
"Ah! very true," sighed Mrs. Brand. "Years pass, and the world goes on with all its vanities. My dear girl, have you really no idea of what we are to do for beds and a dinner?" ”

“ And aye the wild-wood echoes rang— “O, dearly do I love thee, Annie! “O, happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, The place and time I met my Dearie! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, 'I'm thine for ever!' While mony a kiss the seal imprest— The sacred vow we ne'er should sever.” The haunt o' Spring's the primrose-brae, The Summer joys the flocks to follow; How cheery thro' her short'ning day, Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow; But can they melt the glowing heart, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? ”

“ Burns. Tell her that I shall have a day's work for her on Friday, and I thought she might like to have part of the pay in advance to help make Thanksgiving with. Please go now."
"But a dollar won't help much. She won't like that. She always acts just as if she was as happy as anybody. I don't want to go there on such an errand as that."
Mrs. Wright smiled again, but her tone was very grave.
"Mrs. Burns is 'as happy as anybody,' Guy, and she has the best-behaved children in the neighbourhood. The little ones almost never cry, and I never have seen the older ones quarrel. ”

“ Burns, even more ardently than his wife, responded to the appeal. He no longer lounged among the pillows of the broad couch; he sat erect, his eyes intent, his lips relaxed, his cares forgot. He was a lover of music, as are many men of his profession, and he was more than ordinarily susceptible to its influences. He drank in the tones of the master, voiced by this devoted interpreter, like wine, and like wine they brought the colour to his face also, and the light to his eyes.
"Jove!" he murmured, as the last note died away, "he's a wonder. He must be older than he looks. How he loves it! ”

“ From that moment until his death Jean lavished upon him a docile and much-enduring devotion which leaves nothing derogatory in the comparison. She was playing with fire and must have known it. The scandal of Betty Paton was still fresh; Burns was a notorious man, glorying in the reputation of village Lothario and writing verses to warn the Mauchline belles how devastating he was. Experience had convinced him that all women are sisters under the skin—a dangerous half-truth which made trouble for him when he met women of another social level. ”

“ Burns had some ado to keep his rising temper down. "Selfish—to marry the woman he wants instead of the woman you want? That's an old, old argument of selfish mothers."
The figure on the couch stiffened. "Doctor Burns! How can you speak so, when all I ask for is my son's best good?" The words ended in a wail.
"You think you do, dear lady. What you really want is—your own way."
Suddenly she sat up, staring at him. His clear gaze met her clouded one, his sane glance confronted her wild one. ”

“ And when, in leaving him, Burns once more laid an exploring touch upon his wrist, the two thin hands suddenly clutched the strong one and bore it weakly to lips which kissed it fervently.
"Well, that's rather an eloquent thank-you, eh?" murmured Burns, as he patted the hands in reply. "No doubt but he's grateful. Put the fiddle where he can see it in the morning, will you, honey? Open the window pretty well: I've covered him thoroughly, and he has a touch of fever to keep him warm. Good-night, little Hungary. Luck's with you to-night, to get into this lady's house." ”

“ The burning brown eyes looked into the soft black ones for a full minute, then, with a long-drawn breath, the tense expression in the stranger's relaxed. "I see," said the weary voice. "You are used to having your way—just as he is. I'll have to let you because I haven't any strength left to fight with. You are wonderfully kind. But—I'm not a little girl."
Ellen Burns smiled. "We'll play you are, for a while," she said. "And—I want you to know that, little or big, you are my friend. So now you have both Doctor Burns and me, and you are not alone any more." ”

“ The real Burns was not the dropper of tears over ploughed-under weeds but the man who brought in the neighbours for a [Pg 308] kirn-night and kissed the lasses after every dance; the man who sat by farmers’ ingles and on ale-house benches listening to the racy earthy talk of his people and storing his mind with folk sayings and old songs. He was not ashamed of being a Scottish peasant, the heir of all the picturesque and frequently bawdy tradition of Scots folk literature. Neither was the man who wrote, ‘But yet the light that led astray Was light from Heaven’, ashamed of his human nature. ”

“ Over her head, Dick Warburton nodded at his brother-in-law. “I'm glad we've got her into the family, Red,” said he. “It's a mighty rare thing to find a beautiful woman who knows how to dress like a picture, with that ideal at the back of her head! 'Cherish her, Red. If you don't I'll come around and knock you down!”
“I'll let you do it,” agreed Burns soberly. All his marriage vows were in his face. ”

“ Burns fell to discussing life in a certain great city, as both knew it from quite different standpoints, and she herself had only to listen and observe. She thought the pair upon the davenport made a striking picture, the woman in her rich and still youthful beauty, her smile a thing to wonder at, her voice low music to the ear; the man, though no older than Burns, worn and grave, yet with a strangely winning personality, and eyes which seemed to see far beneath the surface. In all Amy Mathewson's experience with the men of Burns's profession, she had never met just such a one as John Leaver. ”

“ Quo' she, “A sodger ance I lo'ed, Forget him shall I never: Our humble cot, and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it; That gallant badge—the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't.” She gaz'd—she redden'd like a rose— Syne pale like only lily; She sank within my arms, and cried, “Art thou my ain dear Willie?” “By him who made yon sun and sky! By whom true love's regarded, I am the man; and thus may still True lovers be rewarded. “The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, And find thee still true-hearted; Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, And mair we'se ne'er be parted.” ”

“ This is one and a chief charm of Burns' love-songs, which are certainly of all love-songs except those wild snatches left to us by her who flung herself from the Leucadian rock, the most in earnest, the tenderest, the "most moving delicate and full of life." Burns makes you feel the reality and the depth, the truth of his passion: it is not her eyelashes, or her nose, or her dimple, or even
"A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip,"
that are "winging the fervour of his love;" ”

“ If Man thou wouldst be nam'd, Despise the silly creature. Go, find an honest fellow, Good claret set before thee, Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory!
Thine Am I, My Faithful Fair Tune—“The Quaker's Wife.” Thine am I, my faithful Fair, Thine, my lovely Nancy; Ev'ry pulse along my veins, Ev'ry roving fancy. To thy bosom lay my heart, There to throb and languish; Tho' despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish. Take away those rosy lips, Rich with balmy treasure; Turn away thine eyes of love, Lest I die with pleasure! What is life when wanting Love? ”

“ With silent passengers the Imp threaded its way to the toy shop. In front of it Burns stopped the car. He got out and went in and came out, the big rocking-horse in the arms of the salesman who followed him.
He looked up at their faces. Bob's was one wide-eyed countenance of incredulous joy. The other's—if he had seen there satisfaction at having brought a man to terms he felt he should have despised her; but that was not what he saw.
There was, by planning carefully, just room to wedge the rocking-horse in at Mrs. Lessing's feet without encroaching on the steering-gear. ”

“ The anxious look returned to her comely face.
An odd little smile appeared about the corners of Souter’s mouth as he resumed his work.
“Weel, noo, Mistress Burns,” he asked dryly, “do ye expect a healthy lad to be out in this sinful world an’ not learn a few things he didna ken before? ’Tis only human nature,” continued the old rogue, “an’ ye can learn a deal in a year, mind that, an’ that reminds me o’ a good joke. Sandy MacPherson——”
“Souter Johnny, ye keep your stories to yoursel’,” interrupted Mrs. Burns with a frown. ”

“ Could any reasonable man believe that if Burns had really loved other women, as he loved Alison Begbie, Jean Armour, Mary Campbell, and Mrs M’Lehose, the names of the other women would not have been known by the world? He never tried to hide his love. He wrote songs of love with other names attached to them, used for variety. In a letter to a friend he regretted the use of ‘Chloris’ in several of his Ellisland and Dumfries poems, and to her directly he said they were ‘fictitious’ or assumed expressions of love. ”

“ I know, by every sign, that she is all she seems to be. I can't let her go out of my life without an effort to keep her. I'm going to keep her, if I can."
Two hours later R.P. Burns, M.D., was summoned to the bedside of Mrs. Alexander King. He sat down beside the limp form, felt the pulse, laid his hand upon the shaking shoulder of the prostrate lady, who had gone down before her son's decision, gentle though his manner with her had been. ”

“ As he closed the window with a shiver and looked about him, glancing into the white-tiled surgery beyond; he recognized the fact that, though he might be in the workshop of a village practitioner, it was a workshop which did not lack the tools of the workman thoroughly abreast of the times.
Burns came back, his face bright with pleasure in the unexpected appearance of his friend. He stood looking across the small room at Coolidge, as if he could get a better view of the whole man at a little distance. The two men were a decided contrast to each other. ”

“ My time may come, but it is not now, in Edinburgh.
Mrs. Stewart: And so birthright may be wasted, at the Barley Sheaf?
Burns: Do not let me deceive you, madam. Like my songs—yes, I pray you will do that. But they thrive in that company—I am at home there. I am not proud of it, and it will settle my account early, likely enough. But I know my condition. Virtue was born a caprice in me, madam, and fortune has not husbanded her for me. I sing sometimes, and for the rest I have no talent, perhaps, but a little to know myself.
Mrs. Stewart: I understand. And you will be yourself. ”

“ Once more Burns looked at Ellen Lessing behind Bob's back.
“You're happy now, aren't you?” he asked in tone of assurance. “Then, confound it, I must own I'm paid for letting my wise bachelor notions go hang, just for this time!”
“Thank you,” she answered very gently. “And I'm paid for trying to be reasonable.”
He laughed, suddenly content. Between them, the little lad who had never owned a toy in his life, stowing the red train carefully away between has feet, gave himself wholly to the rocking-horse. ”

“ He decided now to exchange Mossgiel for Ellisland farm, about six miles from Dumfries. As soon as he was able to leave Edinburgh, he had hurried to Mossgiel and gone through a justice-of-peace marriage with Jean Armour. Burns, with all his faults, was an honest and a high-spirited man, and he loved the mother of his children. Had he hesitated to make her his wife, he must have sunk into the callousness of a ruffian, or that misery of miseries, the remorse of a poet. ”

“ Burns was very handsome at this time, gay and fascinating in manners, and a more experienced and highly-placed woman than Jane Armour might have been excused for loving the wild young poet. For wild he undoubtedly was, even at this time,—so much so that her parents objected to the friendship. He was nearly six feet high, with a robust yet agile frame, a finely formed head, and an uncommmonly interesting countenance. His eyes were large, dark, and full of ardor and animation. His conversation was full of wit and humor. He was very proud, and would be under pecuniary obligation to no one. ”

“ By the attentions which the wayward husband was continually paying to ladies and others into whose society his wife could not accompany him, the patience of "bonny Jean," it may easily be conceived, must have been severely tried.
It would have been well, however, if stray flirtations and Platonic affections had been all that could be laid to his charge. But there is a darker story. The facts of it are told by Chambers in connexion with the earlier part of the Dumfries period, and need not be repeated here. Mrs. Burns is said to have been a marvel of long-suffering and forgivingness ”