oughman who had desired so earnestly to
rise, now reached out his sympathies to a whole nation animated with the
same desire. Already in 1788 we find the old Jacobitism hand in hand
with the new popular doctrine, when, in a letter of indignation against
the zeal of a Whig clergyman, he writes: "I daresay the American
Congress in 1776 will be allowed to be as able and as enlightened as the
English Convention was in 1688; and that their posterity will celebrate
the centenary of their deliverance from us, as duly and sincerely as we
do ours from the oppressive measures of the wrong-headed house of
Stuart." As time wore on, his sentiments grew more pronounced and even
violent; but there was a basis of sense and generous feeling to his
hottest excess. What he asked was a fair chance for the individual in
life; an open road to success and distinction for all classes of men. It
was in the same spirit that he had helped to found a public library in
the parish where his farm was situated, and that he sang his fervent
snatches against tyranny and tyrants. Witness, were it alone, this
verse:

"Here's freedom to him that wad read,
Here's freedom to him that wad write;
There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard
But them wham the truth wad indite."

Yet his enthusiasm for the cause was scarce guided by wisdom. Many
stories are preserved of the bitter and unwise words he used in country
coteries; how he proposed Washington's health as an amendment to Pitt's,
gave as a toast "the last verse of the last chapter of Kings," and
celebrated Dumouriez in a doggerel impromptu full of ridicule and hate.
Now his sympathies would inspire him with "Scots wha hae"; now involve
him in a drunken broil with a loyal officer, and consequent apologies
and explanations, hard to offer for a man of Burns's stomach. Nor was
this the front of his offending. On February 27, 1792, he took part in
the capture of an armed smuggler, bought at the subsequent sale four
carronades, and despatched them with a letter to the French Assembly.
Letter and guns were stopped at Dover by the English officials; there
was trouble for Burns with his superiors; he was reminded firmly,
however delicately, that, as a paid official, it was his duty to obey
and to be silent; and all the blood of this poor, proud, and falling man
must have rushed to his head at the humiliation. His letter to Mr.
Erskine, subsequently Earl of Mar, testifies, in its turgid, tu