XII.--TO THOMAS ORR, PARK, KIRKOSWALD. DEAR THOMAS,--I am much obliged to you for your last letter, though I assure you the contents of it gave me no manner of concern. I am presently so cursedly taken in with an affair of gallantry that I am very glad Peggy[7] is off my hand, as I am at present embarrassed enough[7a] without her. I don't choose to enter into particulars in writing, but never was a poor rakish rascal in a more pitiful taking. I should be glad to see you to tell you the affair.--Meanwhile I am your friend, ROBERT BURNESS. MOSSGAVIL, 11_th Nov_. 1784. [Footnote 7: Peggy Thomson.] [Footnote 7a: Birth of his illegitimate child by Elizabeth Paton, once a servant with his father at Lochlie.] * * * * * XIII.-TO MISS MARGARET KENNEDY.[8] [_A young lady of seventeen, when this letter was addressed to her, and on a visit to Mrs. Gavin Hamilton at Mauchline._] [_Probably Autumn_, 1785.] 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. Flattery I leave to your lovers whose exaggerating fancies may make them imagine you are still nearer perfection than you really are. Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers of beauty,--as, if they are really poets of nature's making, their feelings must be finer and their taste more delicate than most of the world. In the cheerful bloom of spring, or the pensive mildness of autumn, the grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty of winter, the poet feels a charm unknown to the most of his species. Even the sight of a fine flower, or the company of a fine woman (by far the finest part of God's works below), has sensations for the poetic heart that the herd of men are strangers to. On this last account, Madam, I am, as in many other things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in introducing me to you. Your lovers may view you with a wish--I look on you with pleasure; their hearts in your presence may glow with desire--mine rises with admiration. That the arrows of misfortune, however they should, as incident to humanity, glance a slight wound, may never reach your heart; that the snares of villainy may never beset you in the road of life; that innocence may hand you by the path of honour to the dwelling of peace--is the sincere wish of him who has the honour to be, etc. R. B. [Footnote 8: Niece of Sir Andrew Cathcait, of Carleton. A melancholy interest attaches to her subsequent history. Burns's prayers for her happiness were unavailing.] * * * * * XIV.--TO MISS ----, AYRSHIRE.[9] [1785.]