war with
the French Republic--a war which Burns bitterly disliked, but his
employment under Government forced him to set "a seal on his lips as
to those unlucky politics." A regiment of soldiers was quartered in
the town of Dumfries, and to Burns's eye the sight of their red coats
was so offensive, that he would not go down the plain-stones lest he
should meet "the epauletted puppies," who thronged the street. One of
these epauletted puppies, whom he so disliked, found occasion to pull
Burns up rather smartly. The poet, when in his cups, had in the
hearing of a certain captain proposed as a toast, "May our (p. 162)
success in the present war be equal to the justice of our cause." The
soldier called him to account--a duel seemed imminent, and Burns had
next day to write an apologetic letter, in order to avoid the risk of
ruin. About the same time he was involved, through intemperance, in
another and more painful quarrel. It has been already noticed that at
Woodley Park he was a continual guest. With Mrs. Riddel, who was both
beautiful and witty, he carried on a kind of poetic flirtation. Mr.
Walter Riddel, the host, was wont to press his guests to deeper
potations than were usual even in those hard-drinking days. One
evening, when the guests had sat till they were inflamed with wine,
they entered the drawing-room, and Burns in some way grossly insulted
the fair hostess. Next day he wrote a letter of the most abject and
extravagant penitence. This, however, Mr. and Mrs. Riddel did not
think fit to accept. Stung by this rebuff, Burns recoiled at once to
the opposite extreme of feeling, and penned a grossly scurrilous
monody on "a lady famed for her caprice." This he followed up by other
lampoons, full of "coarse rancour against a lady, who had showed him
many kindnesses." The Laird of Friars Carse and his lady naturally
sided with their relatives, and grew cold to their old friend of
Ellisland. While this coldness lasted, Mr. Riddel, of Friars Carse,
died in the spring-time, and the poet, remembering his friend's worth
and former kindness, wrote a sonnet over him--not one of his best or
most natural performances, yet showing the return of his better heart.
During the same spring we hear of Burns going to the house of one of
the neighbouring gentry, and dining there, not with the rest of the
party, but, by his own choice, it would seem, with the housekeeper in
her room, and joining the gentlemen in the dining-room,