“His was the triumph of the heart and mind,
His was the lot which few are blessed to know:
More proved, more valued—fervent, yet so kind,
He never lost one friend, nor found one foe.”
Alexander Boswell, the biographer’s elder son, succeeded to the family estate. He studied at Westminster School, and the University of Oxford; and, after making the tour of Europe settled at Auchinleck. A lover of historical and antiquarian learning, he established a private printing-press, and reproduced many rare tracts preserved in the family library. Early devoted to poetical composition, he published several volumes of poetry and song. His poems abound in drollery, but are generally fragmentary. Of his songs, “Jenny’s Bawbee,” “Jenny Dang the Weaver,” “The Lass o’ Isla,” and “Bannocks o’ Barley Meal,” have long been popular. To public affairs he devoted no inconsiderable attention. He was in the Conservative interest elected M.P. for Ayrshire, and became Colonel of the Yeomanry Cavalry, in the same county. He originated the proposal of erecting a public monument to the poet Burns, on the banks of the Doon, and raised £2,000 on behalf of the undertaking. In 1821 his patriotism and public enterprise were rewarded by a Baronetcy. His career terminated under painful circumstances. Indulging a tendency to sarcasm, he published in a Glasgow newspaper a severe pasquinade against Mr. James Stuart, younger of Dunearn, a leader of the liberal party at Edinburgh. Challenged by Mr. Stuart to mortal combat, he accepted the cartel, and the parties met at Auchtertool, Fifeshire. Sir Alexander fell, the bullet from his opponent’s pistol having entered the middle of the right clavicle, which it severely fractured. He lingered till the following day. His death took place on the 27th March, 1822, and his remains were interred at Auchinleck. In the following verses, John Goldie, an Ayrshire poet, celebrated his obsequies:—
“O! heard you the trumpet sound sad on the gale,
O! heard you the voice of weeping and wail?
O! saw you the horsemen in gallant array,
As in sorrow and silence they moved on their way.
“The people’s deep wailing, the trumpet’s shrill tone,
Were the breathings of sorrow for him that is gone;
And yon dark plumes of death that did mournfully wave,
Deck’d the bier that bore on their lov’d chief to the grave.
“When the train of lone mourners arrived at the path,
That leads to the desolate mansions of death,
O! marked you each horseman lean sad on his sword,
When the corse slowly passed of the chief he adored.