Emboldened by Burns's undoubted success among elite readers, Little introduces herself, emphasizing her humble station as a milkmaid, and thanking providence that the late, unlamented Samuel Johnson is unable to condemn her as a dunce:

But is what is more surprising still,
A milkmaid must tak up her quill;
An' she will write, shame fa' the rabble!
That think to please wi' ilka bawble.
They may thank heav'n, auld Sam's asleep:
For could he ance but get a peep,
He, wi' a vengeance wad them sen'>
A' headlong to the dunces den. (lines 27-34)

Little gives us a Johnson appropriating Pope's language of dunces from The Dunciad (1728, 1742), Pope's mock-epic poem about modern Britain as the degenerate kingdom of Dullness. Conflating Johnson and Pope, Little hallucinates an English literary establishment hostile to the very idea of a milkmaid writing poetry, especially one with a strong Scottish accent. The Scottish voice continues defiantly, praising Burns (lines 35-42).

Little ends the poem not by vindicating her own poetic enterprise but by ventriloquiziing the imagined hostility of her audience. The last three stanzas contain various forms of self-mockery in Scots dialect - first, the anticipated audience's reaction to a manual laborer writing verses:

But then a rustic country quean
To write -- was e'er the like o't seen?
A milk maid poem-books to print;
Mair fit she wad her dairy tent;
Or labour at her spinning wheel,
An' do her wark baith swift an' weel.
Frae that she may some profit share,
But winna frae her rhyming ware.
Does she, poor silly thing, pretend
The manners of our age to mend?
Mad as we are, we're wise enough
Still to despise sic paultry stuff. (lines 43-54)

Anxiety about Little's proper manual labor being neglected as a result of her poetic labors suggests the class-conscious tensions to which plebeian poets were subjected. And consciousness of class difference might well cause the polite audience to reject the poetry out of hand as "sic paultry stuff."

The next stanza quotes an imaginary Scottish critic, and the last Little's response to his harsh criticism:

"May she wha writes, of wit get mair,
An' a' that read an ample share
Of candour ev'ry fault to screen,
That in her dogg'ral scrawls are seen."

All this and more, a critic said;
I heard and slunk behind the shade:
So much I dread their cruel spite,
My hand still trembles when I write. (lines 55-62)

The poet's hand may tremble, but she has not stopped writing, we notice! These ironic closing lines contain both a plea to her audience to be merciful, and a veiled threat that she will not stop writing, whatever is said of her. The imaginary critic has apparently found a lack of "wit" in Little's poems; they are mere "dogg'ral." He appeals to her readers to be candid, and not overly generous, in their opinion of her work. Isn't Little here ironically needling her readers about their likely blindness to her "faults"? Her audience of subscribers is being cautioned not to forgive weaknesses in the verse out of some well-meaning desire to be generous with a poor dairywoman. Here Little subtly challenges her audience not to fall in with liberal cant, with the formula that it matters not how well it was done, but that it was done at all, if it was literary and done by a servant or laborer. The milkmaid imagines herself to have written better verse than doggerel scrawls, and she will not be condescended to.

And so the poet announced as the "Scotch milkmaid" on her title-page authored a volume of poems mostly in standard English. This tells us something about the historical moment in which Little wrote and published - the late 1780s and early 1790s, in which democratic and national feelings were on the rise, but had centuries of English cultural dominance to overcome. It is hard not to find Little's dialect poems the most aesthetically satisfying. In them she writes as if consciously experimenting, breaking new ground, staking her claim to an innovative Scottishness that was still in the process of being formulated. Most daringly, it appears that once Scottish dialect has erupted in Little's volume, the English poems must also be read as parodically ventriloquizing Englishness. Within the multilingual field of Anglo-Scottish culture, a certain hybridity, a certain ironical, perhaps even warlike, mimicry was likely to manifest itself.

Homi K. Bhabha has theorized hybridity as the culturally specific effect of colonization. Mimicry of the colonizer by the colonized need not be understood as fawning capitulation:

To the extent to which discourse is a form of defensive warfare, mimicry marks those moments of civil disobedience within the discipline of civility: signs of spectacular resistance. [W]hen the words of the master become the site of hybridity - the warlike, subaltern sign of the native - then we may not only read between the lines but even seek to change the often coercive reality that they so lucidly contain. (Bhabha 1994: 121; 1985: 104)

Bhabha's contributions to what has come to be called postcolonial theory emphasize the ambivalence and instability of the colonial situation. English cultural and economic dominance of Scotland appears to have elicited from Scottish poets warlike Scottish mimicry as well as Scottish defiance of English literary conventions.

Both Burns and Little are ideally situated to foreground the heteroglossic possibilities of language, especially literary or poetic language, to borrow a term from Mikhail Bakhtin. Heteroglossia describes the historical and ideological struggle enacted with language itself, discernible even within the usage of particular words (Bakhtin 67-68). Although Bakhtin gives pride of place to the novel as the genre of linguistic conflict and dialogism, Little's literary English and Scottish verse exemplifies how the struggle within sentences or even single words can fissure poetry as well as prose. David B. Morris has argued that Burns's poetry is both dialogic and heteroglossic, enacting linguistic conflict and uncertainty while struggling for freedom of speech (Morris 3-27). Little's poetry should be understood within the same terms.

Within the bilingual text of Little's Poetical Works, the parodic function of Scottish mimicry of English, and of Scottish rendering of the vernacular into literary language, is foregrounded. Heteroglossia, the play of linguistic traces marking social conflict within texts and words, becomes apparent within each poem, though in different ways, depending on each poem's relation to standard English. Though geographically separated, "Jenny" and Nell" contrive visits and epistolary verses to one another after Jenny leaves Ecclefechan for Loudoun Castle. Like Katherine Philips's seventeenth-century poetic correspondents Orinda, Lucasia, and Rosania, Nell and Jenny exchange vows of undying affection. Before separation, their shared pleasures consisted mainly of meetings in the open air, "in Eccles' peaceful bow'rs" ("Another Epistle to Nell," line 5) and in the fields at harvest time: "With joy we would our sickles wield, / . . . None better can that weapon ply" ("To Nell When At Moffat Well," lines 19-22). Except that both are domestic workers, with little time for intellectual pursuits - "As time for study is but scarce, / Accept extemporary verse" ("Epistle To Nell, Wrote From Loudoun Castle," lines 5-6) - the two correspondents betray no sense of incongruity between their social status and their desire for poetic "skill" sufficient for "Parnassus' hill" ("Another Epistle To Nell," lines 19-20). Nell longs for an "air-balloon" that would convey her to Loudoun so that they could continue their former meetings and talk of poetry, particularly of Burns's success, which implicitly legitimates their own aspirations:

With you, dear Jenny, I would pass some hours,
Amongst its shady walks and fragrant bow'rs.
Of poetry and poets talk by turns,
And pleas'd make comments on the far-fam'd Burns. ("Nell's Answer," lines 25-28)

Self-mockery seals their pact of mutual aspiration and praise: Burns's success has, it seems, loosed a crowd of would-be rustic poets on the world. But Jenny and Nell's attempts to write are buttressed by their friendship, so that literary fame becomes a secondary consideration in these poems. Their verse epistles give textual permanence to their mutual desire for companionship, and their shared poetic aspirations fuel their desires for more writing in which each might seek the other's praise:

We'll beat the bushes for the rustic muse,
Where ev'ry dunce her iinspiration sues,
'Mongst the vast crowd, let you and I aspire
To share a little of Apollo's fire.

If Fortune prove, like Cupid, ever blind,
We may perhaps some petty favour find;
But if no more we gain by these our lays,
We'll please ourselves with one another's praise. ("Another Epistle to Nell," lines 25-32)

Jenny and Nell write as self-identified plain rustics, whom only a "blind" good fortune could rescue from obscurity. Yet their exchange of affection and shared literary aspiration seems to satisfy them.

Such is not the case with the poetic epistles exchanged by Little's male correspondents or between heterosexual couples. Both groups contend for power. Little's male lovers make unconditional demands, strive to dominate the discourse, disclose in their desire for their beloveds an obsession with absolute power and narcissistic self-reflection that would deny and cancel the desires of the other. This self-affirming circuit of male desire is most clearly parodied in "From Philander to Eumenes," in which one friend tries to talk the other into marriage, only to talk himself out of love with women altogether. Beginning with a list of the blessings that a "virtuous wife" (line 14) can bring to a man, so that male desire is revealed as covetous and entirely egocentric, Philander finishes by declaring his own fear of sexual ecstasy and loss of control. Reading Eumenes's letter and replying to it have just saved him from further torments of ungratified desire:

I find I'm better while your lines I read,
I'm almost from my Gallic fetters free'd.
As you alone were partner of my grief,
Pray now congratulate my quick relief. (lines 41-44)

Little describes both sexes as sexually suspicious of each other, but only her male characters represent their desire in terms of combat, possession, and property, and marriage as a guarantee of emotional security. When Little's men reject their beloveds, they reject their own narcissistic hunger for emotional largesse. Little's women write to declare independence or express desire, Little's men to sustain their sense of sovereignty, which requires careful tending. And Burns himself epitomizes this need for constant feminine nurturance and reassurance in Little's "On a Visit to Mr. Burns," in which the poet, having broken an arm in a fall from his horse (named Pegasus, naturally), is consoled by both his wife and female guest to the exclusion of all other conversation, except praise of his work:

With beating breast I view'd the bard;
All trembling did him greet:
With sighs bewail'd his fate so hard,
Whose notes were ever sweet. (lines 29-32)

Burns may be a national icon, but he cannot serve as Little's sole poetic model. She ostentatiously pays homage in her work not only to his Scottish example, but also to the traditions of English women's writing.

In "On Reading Lady Mary Montague [sic] and Mrs. Rowe's Letters," Little acknowledges English female predecessors. In a meditation on the literary celebrity or "star" system, Montagu is figured as being as bright as Venus, while Rowe is brighter than Apollo: "Superior rays obtain'd now the bays, / And MONTAGUE bended the knee" (lines 11-12). Moira Ferguson has suggested that Little's dissenting Presbyterian piety might be observed here in her preference for the religious verse of Elizabeth Singer Rowe over the worldliness of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's (Ferguson 100-101). Rowe's combination of "virtue and wit" looks set to transform British readers, especially women, into models of national virtue:

Would ladies pursue, the paths trod by you,
And jointly to learning aspire,
The men soon would yield unto them the field,
And critics in silence admire. (lines 17-20)

On the one hand, readers are encouraged to agree that pious Rowe is indeed the better writer, a judgment with which even the vanquished Montagu is shown to concur. Yet in the light of Little's resilient, virtuosic voice from the cultural margins, speaking of "Britannia's shore" but not for it, there may be a certain irony in this advocacy of female virtue at the expense of Montagu's audience-gripping divinity.

A Presbyterian Little may have been, but her verse is far from dour. Exposing Robert Burns as a libertine ladies' man may well have led Little to write the bawdy poem "On Seeing Mr. ----- Baking Cakes," as Ferguson opines: "Mr. Blank of the title turns out to bear the name Rab by which Robert Burns was known throughout Scotland" (Ferguson 103). Comically intimidated by the thought that a "crazy scribbling lass" (line 3) will soon be showing her verses to the "neebors" (line 6), the baker, as Ferguson puts it, "affects not to care because everyone likes his wares" (Ferguson 103). But those wares are not only literal cakes or even metaphorical verses. "Rather than have a customer simply glance down at his cakes, the baker prefers them to be physically touched and invites any female passerby to 'put out her han' an' pree them'" (line 16):

Polyvalent and heavily suggestive, pree is a Scots word that ranges in meaning from "experience" or "taste" to "partake of" or "kiss." The sense of "to sample" is also relevant. The so-called cakes are eagerly received by the lasses. And although Mr. Blank runs away, he cries out that he has "cakes in plenty." Moreover, he can supplement the cakes with "Baith ale and porter, when I please, / To treat the lasses silly." The last stanza suggestively recalls the evolving legend of Burns as a man who periodically impregnated women. (Ferguson 103-104)

Mr. Blank does indeed pun on pregnancy as "having a bun in the oven," or in this case, bread:

Some ca' me wild an' roving youth;
But sure they are mistaken:
The maid wha gets me, of a truth,
Her bread will ay be baken. (lines 29-32)

Little may find Burns an egotistical poseur, but she exposes his foibles playfully, through sexual innuendo, and not through moral denunciation.

Although Burns remains a central influence on her Scottish dialect verse, therefore, Little manages to deploy that verse in the service of women in important ways. In "A Poem on Contentment, Inscribed to Janet Nicol, a Poor Old Wandering Woman, Who Lives by the Wall at Loudoun and Used Sometimes to be Visited by the Countess," Little memorializes a female text of poverty, disenfranchisement, and social marginality. The poem also illustrates the possibility of a different stance in relation to the poor borderer figures who populate the Lyrical Ballads from the one most often adopted by William Wordsworth, of inchoate, rather distant social protest coupled with aesthetic recuperation. "On Contentment" works dialogically in at least two ways. First, there is an address, autobiographical and direct, to Janet Nicol, rather disingenuously asking permission to dedicate a song to her while already in the process of composing it. This is followed by each stanza being directed to Janet Nicol while other characters are described in the more distant third person. And second, there is an articulation of standard English with Scots throughout the poem, so that the poet both speaks "as herself," an educated bilingual poet, and addresses Janet Nicol more intimately as a friend, fellow Scotswoman, and fellow plebeian.

The address to a social inferior is surely significant, especially since the shared name of Janet creates a doubling, namesake-effect. Little appears to have been attentive to patrons but less constrained by them than other poets in the laboring-class tradition. Seeming most often to choose her own subjects, she chose in this instance to address the nearly outcast. There is some evidence that in Scotland women of almost outcast class did write and publish: Isobel Pagan and possibly, at the end of her life, Jean Adams (see The Feminist Companion to Literature in English). It may be that Little was not so much benevolently aestheticizing Janet Nicol, turning her into a curious literary object from her own position of relative privilege, as doing something more subtle and complex. According to Frances Dunlop, Janet Nicol was a "poor half-witted creature that lives at the coal-pit here" (Wallace 2: 140). Little's poem could be read as interceding for a woman who was outcast precisely because she was perceived to be "half-witted," who could not represent herself adequately or speak for herself with legal or social authority. What is perhaps most interesting about the relation between the two Janets is that rather than stressing social distance between herself and Janet Nicol, Janet Little's muse finds similarity and complicity:

O JANET, by your kind permission,
My muse, in tatter'd low condition,
Would fain attempt, if you'll allow,
To dedicate a song to you.
Possess'd of few attractive pow'rs,
Her case does much resemble yours;
So lest none else should deign to hear,
She humbly supplicates your ear. (lines 1-8)

The obscure poet and the solitary "wandering woman" both lack an audience; this poem will compensate for that lack by reinscribing the relative absence of society in Janet Nicol's situation as "contentment." Contentment is what the poet appears most to desire for herself, and is rarely associated in eighteenth-century writing with female figures, who are much more likely to write from motives of contrivance, distress, seduction, or abandonment.

Because Janet Nicol lives so far beyond the pale of polite society, though on the grounds of the Loudoun estate, the poet wishes that she may never know the distresses that have beset other heroines in other poems by Janet Little. Janet Nicol's otherness becomes approachable only through her difference from such figures as Celia, the unhappy wife, and Delia, the rejected lover. The poet wishes that this other Janet might never know the miseries of loveless marriage or "ill requited love" (line 38):

May stars propitious guard your life
From all the mis'ries of a wife. (lines 35-36)

O Janet, may you never know
The pangs that lovers undergo. (lines 47-48)

The pangs of unrewarded scribbling are the third feminine situation from which Janet Nicol's otherness excludes her; Cordelia too suffers for her femininity through the senselessness of her verses, which receive the harsh critical reception they deserve:

Her song proves destitute of sense,
Each cavilling critic does her vex,
And ev'ry censure sore perplex.

O may you never feel the pain,
We heedless scribbling fools sustain. (lines 58-62)

Neither is Janet subject to the delusions of the patriot, the courtier, the coxcomb, or the miser, all of which bring unhappiness:

O Janet, shun the coxing tribe,
Who barter virtue for a bribe. (lines 69-70)

The Miser hopes his joys to hold,
Fast lock'd within his bags of gold:
Thieves, moth and rust, corrupt his rest;
May all his sorrows be your jest. (lines 75-78)

It seems that Janet Nicol can only be apprehended through her difference from these benighted social types.

Trying to get closer to that elusive concept, "contentment," Little finally anatomizes the props of Janet Nicol's meagre existence, slipping into Scots as she does so:

May your old shoes, your staff and plaidy,
Be always for the journey ready:
And blithly may ilk neighbour greet you;
May cakes, and scones, and kibbocks meet you;
And may they weel ilk pocket cram,
And in your bottle slip a dram.
May your wee glass, your pipe and specks,
Be ay preserv'd frae doleful wrecks.
May your wee house, baith snug and warm,
Be safe frae ev'ry rude alarm
Of wandering lovers, who'd essay
To make soft innocence their prey:
Or ruffians, cast in rougher mould,
Whose sordid bosoms beat for gold. (lines 85-98)

The poem closes with a glimpse of Janet Nicol enjoying the company of that very contentment we have pursued throughout the poem:

Janet farewel, you've lint and tow,
O keep your rock ay frae the low;
Tho' turmoils torture land and sea,
Content may smoke a pipe with thee. (lines 124-127)

We are left admiring the ostentatiously simple pleasures of a wandering woman's existence in all their sharp sensory effects - as cozy, yet exotic, as the pungent scent of pipesmoke outdoors on a chilly afternoon. The details of food, drink, serviceable clothing, and warm shelter may represent comfort, yet they do not signify domesticity, but rather the possibility of mobility and freedom - "always for the journey ready." The address to Janet Nicol is familiar, as Wordsworth's relation to his peasant characters hardly ever is, and the Scots dialect ruptures what in Wordsworth is typically a seamless poetic discourse. A certain leveling effect of familiarity, of linguistic commonality, binds the two Janets into a relation of mutually enforcing strength-in-marginality.

What guarantees Janet Nicol's safety and comfort would appear to be what guarantees Janet Little's as well: the interested patronage of Flora, the twelve year-old countess: "The little, lovely, blooming fair, / Who makes thy cot and thee her care" (lines 100-101). The precariousness of Janet Nicol's happiness is here admitted. The social obligations of such feudal relations are only as reliable a means of support for the poor and outcast as are the characters of lairds and ladies. Janet Nicol is subject to the whims of an aristocratic patron in much the same way as Janet Little is subject to those of the Dunlop and Henri families. Both inhabit a precarious niche that looks increasingly anachronistic in the light of the revolutions in America and France, and particularly in view of the tide of republican sentiment in which Burns was caught up, and which nearly put an end to his friendship with Mrs. Dunlop, whose daughter Mrs. Henri had married a French royalist partisan. Thus it is not young Flora's noble birth or wealth that guarantees Janet Nicol's security, but rather her exceptional character, her generosity and romantic sympathy, which are at odds with her rank and proportionate social power:

Whose gentle, gen'rous, noble mind,
Tho' great and rich, can here prove kind;
Whose footsteps mark her path with peace,
Whose smile bids ev'ry sorrow cease;
For age and want, and wo provides
And over misery presides. (lines 102-107)

There is a discordant note in the return here to an official English, the language of moral precept. We might think of Blake's line in "The Human Abstract": "Pity would be no more, / If we did not make somebody Poor" (lines 1-2). Janet Nicol's supposed contentment is ironically undermined. Although the young countess has found the "melting charm of misery" (line 113) in her estate's poor dependents, how likely is she to be able to end that misery? Relations of patronage are not adequate to the task, merely capable of sustaining those dependents, in a relation of dependence, by offering them a few amenities. It could be said that the language of much-needed social protest emerges here, mediated by the countess's youth and attractiveness. Readers cannot dwell comfortably on Janet Nicol's peace of mind but must both sensuously apprehend its otherness and recognize its precariousness within a force-field of social relations where the almost outcast are no less subject to the operations of power and ideology than are their masters, but rather more abjectly so.

In "To My Aunty," Little capitalizes on her own linguistic and social marginality. The "Aunty" is a sage, a wise old woman whose primitive technology links her with radical sectarian female prophets of the past against a pompous, largely male literary establishment. She can both "Unravel dreams" and "truth in mystic terms declare, / Which made us aft wi' wonder stare" (lines 4-6). A comic tone throughout saves the poem from polemic. It is hard to read the Aunty too seriously as a source of countercultural wisdom when the cultural authority of the critics is so baldly satirized. Little writes of a dream in which her works are published only to be savaged by the critics, a strategy that at once disarms criticism and glamorizes the slim volume of verse in which we read:

My works I thought appear'd in print,
And werre to diff'rent corners sent,
Whare patrons kind, but scant o' skill,
Had sign'd my superscription bill.
Voratious critics by the way,
Like eagles watching for their prey,
Soon caught the verse wi' aspect sour,
An did ilk feeble thought devour;
Nor did its humble, helpless state,
One fraction of their rage abate. (lines 13-22)

While Tom Touchy, Will Hasty, Jack Tim'rous, and James Easy squabble over the faults and relative merits of Little's verse, the poet awakes, trembling, and asks her Aunty for "some comfort," promising to follow her "sage advice" because she has been commanded to do so by Apollo (lines 55-58).

To appeal to Aunty to unravel this dream is to seek an extratextual authority for textual audacity, the legitimation of a literary practice as outside establishment dictates as the Aunty's gift is beyond the pale of eighteenth-century science. Here Little makes the most of her self-styled rustic quaintness, her literary backwardness, in an appeal to a mock-primitivism that ironizes her achievements while emphasizing their difference from standard English poetry. The question of the rapidly emerging conventionality of Scottish dialect verse is scrupulously avoided.

Little habitually inscribes her moments of self-representation as eruptions of "real" Scots into her standard English texts, but the texts remain heteroglossic, neither one thing nor the other. Thus English cultural imperialism is articulated with and against an emergent Scottish nationalism. The mimicry of English literary conventions serves as a ground from which Little can stage departures of a culturally defiant and proto-feminist kind.

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