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sult of this trial, the final obsequies were granted or denied. But modern biographers embalm without the process of enquiry, and enshrine alike the vicious and the pure.

He seems to have been perfectly aware of his own real value: and his manner of expressing his opinions on this subject is pleasingly free, both from the presumption of conceit on the one hand, and from the affectation of modesty on the other. In a sort of common-place book of his own, he says:

"Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, &c. by R. B. a man who had little art in making money, and still less in keeping it; but was, however, a man of some sense, a great deal of honesty, and unbounded good-will to every creature, rational and irrational. As he was but little indebted to scholastic education, and bred at a plough-tail, his performances must be strongly tinc. tured with his unpolished rustic way of life; but as I believe they are really his own, it may be some entertainment to a curious observer of human nature, to see how a ploughman thinks and feels, under the pressure of love, ambition, anxiety, grief, with the like cares and passions, which, however diversified by the modes and manners of life, operate pretty much alike, I believe, on all the species." (Vol. II. p. 5.)

In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, he exclaims:

"You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet. Alas! Madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do not mean any airs of affected modesty; I am willing to believe that my abilities deserved some notice; but in a most enlightened, informed age and nation, when poetry is and has been the study of men of the first natural genius, aided with all the powers of polite learning, polite books, and polite company-to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned and polite observation, with all my imperfections of awkward rusticity and crude unpolished ideas on my head-I assure you, Madam, I do not dissemble when I tell you I tremble for the consequences. The novelty of a poet in my obscure situation, without any of those advantages which are reckoned necessary for that character, at least at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of public notice, which has borne me to a height where I am absolutely, feelingly certain my abilities are inadequate to support me; and too surely do I see that time when the same tide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far below the mark of truth. I do not say this in the ridiculous affectation of self-abasement and modesty. I have studied myself, and know what ground I occupy; and, however a friend or the world

may differ from me in that particular, I stand for my own opinion, in silent resolve, with all the tenaciousness of property. I mention this to you, once for all, to disburthen my mind, and I do not wish to hear or say more about it.----But

' when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,'

you will bear me witness, that, when my bubble of fame was at the highest, I stood, unintoxicated, with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking forward with rueful resolve to the hastening time when the blow of Calumny should dash it to the ground, with all the eagera ness of vengeful triumph." (Vol. II. pp. 40, 41.)

And the same thought occurs in a letter to the Rev. G. Lowrie:

"I thank you, Sir, with all my soul, for your friendly hints; though I do not need them so much as my friends are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant reports; but in reality, I have no great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of prosperity. Novelty may attract the attention of mankind awhile; to it I owe my present éclat: but I see the time not far distant, when the popular tide, which has borne me to a height of which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall recede, with silent celerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, to descend at my leisure to my former station. I do not say this in the affectation of modesty; I see the conse*quence is unavoidable, and am prepared for it. I had been at a good deal of pains to form a just, impartial estimate of my intellec. tual powers before I came here; I have not added, since I came to Edinburgh, any thing to the account; and I trust I shall take every atom of it back to my shades, the coverts of my unnoticed, early years." (Ibid. p. 48.)

Even if a doubt of Burns's poetical immortality had not been suggested by that general deficiency of very transcendent beauties, which, not withstanding a few meritorious passages, determines him a secondary writer, such a doubt would have sprung from the ordinary complexion of his subjects and of his dialect. A very large proportion of his poetry is written on topics of a peculiar cast. It is easy to conceive, that petty malignities and trifling attachments may have deeply interested our author himself, in Death and Dr. Hornbook, the Brigs of Ayr, the Calf, Poor Mailie, Tam Samson, and a long list of similar works; but the interest attached in the mind of an au

1

"Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
"That sings upon the bough;
"Thou minds me o' the happy days
" When my fause luve was true."

(Reliques, p. 17, 18.)

A critic has little concern with the moral character of authors; and it is hardly necessary to say more of their private life, than what may be requisite for fairly appreciating their genius. Therefore, in the history of Burns, his education is the only circumstance that seems to demand any particular observation; and this part of the subject is the more deserving of attention, because the disadvantages of his early life have been often exaggerated, and, even where correctly related, have been widely misconceived in their effects.

Burns was the son of a very poor man, and passed the first years of his life in severe bodily labour; but he was early instructed in reading, writing, and the ordinary knowledge of the Scottish peasantry. Besides, long before he arrived at manhood, some fortunate circumstances threw him into the society of persons, better informed than himself or his rustic associates. Thus, in early youth, he imbibed a strong taste for intellectual occupation in general, and particularly a love for poetry. He was slightly initiated, though not regularly educated, in several useful pursuits, and studied Pope, Thomson, and Shakspeare, with great assiduity. Therefore, it appears that the disadvantages, under which he laboured, were not so much neglect and ignorance, as connexions and occupations, unsuited, perhaps, to the developement of a poetical genius.

▲ All his encouragements, to be sure, did not amount to an education, and of course will not bar him from claiming the allowances, which the world is accustomed to make in such instances. But some among his adherents, in the ardour of their hearts, have asserted that the admiration, which he has received upon allowance for his humble condition in life, is a vulgar wonder; and that a man whose youthful mind was improved by the studies before enumerated, is not treated with fairness, when he is praised, merely as an example of untaught intellect performing strange things. Surely such adherents do our Poet more injury than service; for the faults which are pardonable, when their author is considered as an uneducated peasant, can by no means be forgiven, if he is to be examined on equal terms with writers in general. However, it is but justice to these admirers to allow, that, when they are very closely pushed with respect to some of his defects, and cannot find any other defence, they by no means permit a false shame to deter them from taking shelter behind those excuses of his condition, which, on other occasions, are unworthy of their notice. As soon as the pressure of attack has abated, Burns is again restored to his former point of view, and once more contemplated, not as a peasant, but as a classical writer. Some very zealous friends go so far as to maintain, that the circumstances of his life, which most people would think inauspicious, are rather to be esteemed fortunate, and that he "was placed perhaps in a situation more favourable to the developement of great poetical talents, than any other which could have been assigned him." This argument, and some concomitant disparagements of education, seem to have been devised for the purpose of proving, that, as disadvantages are advantageous for first-rate poetry, and as thus Burns ought to have been a first-rate poet, therefore Burns was a first-rate poet. Here we have a remarkable instance of a paradox adduced to prop a mistake: and a very pernicious paradox it is. It teaches the young to disregard application and study: it encourages them to throw away the rudder: and commends them to the blind steerage of nature, and genius, and inspiration, and the rest of those indefinite impulses, which people, who are not fond of trouble, find so very convenient as pleadable substitutes for diligence.

thor to the topics and phrases that engage his Muse, by no means extends itself to the minds of his readers. Those works will not be long admired, which cannot be understood, by students in general, without notes and references, biographical sketches, anecdotes, and explanations of particular conversations or occurrences. Among the Scotch indeed, Burns's credit may endure a little longer than on the Southern banks of the Tweed: for there is a great proportion of verbal peculiarities, of local descriptions, and ofallusions to national habits, which is likely to be more relished where it is more familiar. But the Scottish language-for the title of a language ought not perhaps to be denied to a vocabulary so much nobler than the provincial dialects-the Scottish language is gradually waning: and thence its bards seem fated to become obsolete. If, like the Greek and Roman writers, the Scottish authors possessed any very striking beauties, any soul of poetry to keep alive the corruptible frame of their diction, they might be preserved amid all the decays of time. But having little more to recommend them, than a moderate share of ease and pastoral simplicity, a few pretty images on the subject of love, and a few characteristic descriptions in the Dutch style of painting, they will probably descend, even with their own countrymen, to that kind of neglect, which, among English readers, is at this day the lot of Fergusson, and Allan Ramsay, and one or two other Northern bards, well known by their names, but not at all by their works.

Though these pages are so bold as to predict the gradual decline of Burns's fame, let it be remembered, that this decline is not mentioned here as an occurrence likely to be immediate. Independently of the merit which he certainly possesses, many temporary causes yet continue to prevent the multitude from judging him clearly. Something is accomplished in favour of his reputation, by the still extant aristocracy, who delight to boast of having known a poet; and something, by the hodiernal taste for wonders. But the principal cause of present error

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