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son, he returned to his family in Mossgiel, where he arrived about the Sth of July. The reception he met with at home was enthusiastic; and among those who were now willing to renew his acquaintance, was the family of Jane Armour, with whom Burns was speedily reconciled. After remaining for a few days only at Mossgiel, he made a short tour to Inverary, and afterward to the highlands, whence he returned to Edinburgh, and remained there during the greater part of the winter of 1787-8, again entering freely into society and dissipation. Having settled with his publisher, in February, 1788, he was delighted to find there was a balance due to him, as the actual profit of his poems, of nearly 5007. At this juncture, he was confined to the house "with a bruised limb, extended on a cushion ;" but as soon as he was able to bear the journey, he rode to Mossgiel, advanced his brother Gilbert (who was struggling with many difficulties) the sum of 2001., married Jane Armour, and, with the remainder of his capital, took the farm of Elliesland, on the banks of the Nith, six miles above Dumfries.

his tyrant. Unable to reconc his farm was in a great mea servants, and agriculture by thoughts. Meantime, there persons to lead him to a t sallies of his wit; and to witi and degradation of his geni may be easily imagined: at three years, he was compelle and to rely upon his incom an exciseman, till he should o this intention, he removed to fries, about the end of the y contributed to Thomson's songs; and, about the same book society in his neighb time, he appears to have giv of excise, by some intemper sions relative to the French in attempting to send a c present to the French conve was in consequence instit The result was, upon the an impression, injurious to B the minds of the commissi that his promotion, which wa on his future behaviour. tified him keenly, and to h dependent situation as a d fame. "Often," he says, in giving an account of the ab blasting anticipation, have I hackney scribbler, with he stupidity, exultingly asserti standing the fanfaronade of i in his works, and after havi view and to public estima genius, yet quite destitute self to support his borrowe a paltry exciseman; and sl insignificant existence in t and among the lowest of m

T

A short time previously to this, it should be mentioned, that Burns had obtained, through a friend, an appointment in the excise; but with no intention of making use of his commission except on some reverse of fortune. He now took possession of his farm; but as the house required rebuilding, Mrs. Burns could not, for some time, remove thither, a circumstance peculiarly unfortunate, as it caused him to lead a very irregular and unsettled life. The determination, which he had formed, of abandoning his dissipated pursuits was broken in upon, and his industry was frequently interrupted by visiting his family in Ayrshire. As the distance was too great for a single day's journey, he generally spent a night at an inn on the road, and on such occasions, falling into company, all his resolutions were forgotten. Temptation also awaited him nearer home he was received at the tables of the neighbouring gentry with kindness and respect, and these social parties too often seduced him from the labours of his farm, and his domestic duties, in which the happiness and welfare of his family were now involved. Mrs. Burns joined her husband at Elliesland, in November, 1788; and as she had, during the autumn, lain-in of twins, they had now five children-four boys and a girl. On this occasion, Burns resumed, at times, the occupation of a labourer, and found neither his strength nor his skill impaired. Sentiments of independence cheered his mind,-pictures of domestic content and peace rose on his imagination, and a few "golden days" passed away, the happiest, perhaps, which he had ever experienced. But these were not long to last: the farming speculation was soon looked on with despondence, and neglected; and the excise became the only resource. In this capacity, in reference in Dumfries, on the 18th of to which beggarly provision for their bard, Mr. | for three days in a state of

It seems, however, that not altogether neglect Bu previous to his death, perm visor. From October, 1794 ing, illness confined him t out a few days after, he tavern, and returned home a very cold morning, ben This occasioned a severe r self became sensible that h ing, and his death approac paired to Brow, in Annand sea-bathing; which, thoug tic pains, was succeeded fever, and he was brought

owed to the grave by nearly ten distinctly uttered: Kate, are ye mad? D'ye no
ors. He left a widow and four sons, ken that the supervisor and me will be in upon you
inhabitants of Dumfries opened a in the course of forty minutes? Guid-by to ye at
ich, in itself considerable, was aug-present.' Burns was in the street, and in the midst
rofits of the edition of his works, of the crowd in an instant; and I had reason to
, octavo, published in 1800, by Dr. know that his friendly hint was not neglected. It
ife of the poet.
saved a poor widow woman from a fine of several
pounds."-Though totally free from presumption,
in the presence of the superior circles of society to
which he was admitted, he did not hesitate to ex-
press his opinions strongly and boldly. A certain
well-known provincial bore, as Mr. Lockhart de-
scribes him, having left a tavern-party, of which
Burns was one, he, the bard, immediately demanded
a bumper, and, addressing himself to the chair, said,
"I give you the health, gentlemen all, of the waiter
that called my Lord- out of the room." He
was no mean extemporizer; and the following verse
is said to have been introduced by him, in a song,
in allusion to one of the company who had been
boasting, somewhat preposterously, of his aristo-
cratic acquaintances:

thin two inches of six feet in height, et agile frame; a finely formed face, only interesting countenance. His head indicated great intellect, and scribed as having been large, dark, ur and animation. His conversation and humour, and occasionally disid thought, and reflections equally sible; for no one possessed a finer between right and wrong. Though rations, for which he felt the keenest been exaggerated, the latter years of undoubtedly disgraceful, both to the poet; yet, amid his career of intemeserved a warmth and generosity of ndependence of mind not less surprisr than his genius.

"Of lordly acquaintance you boast,

And the dukes that you dined wi' yestreen,
Yet an insect's an insect at most,
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen."

rt, in his life of Burns, gives several
ich show that "he shrunk with horror
from all sense of pecuniary obligation,
whom." In answer to a letter from The poetry of Burns, who has acquired almost equal
, enclosing him 51. for some of his songs, fame by his prose, is now too universally acknow-
ssure you, my dear sir, that you truly ledged and appreciated, to require further analysis
your pecuniary parcel. It degrades or criticism. "Fight, who will, about words and
-n eyes. However, to return it would forms," says Byron, "Burns's rank is in the first
ectation; but, as to any more traffic of class of his art;" but, as Mr. Lockhart observes,
nd creditor kind, I swear, by that honour
"to accumulate all that has been said of Burns,
as the upright statue of Robert Burns's even by men like himself, of the first order, would
n the least motion of it, I will indig-fill a volume." We shall conclude, therefore, with
the by-past transaction, and from that an observation of Mr. Campbell, that "viewing
mence entire stranger to you."-The him merely as a poet, there is scarcely another
necdote is told of him in his character of regret connected with his name, than that his pro-
by a writer in the Edinburgh Literary ductions, with all their merit, fall short of the talents
no saw him at Thornhill fair. "An in- which he possessed."

he "had been lodged against a poor says,

man, of the name of Kate Wilson, who ed to serve a few of her old country friends ught of unlicensed ale, and a lacing of this village jubilee. I saw him enter nd anticipated nothing short of an immeare of a certain gray beard and barrel, my personal knowledge, contained the 1 commodities our bard was in quest of.

Burns's character is, upon the whole, honestly drawn by his own pen, in the serio-comic epitaph, written on himself, concluding with the following verse :—

"Reader, attend-whether thy soul

Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit;
Know, prudent, cautious self-control,
Is wisdom's root"

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King coil,

Upon a bonnie day in June,
When wearing through the afternoon,
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar,
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure:
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;
But whalpit some place far abroad,
Where sailors gang to fish for cod.

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; But though he was o' high degree, The fient a pride, na pride had he; But wad hae spent an hour caressin, E'en wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin. At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie, But he wad stawn't, as glad to see him, And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, After some dog in Highland sang,* Was made lang syne-Lord knows how lang.

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face,
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.

His breast was white, his towzie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swurl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither; Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit, Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howkit; Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion, An' worry'd ither in diversion; Until wi' daffin weary grown, Upon a knowe they sat them down, And there began a lang digression About the lords o' the creation.

CESAR.

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw What way poor bodies liv'd ava.

Our laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kain, and a' his stents;

The yellow letter'd Geordie

Frae morn to e'en it's na At baking, roasting, frying, An' though the gentry first Yet e'en the ha' folk fill the Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sick That's little short o' downri Our whipper-in, wee blastit Poor worthless elf, it eats a Better than ony tenant man His honour has in a' the lan An' what poor cot-folk pit t I own it's past my compreh

LUATH

Trowth, Cæsar, whyles th A cottar howkin in a sheugh Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dy Baring a quarry, and sic like Himself, a wife, he thus sus A smytrie o' wee duddie we An' naught but his han' dar Them right and tight in tha

An' when they meet wi' Like loss o' health, or want Ye maist wad think, a wee An' they maun starve o' ca But, how it comes, I never They're maistly wonderfu' An' buirdly chiels, an' cleve Are bred in sic a way as thi

CESAR.

But then to see how ye're How huff'd, and cuff'd, and L-d, man, our gentry care For delvers, ditchers, an' sid They gang as saucy by poor As I wad by a stinking broc

I've noticed on our laird's An' mony a time my heart's Poor tenant bodies scant o' How they maun thole a fact He'll stamp an' threaten, cu He'll apprehend them, poind While they maun staun', wi An' hear it a', an' fear an' t

I see how folk live that h But surely poor folk maun b

LUATH

They're nae sae wretched Though constantly on poorti They're sae accustom'd wi' The view o't gies them littl

Then chance an' fortune a They're aye in less or mair An' though fatigued wi' clos

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They waste sae mony a braw estate!
Are we sae foughten an' barass'd
For gear to gang that gate at last!

O would they stay aback frae courts, An' please themsels wi' kintra sports, It wa'd for every ane be better,

The laird, the tenant, and the cotter!
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies,
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
Except for breakin o' their timmer,
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer,
Or shootin o'a hare or moor-cock,
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor fo'k.

But will ye tell me, Master Cæsar, Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, The vera thought o't need na fear them.

CESAR.

L-d, man, were ye but whyles where I am, The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em.

It's true they need na starve or sweat,
Through winter's cauld, or simmer's heat;
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes,
An' fill auld age wi' gripes an' granes:
But human bodies are sic fools,
For a' their colleges and schools,
That when nae real ills perplex them,
They make enow themselves to vex them;
An'
aye the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.
A country fellow at the pleugh,
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh;
A kintra lassie at her wheel,

Her dizzens done, she's unco weel:
But gentlemen, an' ladies warst,
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst.
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy;
Though deil haet ails them, yet uneasy;
Their days, insipid, dull, an' tasteless;
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless;
An' e'en their sports, their balls an' races,
Their galloping through public places.
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.
The men cast out in party matches,
Then sowther a' in deep debauches;
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring,
Niest day their life is past enduring.
The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,
As great and gracious a' as sisters;
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither,
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither.
Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie,
They sip the scandal portion pretty;
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks
Pore owre the devil's pictured beuks;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard.

tion man on' woman ·

By this, the sun was out o' sight, An' darker gloaming brought the night! The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone; The kye stood rowtin i' the loan; When up they gat, and shook their lugs, Rejoiced they were na men but dogs; An' each took aff his several way, Resolved to meet some ither day.

DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK.

A TRUE STORY.

SOME books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn❜d, E'en ministers, they hae been kenn'd

In holy rapture,

A rousing whid, at times to vend,

And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befell,
Is just as true's the deil's in h-ll

Or Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel

'S a muckle pity.

The Clachan yill had made me canty,
I was na fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye
To free the ditches;
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd aye
Frae ghaists an' witches.

The rising moon began to glow'r
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre:
To count her horns, wi' a' my power,
I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four,
I cou'd na tell.
I was come round about the hill,
And toddlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill,

To keep me sicker:
Though leeward whyles, against my will,
I took a bicker.

I there wi' something did forgather,
That put me in an eerie swither;
An awfu' sithe, out-owre ae showther,
Clear-dangling, hang;

A three-tae'd leister on the ither

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Till ane Hornbook'st ta'en up the trade,
An' faith, he'll waur me.

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan!
He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchant
An' ither chaps,

That weans haud out their fingers laughin
And pouk my hips.

"See, here's a sithe, and there's a dart,
They hae pierced mony a gallant heart;
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art,

And cursed skill, Has made them baith not worth a f―t, Damn'd haet they'll kill ""Twas but yestreen, nae further gaen, I threw a noble throw at ane; Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; But deil-ma-care, It just play'd dirl on the bane,

But did nae mair.

"Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, And had sae fortified the part, That when I looked to my dart,

It was sae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierced the heart Of a kail-runt.

* An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. + This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally, brother of the sovereign order of the ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an apothecary, sur geon, and physician.

+ Buchan's Domestic Medicine.

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