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to death with his own hand a thousand chained Israel- | perceive, is held aloft by his two principal concubines, itish prisoners. For this exploit the ragamuffin is laud-Elline and Argelais; and his whole appearance would ing him to the skies. Hark-here come a troop of a similar description. They have made a Latin hymn upon the valor of the king, and are singing it as they go.

Mille, mille, mille,
Mille, mille, mille,

Decollavimus, unus homo !

Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!
Mille, mille, mille!

Vivat qui mille mille occidit!

Tantum vini habet nemo

Quantum sanguinis effudit !*

which may be thus paraphrased.

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
We, with one warrior, have slain !

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

Sing a thousand over again!

Soho-let us sing

Long life to our king,

Who knocked over a thousand so fine!

Soho!-let us roar,

He has given us more

Red gallons of gore

Than all Syria can furnish of wine!

Do you hear that flourish of trumpets? Yes-the king is coming! See!-the people are aghast with admiration, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence. He comes he is coming-there he is!

Who?-where?-the king ?-do not behold himcannot say that I perceive him. Then you must be blind.

be infinitely prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his eyes, which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of wine he has swallowed. Let us follow to the Hippodrome, whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which he is commencing.

Who is king but Epiphanes?
Say-do you know?

Who is king but Epiphanes ?
Bravo-bravo!

There is none but Epiphanes,

No-there is none:

So tear down the temples,

And put out the sun!

Who is king but Epiphanes ?

Say-do you know?

Who is king but Epiphanes?
Bravo--bravo!

Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him 'Prince of Poets,' as well as 'Glory of the East,' 'Delight of the Universe,' and 'most remarkable of Cameleopards.' They have encored his effusionand, do you hear?-he is singing it over again. When he arrives at the Hippodrome he will be crowned with the Poetic Wreath in anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.

But, good Jupiter!-what is the matter in the crowd behind us?

Behind us did you say?-oh!-ah!-I perceive. My friend, it is well that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as soon as possible. Here!—let

Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuousus conceal ourselves in the arch of this aqueduct, and I mob of idiots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs. See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabble over-and another—and another—and another. Indeed, I cannot help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of his feet.

Rabble, indeed!-why these are the noble and free citizens of Epidaphne! Beast, did you say?—take care that you are not overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of a man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and the most potent of the Autocrats of the East! It is true that he is entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes, Antiochus the madman-but that is because all people have not the capacity to appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at present ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play the part of a cameleopard-but this is done for the better sustaining his dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of a gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neither unbecoming nor over large. We may, however, presume he would not have adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such you will allow is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With what a superior dignity the monarch perambulates upon all fours. His tail, you

*Flavius Vopiscus says that the Hymn which is here introduced, was sung by the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war, having slain with his own hand nine hundred

and fifty of the enemy.

will inform you presently of the origin of this commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The singular appearance of the Cameleopard with the head of a man, has, it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety entertained in general by the wild animals domesticated in the city. A mutiny has been the result, and as is usual upon such occasions, all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the mob. Several of the Syrians have already been devouredbut the general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the Cameleopard. "The Prince of Poets,' therefore, is upon his hinder legs, and running for his life. His courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubines have let fall his tail. Delight of the Universe,' theu art in a sad predicament! Glory of the East,' thou art in danger of mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail-it will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no help. Look not behind thee then at its unavoidable degradation-but take courage-ply thy legs with vi gor-and scud for the Hippodrome! Remember that the beasts are at thy heels! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus, the Illustrious!—also Prince of Poets,' 'Glory of the East, 'Delight of the Universe,' and 'most remarkable of Cameleopards!' Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince! Bravo, Epiphanes! Well done, Cameleopard! Glorious Antiochus! He runs!-he moves!-he flies! Like a shell from a catapult he approaches the Hippodrome! He leaps!-he shrieks!-he is there! This is VOL. II.-31

well-for hadst thou, 'Glory of the East,' been half a| mimickry. Aristotle and Plato characterize it as "the second longer in reaching the gates of the Amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub in Epidaphne who would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let us be off-let us take our departure !-for we shall find our delicate modern ears unable to endure the vast uproar which is about to commence in celebration of the king's escape! Listen! it has already commenced. See!-the whole town is topsy-turvy.

Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a wilderness of people! What a jumble of all ranks and ages! What a multiplicity of sects and nations! What a variety of costumes! What a Babel of languages! What a screaming of beasts! What a tinkling of instruments! What a parcel of philosophers! Come let us be off!

Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the Hippodrome. What is the meaning of it I beseech you?

That? Oh nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne being, as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, and divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been eye witnesses of his late superhuman agility, do think it no more than their duty to invest his brows (in addition to the Poetic Crown) with the wreath of victory in the foot race—a wreath which it is evident he must obtain at the celebration of the next Olympiad.

TO HELEN.

Helen, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfum'd sea,
The weary way worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

expression of thoughts by fictions ;" and there are innumerable other definitions, none of which are more satisfactory to the student than is that of the celebrated "Blair." He says, "it is the language of Passion,—or enlivened Imagination, formed, most commonly, into regular numbers. The primary object of a poet is to please, and to move; and therefore it is to imagination and the passions that he speaks. He may, and he ought to have it in his view to instruct and reform; but it is indirectly, and by pleasing, and moring, that he accomplishes this end. His mind is supposed to be animated by some interesting object which fires his imagination or engages his passions: and which, of course, communicates to his style a peculiar elevation, suited to his ideas, very different from that mode of expression which is natural to the mind in its calm, ordinary state." And this definition will allow of being yet more particularly and minutely understood: it is susceptible of being analyzed still farther, and described as “a language, in which fiction and imagination may, with propriety, be indulged beyond the strict limits of truth and reality."

Who is there that has not felt the power of Poetry? For it is not essential that it be embodied in regular and finely wrought periods, and conveyed to the ear in alternate rhyme, and made to harmonize in nicely-tened successions of sounds. Who is there that has not felt its power? It originated with the very nature of man; and is confined to no nation, age, or situation. This is proved by the well-attested fact, that Poetry ever diminishes in strength of thought, boldness of conception, and power of embodying striking images, in proportion as it becomes polished and cultivated. The uncivilized tenant of our forests is, by nature, a Poet! Whether he would lead his brethren to the field of warfare, or conclude with the white man a treaty of peace and future amity, still his style evinces the same grand characteristic, the spirit of true Poetry. The barbarous Celt, the benighted Icelander, and the earliest and most unenlightened nations of the world, as described on the page of history, are proofs of the principle we have been considering; and it was not, indeed, until society became settled and civilized, that poetical composition ceased to embrace every impulse of which the human soul is susceptible. It was not till then, that, in the language of a distinguished writer, "Poetry became a separate art, calculated, chiefly, to please; and confined, generally, to such subjects as related to the imagination and the passions." Then was it that there arose, natuON THE POETRY OF BURNS.*rally, divisions in the classes or schools of Poetry,-as

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the beauty of fair Greece,
And the grandeur of old Rome.

Lo! in that little window-niche

How statue-like I see thee stand!
The folded scroll within thy hand—
Ah! Psyche from the regions which
Are Holy land!

BY JAMES F. OTIS.

E. A. P.

If we take the different definitions of the term "Poetry," that have been given this beautiful and magical art by the various writers upon its nature and proper ties, as each supported by reason and fact, we shall hardly arrive at any degree of certainty as to its real meaning. It has been called "the art of imitation," or

This paper was written at the request of a literary society of which the author was a member, and the facts are gathered principally from Currie. Some extracts from the poet's own letters, and from an eloquent review of Lockhart's Burns, which appeared a few years since in the Edinburgh Review, are interwo

ven, and the whole made up as an essay to be "read not print

ed."

Lyric, Elegiac, Pastoral, Didactic, Descriptive, and Dramatic. A consideration of each of these classes nation of their individual peculiarities: but time will not might furnish us with materiel for an interesting exami permit so wide a range.

1759, in the town of Ayr, in Scotland. His pretensions ROBERT BURNS was born on the 25th of January, by birth, were a descent from poor and humble, but honest and intelligent parents; and a title to inherit ail their intelligence and virtue, as well as all their poverty. Upon the nature of these pretensions, Burns, in a letter to a friend, dated many years after, takes occasion to say: "I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that character, which the pye-coated guardians

of escutcheons call a gentleman. When at Edinbo- | was intended to compliment the lady on her apparent rough last winter, I got acquainted in the Herald's eloquence in conversation; but by mistaking some Office; and looking through that granary of honors, I there found almost every name in the kingdom: but for me,

"My ancient but ignoble blood

Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood.""

idiom, he made the lady understand that she was too fond of hearing herself speak. The French woman, highly incensed, replied, that there were more instances of vain poets than of talkative women; and Burns was obliged to use his own language in appeasing her. He attempted the Latin, but his success did not encourage him to persevere. And, in fine, with the addition of a quarter's attendance to Geometry and Surveying, at the age of nineteen, and a few lessons at a country dancing school, I have now mentioned all his oppor tunities of acquiring a scholastic education. He says of himself, in allusion to his boyish days, "though it cost the schoolmaster many thrashings, I made an excel

His father was a native of the north of Scotland, but he was driven by various misfortunes to Edinborough, and thence still farther south to Ayrshire, where he was first employed as a gardener in one of the families in that vicinity, and afterwards, being desirous of settling in life, took a lease of a little farm of seven acres, on which he reared a clay cottage with his own hands, and soon after married a wife. The first fruit of this union was our poet, whose birth took place two years there-lent English scholar; and by the time I was ten or after. Robert, during his early days, was by no means eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs a favorite with any body. He was remarkable, how- and particles." ever, for a retentive memory, and a thoughtful turn of As soon as young Burns had strength to work, he mind. His ear was dull, and his voice harsh and dis- was employed as a laborer upon his father's farm. At sonant, and he evinced no musical talent or poetical twelve he was a good ploughman; a year later he genius until his fifteenth or sixteenth year. It is pre-assisted at the threshing-floor; and was his father's tended by his biographers, (of whom there have been main dependance at fifteen, there being no hired laborseveral, and who all agree in this opinion,) that the ers, male or female, in the family at the time. In one seeds of Poetry were very early implanted in his mind, of his letters, (and it is by extracting copiously from and that the recitations and fireside chaunts of an old them, that I propose chiefly to narrate his history,) he crone, who was familiar in his father's family, served to remarks upon this subject—“I saw my father's situacherish their growth, and strengthen their hold upon tion entailed on me perpetual labor: the only two openhis memory. This "auld gude wife" is said to haveings by which I could enter the temple of fortune, were had the largest collection in the country of tales and the gate of niggardly economy, or the path of little, songs concerning fairies, witches, warlocks, apparitions, giants, dragons, and other agents of romantic fiction. Speaking of these tales and songs, he says, in his later years, "so strong an effect had they upon my imagination, that even to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I am fain to keep a sharp look out in suspicious places; and, though nobody can feel more sceptical than I have ever done in such matters, yet it often requires an effort of Philosophy to shake off these idle terrors.”

When Robert was in his seventh year, his father quitted the birth-place of the poet, and took a lease of a small farm on the estate of Mr. Fergusson, called Mount Oliphant. He had been, for a year or two previous to this event, a pupil of Dr. Murdoch, who is represented as being a very worthy and acute man, and who took much pains with the education of the future poet. In fact, his father had previously taught him arithmetic, and whatever of lore could be gathered from the "big ha' bible," as they sat by their solitary candle; and he had been sent, alternately with his brother, a week at a time during a summer's quarter, to a writing master at the parish school at Dalrymple. But Dr. Murdoch, his faithful friend in youth and age, instructed him in English Grammar, and aided him in the acquisition of a little French. After a fortnight's instruction in the latter language, he was able to translate it into English prose, but, farther than this, his new attainment was never of much advantage to him. Indeed, his attempts to speak the language were ridiculously futile at times. On one occasion, when he called in Edinborough at the house of an accomplished friend, a lady who had been educated in France, he found her conversing with a French lady, to whom he was introduced. The French woman understood English; but Burns must need try his powers. His first sentence

chicaning bargain-making. The first is so contracted an aperture, I never could squeeze myself into it; the last I always hated-there was contamination in the very entrance!" And it was this kind of life,-the cheerless gloom of a hermit, with the unceasing toil of a galley-slave, that brought him to his sixteenth year, at about which period he first perpetrated the sin of rhyming. Of this you shall have an account in the author's own language.

"You know our country custom of coupling a man and woman together as partners in the labors of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her justice in that language; but you know the Scottish idiom,-she was a bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly to herself, initiated me in that delicious pas sion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, rigid prudence, and dearest blessing here below! How she caught the contagion I book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human joys, our cannot tell. You medical people-(he was addressing the cele. brated Dr. Moore) you medical people talk much of infection from breathing the same air, the touch, &c.; but I never expressly much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the evening said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked so from our labors; why the tones of her voice made my heartstrings thrill like an Eolian harp; and particularly why my pulse beat such a furious ratan, when I plucked the cruel netle-stings and thistles from her little white hand. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly; and it was her favorite reel, to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in

rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make verses like printed ones, composed by men who had Greek and Latin: but my girl sung a song, which was said to have been composed by a country laird's son upon a neighboring maiden with whom he was in love! and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme as well as he; for, excepting that he could shear sheep and cast peats, (his father living in the moorlands,) he had no more scholar craft than myself."

Thus, with Burns, began Love and Poetry. This, his first effort, is valuable, more from the promise it

gave of his future excellence as a poet, than for any | he should again be supplied. He was very melancholy intrinsic merit which it possessed as a performance of so gifted a genius. I have been the more particular in describing the circumstances attending the composition of these, his earliest verses, for the proof they afford of the truth of the general remark, that of all the poetical compositions of Burns, his love-songs, and amatory poetry are far the best. His feelings predominated over his fancy, and whenever the latter is introduced we are forced to deem it an intrusion for the strong contrast it presents with the native and characteristic simplicity of his more natural and heartfelt effusions.

Referring to the predilections which I have said gave a character to so large a portion of his poetical writings, he says," My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some goddess or other: and, as in every other warfare in this world, my fortune was various; sometimes I was received with favor, and sometimes I was mortified with a repulse." And in another letter he says farther, "Another circumstance in my life which made some alterations in my mind and manners, was, that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted school, to learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, &c. in which I made a pretty good progress. But I made a greater progress in the knowledge of mankind. Scenes of riot and roaring dissipation were, till now, new to me; but I was no enemy to social life. For all that, I went on with a high hand in my geometry till the sun entered Virgo, (a month, which is always a carnival in my bosom,) when a charming fair one, who lived next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent from the sphere of my duties. I, however, struggled on with my sines and co-sines for a few days more, but stepping into the garden one charming noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met my angel,

"Like Proserpine, gathering flowers,
Herself, a fairer flower."

It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. The remaining weeks I staid I did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or steal out to meet her. And the two last nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless."

This brings us to a period, which the poet calls an important era in his life-his twenty-third year; and he explains this in the following näive and characteristic style. "Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set about doing something in life, I joined a | flax-dresser in the neighboring town of Irvine to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair; as we were welcoming in the new year with a carousal, our shop took fire and burnt to ashes, and I was left like a true poet, not worth a sixpence." About this time the clouds of misfortune thickened around his father's head, who, indeed, was already far gone in a consumption; and to crown the distresses incident to his situation, a girl, to whom he was engaged to be married, jilted him with peculiar circumstances of mortification.

with the idea, that the dreams of future eminence and distinction which his imagination had presented to his mind, were only dreams; and to dissipate this melancholy his resource was society with its enjoyments. The incidents to which I have alluded took place some years before the publication of his poems. About this time William Burns removed from Mount Oliphant to Lochlea, and later still, to the parish of Tarbolton, where, as we are informed by a letter from Dr. Murdoch, written in 1799, that "Robert wrote most of his poems." It was in Tarbolton that Burns established a debating club, which consisted of the poet, his brother Gilbert, and five or six other young peasants of the neighborhood-the laws and regulations for which were furnished by the former. Among these members was David Sillar, to whom the two beautiful poems, entitled "Epistles to Davie, a brother poet," were addressed. Some of the rules and regulations of this club are so peculiar, and bespeak so forcibly the character of their author, that I cannot resist the temptation to transcribe some of them. The eighth is in the following words:

"Every member shall attend at the meetings, without he can give a proper excuse for not attending. And it is desired, that every one who cannot attend will send his excuse with some other member: and he who shall be absent three meetings without sending such excuse, shall be summoned to the club night, when if he fail to appear, or send an excuse, he shall be excluded."

And the tenth and last rule is worthy of particular notice, and a part of it of incorporation into the code even of more extensive and more pretending societies: it as as follows:

"Every man proper for a member of this club, must have a

frank, honest, open heart-above any thing low or mean, and must be a professed lover of the female sex. No haughty, selfconceited person, who looks upon himself as superior to the rest of the club-and especially no mean spirited, worldly mortal, whose only will is to heap up money, shall, upon any pretence whatever, be admitted. In short, the proper person for this society, is a cheerful, honest-hearted lad-who, if he has a friend that is true, a mistress that is kind, and as much wealth as genteely to make both ends meet, is just as happy as this world can

make him."

But I must, however reluctantly, omit many interesting particulars in the earlier, and more private life of our poet, and hasten to his visit to Edinborough in the winter of 1786. The celebrated Dugald Stewart, Professor of Philosophy in the University of Edinborough, in a letter to Dr. Currie, alludes to several of Burns's early poems, and avers, that it was upon his showing a volume of them to Henry McKenzie, (the celebrated author of “The Man of Feeling,") that this gentleman introduced the rustic bard to the notice of the public, in the xcvii No. of The Lounger, which justly famous periodical paper was then in the course of publication, and had long been a favorite work with the young poet.

Depressed by poverty, and chagrined with the contrasts which fate seemed malignantly bent upon opposing to his ambitious aspirations, his only object, at last, had been to accumulate the petty sum of nine guineas, (which he did by the publication of a few of his poems,) and to take passage in the steerage of a ship bound to the West Indies, determined to become a negro driver, or any thing else, so that he could escape the fangs of that merciless pack, the bailiffs; for, said he, "Hungry ruin had me in the wind."

During his residence at Irvine, our poet was miserably poor and dispirited. His food consisted chiefly of oat meal, and this was sent to him from his father's family; and so small was, of necessity, his allowance, that he was obliged to borrow often of a neighbor, until He had taken leave of his friends-had despatched his

single chest to the vessel-had written his Farewell Song,
which he sang to the beautiful air of "Roslin Castle,"
and which closes with,

"Adieu, my friends!--Adieu, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those:
The bursting tears my heart declare,
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr!"

"This is all I can tell you about Burns. I never saw him again, except in the street, where he did not recognise me, as I could not expect he should. I have only to add, that his dress corresponded with his manner. He was like a farmer, dressed in his best, to dine with the laird. I was told, but did not observe it, that his address to females was extremely deferential, and always with a turn to the pathetic or humorous, which engaged their attention particularly. I do not know that I can add any thing to these recollections of forty years since."

should follow their introduction, at such length: but I shall only say in the language of another, in excuse for dwelling so long on this incident in the life of Burns, that it forms "the most remarkable phenomenon in the history of modern literature."

when a letter from Dr. Blacklock, elicited by a perusal of the volume to which I have just now alluded, opened These are extracts, that, one day or other, will be for him new prospects to his poetic ambition, by in- looked upon as curiosities in literature, and will be inviting him to Edinborough. Thither, then, he went-estimably precious: at present, I fear me, an apology and his reception by all classes, ages and ranks, was as flattering as, in his most sanguine aspirations, he could have desired. Dr. Robertson, the celebrated historian, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, Professor Stewart, Mr. McKenzie, and many more men of letters were particularly interested in his reception, and in the cultivation of his genius. He became, from his first entrance into Edinborough, the object of universal attention, and it seemed as if there was no possibility of rewarding his merits | him, during his after life. Not only was he admitted too highly. Mr. Lockhart, the latest and most eloquent of the numerous biographers of Burns, has a note, containing an extract from a letter of Sir Walter Scott, and furnished by the latter for his work, which is too interesting to be passed over. It relates to a personal intervew of Sir Walter with our poet, during his first visit to Edinborough.

But if this, his first winter in Edinborough, produced a favorable effect upon the future fame of Robert Burns, as a poet, it was also the source of vast unhappiness to

to the company of men of letters and virtue, but he was pressed into the society of those, whose social habits, and love of the pleasures of life were their chief attractions. When among his superiors in rank and intelligence, his carriage was decorous and diffident: but among others, his boon companions, he, in his turn, was lord of the ascendant: and thus commenced a ca

wonld probably not have closed until a later period, nor without a much greater measure of glory and honor to him, who was thus unfortunately misguided.

"As for Burns," writes he, "I may truly say, 'Vir-reer, which, had its outset been a more prudent one, gilium vidi tantum.' I was a lad of fifteen in 1786-7, when he came first to Edinborough, but had sense and feeling enough to be much interested in his poetry, and would have given the world to know him: but I had During the residence of Burns at Edinborough, he very little acquaintance with any literary people, and published a new and enlarged edition of his poems, and still less with the gentry of the west country, the two was thus enabled to visit other parts of his native counsets that he most frequented." ..... "As it was, I saw try, and some parts of England beside. Having done him one day at the late venerable Professor Fergusson's, this, he returned, and during most of the following winwhere there were several gentlemen of literary reputa-ter, we find him again in the gay and literary metropotation, among whom I remember the celebrated Mr.lis, much less an object of novelty, and, of course, of Dugald Stewart. Of course, we youngsters sat silent, general attention and interest, than before. Unable to looked, and listened. The only thing I remember, which was remarkable in Burns's manner, was the effect produced upon him by a print, with the ideas suggested to his mind upon reading the story whereof, (written under it) he was moved even to tears. He asked whose the lines were? and it chanced that nobody but myself remembered that they occur in a half forgotten poem of Langhorne's. I passed this information to Burns by a friend, and I was rewarded with a look and a word, which, though of mere civility, I then received, and still recollect, with very great pleasure."..... "His person," continues Sir Walter, was strong and robust: his manners rustic, not clownish, a sort of dignified plain-ration of the absurd costume in which the older biograness and simplicity. There was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments: the eye, alone, I think, indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, and of a dark cast, which glowed, (I say literally glowed,) when he spoke with feeling or interest." "I never saw another such eye in a human head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time. His conversation expressed perfect self-confidence, without the slightest presump-On calling at his house, they were informed that he had walked tion."

.....

After making a few more observations with relation to the poet's conversation and manner, the writer I have been quoting concludes his reminiscence as follows:

find employment or occupation of a literary nature, he quitted Edinborough in the spring of 1788, and took the farm of Ellisland, near Dumfries: besides advancing 2001. for the liberation of his brother Gilbert from some difficulties into which certain agricultural misfortunes had involved him. He was, soon after, united to his "bonnie Jean," the theme of so much of his delightful verse, and employed himself in stocking and cultivating his farm, and rebuilding the dwelling house upon it. There is an anecdote of him in the history furnished by Dr. Currie, the truth of which Mr. Lockhart seems disposed to question: his doubts originate from a conside

pher has seen fit to invest the poet in his narration. As this is the only exception taken to it, and as it is certainly illustrative of Burns's character and manners in other respects, and as it is related, too, upon so good authority, I shall venture to introduce it in this, its proper place, in point of time.

"In the summer of 1791, two English gentlemen, who had be fore met Burns at Edinborough, paid a visit to him in Ellisland.

out on the banks of the river; and, dismounting from their horses, they proceeded in search of him. On a rock that projected into the stream, they saw a man employed in angling, of a singular

appearance. He had a cap, made of a fox's skin, on his head, a loose great coat fixed round him by a belt, from which depend

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