vows to be faithful to each other. They parted-never to meet again!

"The anniversary of Mary Campbell's death (for that was her name) awakening in the sensitive mind of Burns the most lively emotion, he retired from his family, then residing on the farm of Ellisland, and wandered, solitary, on the banks of the Nith, and about the farm yard, in the extremest agitation of mind, nearly the whole of the night. His agitation was so great, that he threw himself on the side of a corn stack, and there conceived his sublime and tender elegy-his address To Mary in Heaven. V. p. 238.

Of his pieces of humour, the tale of Tam o'Shanter is probably the best though there are traits of infinite merit in Scotch Drink, the Holy Fair, the Hallow E'en, and several of the songs; in all of which, it is very remarkable, that he rises occasionally into a strain of beautiful description or lofty sentiment, far above the pitch of his original conception. The poems of observation on life and characters, are the Twa Dogs, and the various epistles, all of which show very extraordinary sagacity and powers of expression. They are written, however, in so broad a dialect, that we dare not venture to quote

any part of them. The only pieces that can be classed under the head of pure fiction, are the Two Bridges of Ayr, and the Vision. In the last, there are some vigorous and striking

lines.

There is another fragment, called a Vision, which belongs to a higher order of poetry. If Burns had never written any thing else, the power of description, and the vigour of the whole composition, would have entitled him to the remembrance of posterity.

"The winds were laid, the air was still, The stars they shot alang the sky; The fox was howling on the hill,

And the distant-echoing glens reply. The stream adown its hazelly path, Was rushing by the ruined wa's, Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, Whase distant roaring swells an' fa's. The cauld blue north was streaming forth Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din; Athort the lift they start and shift, Like fortune's favours, tint as win

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And by the moon-beam, shook, to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attired as minstrels wont to be.
Had I a statue been o' stane,

His darin look had daunted me;
And on his bonnet graved was plain,

The sacred posy-Liberty!

And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rous'd the slumbering dead to
hear;
But oh, it was a tale of wo,

As ever met a Briton's ear!
He sang wi' joy the former day,

He weeping wail'd his latter times.But what he said it was nae play, I winna ventur't in my rhymes." IV. p. 344-46.

Some verses written for a hermitage, sound like the best parts of Grongar Hill. The reader may take these few lines as a specimen.

"As thy day grows warm and high,
Life's meridian flaming nigh,
Dost thou spurn the humble vale?
Life's proud summits would'st thou
scale?

Danger's, eagle-pinioned, bold,
Soar around each cliffy hold,

While cheerful peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among." III. p.
299.

There is a little copy of verses upon a newspaper, at p. 345, of Dr. Currie's 4th volume, written in the same condensed style, and only wanting translation into English to be worthy of Swift.

The finest piece, of the strong and nervous sort, however, is undoubtedly the address of Robert Bruce to his army at Bannockburn, beginning:

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled." The Death-song, beginning"Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth and ye skies,

Now gay with the bright-setting sun," is to us less pleasing. There are specimens, however, of such vigour and emphasis scattered through his whole works, as are sure to make themselves and their author remem bered; for instance, that noble de scription of a dying soldier.

"Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him:

Death comes; wi' fearless eye he sees him:

Wi bluidy hand a welcome gi'es him;
An' whan he fa's,

His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him
In faint huzzas." III. p. 27.

The whole song of " For a' that," is written with extraordinary spirit. The first stanza ends;

For rank is but the guinea stamp; The man's the goud for a' that." -All the songs, indeed, abound with traits of this kind. We select the following at random.

"O woman, lovely, woman fair! An angel form's faun to thy share, 'Twad been o'er meikle to've gi'en thee mair,

I mean an angel mind." IV. p. 330.

Before concluding upon this sub. ject, we must beg leave to express our dissent from the poet's amiable and judicious biographer, in what he says of the general harshness and rudeness of his versification. Dr. Currie, we are afraid, was not Scotchman enough to comprehend the whole prosody of the verses to which he alluded. Most of the Scottish pieces are more carefully versified than the English; and we appeal to our southern readers, whether there be any want of harmony in the following stanza. "Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Whose ancestors, in days of yore, Through hostile ranks and ruined gaps Old Scotia's bloody lion bore: Even I who sing in rustick lore,

Happy my sires have left their shed, And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, Bold-following where your fathers led!"

III. p. 233.

The following is not quite English; but it is intelligible to all readers of English, and may satisfy them that the Scottish song writer was not habitually negligent of his numbers. "Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,

Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume;

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,

Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen;

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,

A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies,

And cauld, Caledonia's blast on the

wave;

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,

What are they? The haunt o' the tyrant and slave!

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bub. bling fountains,

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,

Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean." IV. p. 228-9.

If we have been able to inspire our readers with any portion of our own admiration for this extraordinary writer, they will readily forgive us for the irregularity of which we have been guilty, in introducing so long an account of his whole works, under colour of the additional volume of which we have prefixed the title to this article. The truth is, however, that unless it be taken in connexion with his other works, the present volume has little interest, and could not be made the subject of any intelligible observations. It is made up of some additional letters, of middling merit-of complete copies of others, of which Dr. Currie saw reason to publish only extracts; of a number of remarks, by Burns, on old Scottish songs; and finally, of a few additional poems and songs, certainly not disgraceful to the author, but scarcely fitted to add to his reputation. The world, however, is indebted, we think, to Mr. Cromek's industry for this addition to so popular an author; and the friends of the poet, we are sure, are indebted to his good taste, moderation and delicacy, for having confined it to the pieces which are now printed. Burns wrote many rash, many violent, and many indecent things; of which we have no doubt many specimens must have

fallen into the hands of so diligent a collector. He has, however, careful ly suppressed every thing of this description, and shown that the tenderness for this author's memory, which is the best proof of the veneration with which he regards his talents. We shall now see if there be any thing in the volume which deserves to be particularly noticed.

The preface is very amiable, and well written. Mr. Cromek speaks with becoming respect and affection of Dr. Currie, the learned biographer and editor of the poem, and with great modesty of his own qualifica

tions.

"As an apology," he says, " for any defects of my own that may appear in this publication, I beg to observe that I am by profession an artist, and not an author. In the manner of laying them before the publick, I honestly declare that I have done my best; and I trust I may fairly presume to hope, that the man who has contributed to extend the bounds of literature, by adding another genuine volume to the writings of Robert Burns, has some claim on the gratitude of his countrymen. On this occasion, I certainly feel something of that sublime and heart-swelling gratification which he experiences, who casts another stone on the CAIRN of a great and lamented chief." Pref. p. xi.

xii.

Of the letters, which occupy nearly half the volume, we cannot, on the whole, express any more favourable opinion than that which we have already ventured to pronounce on the prose compositions of this author in general. Indeed they abound, rather more than those formerly published, in ravings about sensibility and imprudence; in common swearing, and in professions of love for whiskey. By far the best, are those which are addressed to Miss Chal mers; and that chiefly, because they seem to be written with less effort, and at the same time with more respect for his correspondent. The following was written at a most critical period of his life; and the good feelings and good sense which it displays, only make us regret more

deeply that they were not attended with greater firmness.

"Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I married ' my Jean.' This was not in consequence of the attachment to romance, perhaps; but I had a long and much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in my determination, and I durst not trifle with so important a deposite. Nor have I any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, modish manners, and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with the multiform curse of boarding-school affectation; and I have got the handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and the kindest heart in the county. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her creed, that I am le plus bel esprit, et le plus honnete homme in the universe; although she scarcely ever in her life, except the scriptures of the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms of David in metre, spent five minutes together on either prose or verse. I must except also from this last, a certain late publication of Scots poems, which she has perused very devoutly; and all the ballads in the country, as she has (O the partial lover! you will cry) the finest wood-note wild' I ever heard. I am the more particular in this lady's character, as I know she will henceforth have the honour of a

share in your best wishes. She is still at Mauchline, as I am building my house : for this hovel that I shelter in, while occasionally here, is pervious to every blast that blows, and every shower that falls; and I am only preserved from being chilled to death, by being suffocated with smoke. I do not find my farm that pennyworth I was taught to expect; but I believe, in time, it may be a saving bargain. You will be pleased to hear that I have laid aside idle eclat, and bind every day after my reapers.

"To save me from that horrid situation

of at any time going down, in a losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I have taken my excise instructions, and have my commission in my pocket for any emergency of fortune. If I could set all before your view, whatever disrespect you, in com. mon with the world, have for this business, I know you would approve of my idea." V. p. 74, 75.

We may add the following, for the sake of connexion.

"I know not how the word exciscman, or still more opprobrius, ganger, will sound in your ears. I too, have seen the day when my auditory nerves would have

felt very delicately on this subject; but a wife and children are things which have a wonderful power in blunting these kind of sensations. Fifty pounds a year for life, and a provision for widows and orphans, you will allow is no bad settlement for a poet. For the ignominy of the profession, I have the encouragement which I once heard a recruiting serjeant give to a numerous, if not a respectable audience, in the streets of Kilmarnock :"Gentlemen, for your further and better encouragement I can assure you, that our regiment is the most blackguard corps under the crown, and consequently

with us an honest fellow has the surest chance for preferment." V. p. 99, 100.

It would have been as well if Mr. Cromek had left out the history of Mr. Hamilton's dissensions with his parish minister; Burns's apology to a gentleman with whom he had a drunken squabble; and the anecdote of his being used to ask for more liquor, when visiting in the country, under the pretext of fortifying himself against the terrours of a little wood he had to pass through in going home. The most interesting passages, indeed. in this part of the volume, are those for which we are indebted to Mr. Cromek himself.

He informs us, for instance, in a

note:

"One of Burns's remarks, when he first came to Edinburgh, was, that between the men of rustick life and the polite world he observed little difference that in the former, though unpolished by fashion, and unenlightened by science, he had found much observation and much intelligence; but a refined and accomplished woman was a being almost new to him, and of which he had formed but a very inadequate idea." V. p. 68, 69.

He adds also, in another place, that "the poet, when questioned about his habits of composition, replied: "All my poetry is the effect of easy composition, but of laborious correction." It is pleasing to know those things, even if they were really as trifling as to a superficial observer they may probably appear. There is a very amiable letter from Mr. Murdoch, the poet's early preceptor, at p. 111; and a very splendid one from Mr. Bloomfield, at p.

135. As nothing is more rare, among the minor poets than a candid acknowledgment of their own inferiority we think Mr. Bloomfield well entitled to have his magnanimity recorded.

"The illustrious soul that has left amongst us the name of Burns, has often been lowered down to a comparison with me; but the comparison exists more in circumstances than in essentials. That man stood up with the stamp of superiour intellect on his brow; a visible greatness: and great and patriotick subjects would only have called into action the powers of his mind, which lay inactive while he played calmly and exquisitely the pastoral pipe.

"The letters to which I have alluded in my preface to the Rural Tales,' were friendly warnings, pointed with immediate reference to the fate of that extraordinary man. Remember Burns,' has been the watchword of my friends. I do remember Burns; but I am not Burns! I have neither his fire to fan or to quench! nor his passions to control! peaceful voyage on a smooth sea, and Where then is my merit, if I make a with no mutiny on board?" V. p. 135, 136.

The observations on Scottish songs, which fill nearly 150 pages, are, on the whole, minute and trifling; though the exquisite justness of the poet's taste, and his fine relish of simplicity in this species of composition, is no less remarkable here than in his correspondence with Mr. Thomson. Of all other kinds of poetry, he was so indulgent a judge, that he may almost be termed an indiscriminate adınirer. We find, too, from these observations, that se veral songs and pieces of songs, which he printed as genuine antiques, were really of his own composition.

The common-place book, from which Dr. Currie had formerly selected all that he thought worth publication, is next given entire by Mr. Cromek. We were quite as well, we think, with the extracts;—at all events, there was no need for reprinting what had been given by Dr. Currie-a remark which is equally applicable to the letters of which we had formerly extracts.

Of the additional poems which form the concluding part of the volume, we have but little to say. We have little doubt of their authenticity; for, though the editor has omitted, in almost every instance, to specify the source from which they were derived, they certainly bear the stamp of the author's manner and genius. They are not, however, of his purest metal, nor marked with his finest die. Several of them have appeared in print already; and the songs are, as usual, the best. This little lamentation of a desolate damsel, is tender and pretty.

"My father pat me frae his door,

My friends they hae disown'd me a' But I hae ane will tak my part,

The bonie lad that's far awa. "A pair o' gloves he gave to me,

And silken snoods he gave me twa; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonie lad that's far awa. "The weary winter soon will pass, And spring will cleed the birken-shaw; And my sweet babie will be born, And he'll come hame that's far awa." V. p. 432, 433.

We now reluctantly dismiss this subject. We scarcely hoped, when we began our critical labours, that an opportunity would ever occur of speaking of Burns as we wished to speak of him: and therefore, we feel grateful to Mr Cromek for giving us this opportunity.

We shall conclude with two general remarks the one national, the other critical. The first is, that it is impossible to read the productions of Burns, along with his history, without forming a higher idea of the intelligence, taste, and accomplishments of the peasantry, than most of those in the higher ranks are disposed to entertain. Without meaning to deny that he himself was endowed with rare and extraordinary gifts of genius and fancy, it is evident, from the whole details of his history, as well as from the letters of his brother, and the testimony of Mr. Murdoch and others to the character of his father, that the whole

family, and many of their associates, who have never emerged from the native obscurity of their condition, possessed talents, and taste, and intelligence, which are little suspected to lurk in those humble retreats. His epistles to brother poets, in the rank of farmers and shopkeepers in the adjoining villages; the existence of a book society and debating club among persons of that description, and many other incidental traits in his sketches of his youthful companions; all contribute to show, that not only good sense, and enlightened morality, but literature, and talents for speculation, are far more generally diffused in society than is generally imagined. And that the delights and the benefits of these generous and humanizing pursuits, are by no means confined to those whom leisure and affluence have courted to their enjoyment. That much of this is peculiar to Scotland, and may be properly referred to our excellent institutions for parochial education, and to the natural sobriety and prudence of our nation, may certainly be allowed: but we have no doubt that there is a good deal of the same principle in England, and that the actual intelligence of the lower orders will be found, there also, very far to exceed the ordinary estimates of their superiours. It is pleasing to know, that the sources of rational enjoyment are so widely disseminated; and, in a free country, it is comfortable to think, that so great a proportion of the people is able to appreciate the advantages of its condition and fit to be relied on in all emer gencies where steadiness and intelligence may be required.

Our other remark is of a more limited application; and is addressed chiefly to the followers and patrons of that new school of poetry, against which we have thought it our duty to neglect no opportunity of testifying. Those gentlemen are outrageous for simplicity; and we beg leave to recommend to them the simplici