:

be the immediate consequence of an enter-racter to support. In the poet 1 have prise, which on its commencement, pro- avowed manly and independent sentimised so much happiness to the human ments, which I hope have been found in race. And even after the career of guilt the man. Reasons of no less weight than and of blood commenced, he could not the support of a wife and children, have immediately, it may be presumed, with- pointed out my present occupation as the draw his partial gaze from a people who only eligible line of life within my reach. had so lately breathed the sentiments of Still my honest fame is my dearest conuniversal peace and benignity; or oblite- cern, and a thousand times have I trem. rate in his bosom the pictures of hope and bled at the idea of the degrading epithets of happiness to which those sentiments that malice or misrepresentation may affix had given birth. Under these impres- to my name. Often in blasting anticipasions, he did not always conduct himself tion have I listened to some future hackwith the circumspection and prudence ney scribbler, with the heavy malice of which his dependant situation seemed to savage stupidity, exultingly asserting that demand. He engaged indeed in no popu- Burns, notwithstanding the Fanfaronnade lar associations, so common at the time of independence to be found in his works, of which we speak but in company he and after having been held up to public did not conceal his opinions of public view, and to public estimation, as a man measures, or of the reforms required in of some genius, yet, quite destitute of rethe practice of our government; and sources within himself to support his borsometimes in his social and unguarded rowed dignity, dwindled into a paltry exmoments, he uttered them with a wild ciseman, and slunk out the rest of his inand unjustifiable vehemence. Informa- significant existence in the meanest of tion of this was given to the Board of pursuits, and among the lowest of mankind. Excise, with the exaggerations so general in such cases. A superior officer in that department was authorised to inquire into his conduct. Burns defended him- | self in a letter addressed to one of the Board, written with great independence of spirit, and with more than his accustomed eloquence. The officer appointed to inquire into his conduct gave a favourable report. His steady friend, Mr. Graham of Fintry, interposed his good offices in his behalf; and the imprudent gauger was suf fered to retain his situation, but given to understand that his promotion was deferred, and must depend on his future behaviour.

"This circumstance made a deep impression on the mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his misconduct, and represented him as actually dismissed from his office; and this report induced a gentleman of much respectability to propose a subscription in his favour. The offer was refused by our poet in a letter of great elevation of sentiment, in which he gives an account of the whole of this transaction, and defends himself from the imputation of disloyal sentiments on the one hand, and on the other, from the charge of having made submissions for the sake of his office, unworthy of his character.

"In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to lodge my strong disavowal and defiance of such slanderous falsehoods. Burns was a poor man from his birth, and an exciseman by necessity; but-I will say it! the sterling of his honest worth poverty could not debase, and his independent British spirit, oppression might bend, but could not subdue."

It was one of the last acts of his life to copy this letter into his book of manuscripts accompanied by some additional remarks on the same subject. It is not surprising, that at a season of universal alarm for the safety of the constitution, the indiscreet expressions of a man so powerful as Burns, should have attracted notice. The times certainly required extraordinary vigilance in those intrusted with the administration of the government, and to ensure the safety of the constitution was doubtless their first duty. Yet generous minds will lament that their measures of precaution should have robbed the imagination of our poet of the last prop on which his hopes of independence rested; and by embittering his peace, have aggravated those excesses which were soon to conduct him to an untimely grave.

Though the vehemence of Burns's tem"The partiality of my countrymen," he per, increased as it often was by stimu observes, "has brought me forward as a lating liquors, might lead him into many man of genius, and has given me a cha-improper and unguarded expressions.

there seems no reason to doubt of his at- | system became at length habitual; the

tachment to our mixed form of government. In his common-place book, where he could have no temptation to disguise, are the following sentiments." Whatever might be my sentiments of republics, ancient or modern, as to Britain, I ever abjured the idea. A constitution, which in its original principles, experience has proved to be every way fitted for our happiness, it would be insanity to abandon for an untried visionary theory." In conformity to these sentiments, when the pressing nature of public affairs called, in 1795, for a general arming of the people, Burns appeared in the ranks of the Dumfries volunteers, and employed his poetical talents in stimulating their patriotism;* and at this season of alarm, he brought forward a hymn,† worthy of the Grecian muse, when Greece was most conspicuous for genius and valour.

process of nutrition was unable to supply the waste, and the powers of life began to fail. Upwards of a year before his death, there was an evident decline in our poet's personal appearance, and though his appetite continued unimpaired, he was himself sensible that his constitution was sinking. In his moments of thought he reflected with the deepest regret on his fatal progress, clearly foreseeing the goal towards which he was hastening, without the strength of mind necessary to stop, or even to slacken his course. His temper now became more irritable and gloomy; he fled from himself into society, often of the lowest kind. And in such company, that part of the convivial scene, in which wine increases sensibility and excites benevolence, was hurried over, to reach the succeeding part, over which uncontrolled passion generally presided. He who suf fers the pollution of inebriation, how shall Though by nature of an athletic form, he escape other pollution? But let us reBurns had in his constitution the peculi-frain from the mention of errors over arities and delicacies that belong to the which delicacy and humanity draw the temperament of genius. He was liable, veil. from a very early period of life, to that interruption in the process of digestion, which In the midst of all his wanderings, Burns arises from deep and anxious thought, and met nothing in his domestic circle but which is sometimes the effect and some- gentleness and forgiveness, except in the times the cause of depression of spirits. gnawings of his own remorse. He acConnected with this disorder of the sto-knowledged his transgressions to the wife mach, there was a disposition to headache, affecting more especially the temples and eye-balls, and frequently accompanied by violent andirregular movements of the heart. Endowed by nature with great sensibility of nerves, Burns was, in his corporeal, as well as in his mental system, liable to inordinate impressions; to fever of body as well as of mind. This predisposition to disease, which strict temperance in diet, regular exercise, and sound sleep, might have subdued, habits of a very different nature strengthened and inflamed. Perpetually stimulated by alcohol in one or other of its various forms, the inordinate actions of the circulating

*See Poem entitled The Dumfries Volunteers.

†The Song of Death, Poems, p. 83. This poem was

written in 1791. It was printed in Johnson's Musical Museum. The poet had an intention, in the latter part of his life, of printing it separately, set to music, but was advised against it, or at least discouraged from it. The martial ardour which rose so high afterwards, on the threatened invasion, had not then acquired the tone necessary to give popularity to this noble poem;

which to the Editor, seems more calculated to invigorate the spirit of defence, in a season of real and pressing danger, than any production of modern times.

of his bosom, promised amendment, and again and again received pardon for his offences. But as the strength of his body decayed, his resolution became feebler, and habit acquired predominating strength.

From October, 1795, to the January following, an accidental complaint confined him to the house. A few days after he began to go abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned home about three o'clock in a very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicated. This was followed by an attack of rheumatism, which confined him about a week. His appetite now began to fail; his hand-shook, and his voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker and more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much dejected in his spirits, and too well aware of his real situation to entertain hopes of recovery, he was ever musing on the approaching desolation of his family, and his spirits sunk into a uniform gloom.

It was hoped by some of his friends,

that if he could live through the months of spring, the succeeding season might restore him. But they were disappointed. The genial beams of the sun infused no vigour into his languid frame: the summer wind blew upon him, but produced no refreshment. About the latter end of June he was advised to go into the country, and impatient of medical advice, as well as of every species of control, he determined for himself to try the effects of bathing in the sea. For this purpose he took up his residence at Brow, in Annan-jury of his future reputation; that letters dale, about ten miles east of Dumfries, on the shore of the Solway-Firth.

sunk into delirium, when not roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever increased, and his strength diminished. On the fourth, the sufferings of this great but ill-fated genius, were terminated; and a life was closed in which virtue and passion had been at perpetual variance.*

and solemn, and accorded with the general sentiments of sympathy and sorrow which the occasion had called forth.

It was an affecting circumstance, that, on the morning of the day of her husband's funeral, Mrs. Burns was undergoing the pains of labour; and that during the solemn service we have just been describing, the posthumous son of our poet was born. This infant boy, who received the name of Maxwell, was not destined to a long life. He has already become an inhabitant of the same grave with his celebrated father. The four other children of our poet, all sons, (the eldest at that time about ten years of age) yet survive, and give every promise of prudence and virtue that can be expected from their tender years. They remain under the care of their affectionate mother in Dumfries, and are enjoying the means of education which the excellent schools of that town afford; the teachers of which, in their conduct to the children of Burns, do themselves great honour. On this occasion the name of Mr. Whyte deserves to be particularly mentioned, himself a poet, as well as a man of science.*

The death of Burns made a strong and general impression on all who had interested themselves in his character, and especially on the inhabitants of the town and county in which he had spent the latter years of his life. Flagrant as his follies and errors had been, they had not deprived him of the respect and regard entertained for the extraordinary powers of his genius, and the generous qualities of his heart. The Gentlemen-Volunteers of Dumfries determined to bury their illustrious associate with military honours, and every preparation was made to render this last service solemn and impressive. The Fencible Infantry of Angusshire, and the regiment of cavalry of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered in Dumfries, offered their assistance on this occasion; the principal inhabitants of the town and neighbourhood determined to walk in the funeral procession; and a vast Burns died in great poverty; but the concourse of persons assembled, some of independence of his spirit and the exemthem from a considerable distance, to wit-plary prudence of his wife, had preserved ness the obsequies of the Scottish Bard. him from debt. He had received from On the evening of the 25th of July, the his poems a clear profit of about nine hunremains of Burns were removed from his dred pounds. Of this sum, the part exhouse to the Town-Hall, and the funeral pended on his library (which was far from took place on the succeeding day. A extensive) and in the humble furniture of party of the volunteers, selected to per- his house, remained; and obligations form the military duty in the church-yard, were found for two hundred pounds adstationed themselves in the front of the pro- vanced by him to the assistance of those cession, with their arms reversed; the main to whom he was united by the ties of body of the corps surrounded and support- blood, and still more by those of esteem and ed the coffin, on which were placed the affection. When it is considered, that his hat and sword of their friend and fellow- expenses in Edinburgh, and on his various soldier; the numerous body of attendants journeys, could not be inconsiderable; that ranged themselves in the rear; while the his agricultural undertaking was unsucFencible regiments of infantry and caval- cessful; that his income from the excise was ry lined the streets from the Town-Hall for some time as low as fifty, and never to the burial ground in the Southern rose to above seventy pounds a-year church-yard, a distance of more than half that his family was large, and his spirit a mile. The whole procession moved for- liberal-no one will be surprised that ward to that sublime and affecting strain his circumstances were so poor, or that, of music, the Dead March in Saul; and as his health decayed his proud and feelthree volleys fired over his grave, marked ing heart sunk under the secret conthe return of Burns to his parent earth! sciousness of indigence, and the apprehenThe spectacle was in a high degree grand sions of absolute want. Yet poverty never bent the spirit of Burns to any pe

* The particulars respecting the illness and death of Burns were obligingly furnished by Dr. Maxwell, the physician who attended him.

* Author of "St. Guerdon's Well," a poem; and of "A Tribute to the Memory of Burns."

cuniary meanness. Neither chicanery nor sordidness ever appeared in his conduct. He carried his disregard of money to a blameable excess. Even in the midst of distress he bore himself loftily to the world, and received with jealous reluctance every offer of friendly assistance. His printed poems had procured him great celebrity, and a just and fair recompense for the latter offsprings of his pen might have produced him considerable emolument. In the year 1795, the Editor of a London newspaper, high in its character for literature, and independence of sentiment, made a proposal to him that he should furnish them, once a week, with an article for their poetical department, and receive from them a recompense of fifty-two guineas per annum ; an offer which the pride of genius disdained to accept. Yet he had for several years furnished, and was at that time furnishing, the Museum of Johnson with his beautiful lyrics, without fee or reward, and was obstinately refusing all recompense for his assistance to the greater work of Mr. Thomson, which the justice and generosity of that gentleman was pressing upon him.

of preserving his health. Whatever might be the faults of Burns, ingratitude was not of the number.-Amongst his manuscripts, various proofs are found of the sense he entertained of Mr. Graham's friendship, which delicacy towards that gentleman has induced us to suppress; and on this last occasion there is no doubt that his heart overflowed towards him, though he had no longer the power of expressing his feelings.*

On the death of Burns the inhabitants of Dumfries and its neighbourhood opened a subscription for the support of his wife and family; and Mr. Miller, Mr. M'Murdo, Dr. Maxwell, Mr. Syme, and Mr. Cunningham, gentlemen of the first respectability, became trustees for the application of the money to its proper objects. The subscription was extended to other parts of Scotland, and .of England also, particularly London and Liverpool. By this means a sum was raised amounting to seven hundred pounds; and thus the widow and children were rescued from immediate distress, and the most melancholy of the forebodings of Burns happily disappointed. It is true, this sum, though equal to their present support, is insufficient to secure them from future penury Their hope in regard to futurity depends on the favourable reception of these vo

The sense of his poverty, and of the approaching distress of his infant family, pressed heavily on Burns as he lay on the bed of death. Yet he alluded to his in-lumes from the public at large, in the digence, at times with something ap- promoting of which the candour and huproaching to his wonted gayety.-"What manity of the reader may induce him to business," said he to Dr. Maxwell, who lend his assistance. attended him with the utmost zeal, "has a physician to waste his time on me? I am a poor pigeon, not worth plucking. Alas! I have not feathers enough upon me to carry me to my grave." And when his reason was lost in delirium his ideas ran in the same melancholy train; the horrors of a jail were continually present to his troubled imagination, and produced the most affecting exclamations.

Burns, as has already been mentioned, was nearly five feet ten inches in height, and of a form that indicated agility as well as strength. His well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling hair, indicated extensive capacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour and intelligence. His face was well formed; and his countenance uncommonly interesting and expressive. His mode of dressing, which was often slovenly, and a certain fulness and bend in his shoulders, characteristic of his original profession, disguised in some degree the natural symmetry and elegance of his form. The external ap

As for some months previous to his death he had been incapable of the duties of his office, Burns dreaded that his salary should be reduced one half as is usual in such cases. His full emoluments were, however, continued to him by the kind-pearance of Burns was most strikingly inness of Mr. Stobbie, a young expectant in the Excise, who performed the duties of his office without fee or reward; and Mr. Graham of Fintry, hearing of his illness, though unacquainted with its dangerous nature, made an offer of his assis- 15th. Burns became delirious on the 17th or 18th, tance towards procuring him the means

dicative of the character of his mind. On a first view, his physiognomy had a certain air of coarseness, mingled, however,

The letter of Mr. Graham, alluded to above, is dated on the 13th of July, and probably arrived on the

and died on the 21st