observed “a new phase of life." He found time, however, to pursue his study of English literature, and to commence a literary correspondence with some of his schoolfellows. In this manner his life glided away until he had reached his twenty-third year. He had already composed one or two poetical pieces, occasioned by some circumstance of local importanec. Now he began to feel a necessity for verse. His passions, which were always strong, raged furiously until they found vent in rhyme.

In 1781 Burns went to Irvine to learn the trade of a flaxdresser. A fire broke out in the shop, and destroyed every thing, including Burns's little all. This event put an end to a matrimonial engagement into which the poet had entered, and exercised a depressing influence on his mind. His visit to Irvine was in other respects unfortunate. It threw him into the society of men who did not scruple to applaud the budding viciousness of the young man. His father died at a time when he could be least spared, and Burns, with very wild and uncertain ideas, repaired to the farm at Mossgiel, to assume, with his brother Gilbert, its cultivation. The fame he acquired in the neighborhood about this time was due to his poetic achievements rather than those of agriculture. Some additional notoriety was obtained in a less creditable way, arising from the laxity of morals which resulted from his sojourn at Irvine. The bad odor in which he found himself suggested to his mind the advisability of leaving the country. He had for some time expressed a desire to go to the West Indies, and would undoubtedly have taken his departure if the state of his finances had allowed him to do so. In this dilemma he resolved

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to try his luck with a volume of poems. His friends encouraged the idea, and a number of subscribers were readily obtained. letter to one of his friends, dated the 12th of June, 1786, he says: "You will have heard that I am going to commence a poet in print, and to-morrow my works go to press. I expect it will be a volume of about two hundred pages. It is just the last foolish action I intend to do, and then turn a wise man as fast as possible." The poet also describes his feelings in another place. "Beforc leaving my native land, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power: I thought they had merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach my ears, a poor negro-driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and

gone to the world of spirits. I can truly say that, pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their favor. It ever was my opinion that the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and religious point of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of themselves. To know myself had been all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I balanced myself with others: I watched every means of information, to see how much ground I occupied as a man and as a poet; I studied assiduously Nature's design in my formation-where the lights and shades in character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet with some applause; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, for which I got a subscription for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the public; and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money to procure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde; for

I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends; my chest was on the way to Greenock; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, 'The gloomy night is gathering fast,' when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew all my schemes by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition."

The history of literature does not afford another instance of such extraordinary popularity as was obtained by Burns immediately on the appearance of this volume. All thoughts of the

West Indies were immediately abandoned in the necessary preparations for a second edition. This, on its appearance, had an enormous sale, and realized quite a little fortune to the author. It was read extensively by all classes of the community, and was

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as heartily commended by the learned as by the illiterate. Edinburgh he was received in the most enthusiastic manner by persons of eminence in the social and literary worlds. He passed at one step from the cottage to the palace. The peasant-boy became the associate of noblemen, and the "lion" of the fashionable world.

The profits arising from this second edition of his works amounted to upward of £500. After assisting his brother with £200 to get him out of some difficulties, he bade farewell to the Scottish capital, the brilliant society of which did not agree with his rude notions of jollity, and took a series of tours through Scotland as a professed "rustic bard” and man of genius, writing diaries and letters, scratching impromptu verses on the windows of inns and taverns, and inditing passionate love-strains to ladies and damsels of every degree with whom he had the slightest possible acquaintAfter spending three months in this erratic way, he married Jean Armour, a peasant-girl whom he had wronged, and leased a farm on the banks of the Nith, near Dumfries, with the intention of once more following agriculture as a profession.

ance.

In August, 1789, he entered the excise, with the object of eking out an insufficient income. It was an unfortunate step, for he, of all men, was least able to resist temptation. The farm was more and more neglected. At last he relinquished it altogether, and became a regular exciseman, with an income of £70 per year. To this profession he remained faithful for about five years, residing in Dumfries until the time of his death, which happened on the 21st of July, 1796. He was never in actual want, but his circumstances were often of the narrowest, arising in a great measure from his extravagance, and unpardonable habits of dissipation. Subscriptions were entered into for the benefit of Burns's widow, and for the erection of monuments in various localities to the poet's memory.

The life of Robert Burns does not furnish an example, but a warning. A man of the most unquestionable genius, he lived and died in an obscurity which might, without doubt, have been averted, if his habits and inclinations had been different to what they were. By study and patient effort he succeeded in raising himself far above the station in which nature had placed him. He asserted to the world, and the world recognized, his genius. Without waiting wearisome years for the tardy verdict of the

public, it was pronounced instantly, and in his favor. In a few months he became the idol of a large community. Men of vast acquirements in the realms of knowledge, and men of rank, wealth, and refinement, instantly recognized him as an equal, and even more than an equal. He went among them for a short time, but confirmed habits of inebriety and coarse enjoyment rendered him incapable of appreciating their society. Conscious of his weaknesses, although unable to combat them, he became suspicious of courtesy, and willfully stubborn. Dragged down to the lowest level of his boon companions, he forgot the respect that was due to himself and to the genius with which God had intrusted him. He fancied that every one saw his defects, and, in consequence, became irritable, imagining that it was poverty that gave him irritation, and not viciousness. He hated patronage with a manliness that was worthy of all admiration, but he blundered constantly in always imagining that kindness and appreciation were intended as patronage. Incensed with these mistaken ideas, he plunged once more into idle dissipation-into the society of men who revered him, perhaps, but who were incapable of estimating his real worth. Thrust back into the sorry habits of his old life, he lost his opportunity, and squandered his best days. in an unheroic struggle with poverty. Had he pursued a different policy he would have lived in affluent ease, and produced works worthy of the extraordinary genius he possessed.

GEORGE FOX.

A REMARKABLE man, thoroughly antagonistic to the age in which he lived, and bestowing on it an enduring virtue, was George Fox, founder of the society of Friends, commonly called the "Quakers." He was the son of a weaver, and first saw the light (July, 1624) in the town of Drayton, Leicestershire, England, where his father was widely known and respected for his uprightness and integrity. These traits were so willingly recognized that he was known in the neighborhood as "righteous Christer." His mother was a woman of unusual intelligence, simple and pious in her habits, and tenderly good in all her actions.

The paternal Fox was a man well read in the Scriptures, and delighted to instill into the youthful mind of his son the truths of revealed religion. Under this pious instructor, the lad grew up in physical and moral strength. Of regular education he had but little-not more than could be readily obtained at the adjacent schools-nor in after-life did he display any eager thirst for knowledge. Of a remarkably vigorous mind, he found ample employment in digesting the information which lay within his immediate reach.

For several years young Fox followed the business of a grazier, and found much consolation in the solitude which it afforded. It is said that he passed days in the hollow of an old tree meditating on religious subjects, and revolving with enthusiasm a life of moral purity. According to Neal, he afterward became a shoemaker-a business also fitted for his contemplative habits. He was remarkably steady and exact, had no relish for the sports and gayeties of youth, and resisted pleasure with a firmness which was curious as it was sincere. The wickedness of the times troubled him by night and by day. So convinced was he of its perniciousness, that, when only nineteen years of age, he resolved to break off all commerce with the world and its vanities. In simple pil

grim costume he started from home, and traveled through various portions of the country seeking out persons who were most famous for devotion, that he might gain consolation for his perturbed spirit. Such a pilgrim, in such times, was not likely to be understood, and