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 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, rt, in his life of Burns, gives several 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, King coil, Upon a bonnie day in June, The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar, 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, His breast was white, his towzie back 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 They waste sae mony a braw estate! 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! 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, Her dizzens done, she's unco weel: 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, Or Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. The Clachan yill had made me canty, The rising moon began to glow'r To keep me sicker: I there wi' something did forgather, A three-tae'd leister on the ither Till ane Hornbook'st ta'en up the trade, "Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, That weans haud out their fingers laughin "See, here's a sithe, and there's a dart, 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. |