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contemplations than the heavenly spirits. But a suffering body deprives the mind of its liberty; henceforth I am not alone: I have a guest who importunes me; I must free myself of it to be myself. The trial that I have made of these sweet enjoyments serves only to make me with less alarm await the time when I shall taste them without interruption.




[ROBERT BURNS was born on the 25th of January, 1759, in the district of Kyle, within two miles of the town of Ayr. His father, William Burns, or Burness, was a peasant-one of those strong, independent, pious minds that are especially the growth of Scotland. In the following poem Robert Burns has drawn a noble character of such a man. His brother Gilbert, in a letter dated 1800, says, "Although the Cotter, in the Saturday Night, is an exact copy of my father in his manners, his family devotion, and exhortations, yet the other parts of the description do not apply to our family. None of us were ever 'at service out among the neebors round."" William Burns tried to mend his fortune by farming; but his life was one continued struggle, although he contrived to give his children a tolerable education. Toil and privation were familiar to them from their infancy. At fifteen, Robert was the principal labourer on the little farm. The father, bowed down by an accumulation of difficulties, died in 1784. In the meantime Robert had been cherishing his poetical faculty,

"Following his plough along the mountain-side."

In 1786 he printed a volume of his Poems. The admiration which they excited was, in some degree, the ruin of his happiness. He became the wonder of the polite circles of Edinburgh; and the most eminent for station or acquirements gathered round the marvellous ploughman, whose conversation was as brilliant as his writings were original. A second edition of his Poems made him the master of five hundred pounds. He took a farm in Ellisland, in Dumfries-shire. He had legalized his union with the mother of his children. In an evil hour he obtained a situation in the excise, at Dumfries. His duties were, of course, uncongenial. He sought the excitement of festive companions, he yielded to habits of inebriety. Ill health, habitual dejection, occasional bitterness of soul approaching to madness, came over him. He died on the 21st of July, 1796, in his thirty-seventh year. From the first publication of his volume of Poems, Scotland felt that a great spirit had arisen to shed a new lustre on the popular language and literature. It has been a reproach to the contemporaries of Burns that they were unworthy of his genius-that they offered him the unsubstantial incense of flattery, and left him to starve. The reproach appears to us signally unjust. It is difficult to imagine how, with the unfortunate habits which Burns had acquired, and with his high-spirited but repulsive independence, his fate could have been other than it was. With such examples of the unhappiness of genius, we still cannot regret that there are no asylums where poets may be watched over like caged nightingales.]

My loved, my honour'd, much-respected friend

No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end;

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise.

To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene;
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ;
Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween.
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh*;
The short'ning winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose;

* The continued rushing noise of wind or water.

The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,

And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cat appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher * through
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin † noise an' glee.

His wee bit ingle ‡, blinkin' bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,

An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil.

Belyve§, the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out, amang the farmer's roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie" rin
A cannie errand to a neebor town:
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw ¶ new gown,
Or deposit her sair **-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers++:
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncos ‡‡ that he sees or hears;
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years
Anticipation forward points the view;
The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears,

Gars §§ auld claes | look amaist as weel's the new;

The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent ¶¶ hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk *** or play:
"An' oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway,

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore his counsel and assisting might:

They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!"

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,

Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame.

* Stagger.

+ Fluttering.


§ By and by.

Heedful, cautious.
Fine, handsome.

*** Trifle.

** Sadly, sorely,
++ Inquires.
‡‡ News.

§§ Makes. Clothes. ¶¶ Diligent.

The wily mother sees the conscious flame

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her check; Wi' beart-struck anxious care inquires his name,

While Jenny hafflins* is afraid to speak;

Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake.
Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben†;

A strappan youth; he taks the mother's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ;

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye‡. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,

But, blate § and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ;
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What makes the youth so bashfu' an' sae grave;
Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave T.
Oh happy love! where love like this is found!
O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare !
I've paced much this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare-
"If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,

"Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale."

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart

A wretch a villain! lost to love and truth!

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled?

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child?
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild!

But now the supper crowns their simple board,

The halesome** parritch, chief o' Scotia's food:

The soupe their only hawkie†† does afford,

That 'yont the hallan‡‡ snugly chows her cood §§;

The dame brings forth in complimental mood,

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd||| kebbuck TT, fell,

An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,

How 'twas a towmond*** auld, sin' lint was i̇' the bell+++.

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,

They round the ingle form a circle wide;

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The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,

The big ha' Bible*, ance his father's pride : His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,

His lyart haffetst, wearing thin an' bare;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales a portion with judicious care;

And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air.
They chant their artless notes in simple guise,
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin beets§ the heav'nward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame:

The tickled cars no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.
The priest-like father reads the sacred page,

How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ;
Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry,
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in Heav'n the second name,
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head:
How his first followers and servants sped:

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:

How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand;

And heard great Babylon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King,

The saint, the father, and the husband prays:

Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,
That thus they all shall meet in future days:

There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;

While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart!
The Pow'r, incensed, the pageant will desert,

The great Bible that lies in the hall. + Gray temples.

+ Chooses.

§ Adds fuel to fire.

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol.

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
The parent pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request,
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.
From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad:
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
"An honest man's the noblest work of God:"
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road,

The cottage leaves the palace far behind;
What is a lordling's pomp! a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And, oh, may Heav'n their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,

A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle.

O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide

That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part;

(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art,

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)

O never, never, Scotia's realm desert

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,

In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!

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[THE following is extracted from a Note on the First Chapter of the First Book of Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations,' published in an edition of that celebrated work which appeared in 1840. The author of this Note is well known as a political economist, whose plans of colonization have attracted more attention than is usually bestowed by statesmen upon what they term theory.]

All improvements in the productive powers of labour, including division of employments, depend upon co-operation.

Co-operation appears to be of two distinct kinds: first, such co-operation as takes

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