human creation, and conveys a very vivid idea of the manners both of high and low life. The burlesque panegyric of the first dog,
"His locked, lettered, braw brass collar
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar,”-
reminds one of Launce's account of his dog Crabbe, where he is said, as an instance of his being in the way of promotion, “ 59 have got among three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table." The "Halloween" is the most striking and picturesque description of local customs and scenery The Brigs of Ayr, the Address to a Haggis, Scotch Drink, and 252merable others, are, however, full of the same kind of charas teristic and comic painting. But his masterpiece in this way a his Tam o' Shanter. I shall give the beginning of it, but I am afraid I shall hardly know when to leave off
"When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebours neebours meet,
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco happy.
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses waters, slaps, and styles,
Tha: lie between us and our hame,
Where sats our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Avr ae night did canter;
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonny lasses )
(Tam' hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering blustering drunken bleilum ;
That frae November till October
Ae market day thou was na mbet,
That ilka mueller, wi the fuller,
Thou sat as lang as thon had willer,
That ev ry naig was ca d a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday-
She prophesy'd, that, late or soon,
Thou wad be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch't wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises !
But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy;
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills of life victorious!
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow'r-its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow, falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts forever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide,
The hour approaches, Tam maun ride;
That hour o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in,
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear-)
Her cutty sark o' Paisely harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vaunty-
Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots (twas a' her riches,)
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cour;
Sic flights are far beyond her power:
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was, and strang)
And how Tam stood like ane bewitch d,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Ev'n Satan glowr'd and fidg`d fu' fain,
And hotch't, and blew wi' might and main;
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out, Weel done, Cutty Sark!
And in an instant all was dark;
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees biz out wi' angry fyke;
When plundering herds assail their by ke
As open pussies mortal foes,
When, pop' she starts before their nose;
As eager rins the market-crowd,
When 'Catch the thief!' resounds aloud;
So Maggie rins--the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow,
Ah, Tam! ah, Tam thou'll get thy fairin'!
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a warfu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane o the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toma,
A running stream they dare na cross;
But ere the key stane she could make,
The fient a tasi she had to shake !
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle:
But little wist she Maggie's mcttle-
Ae spring brought aff her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The Carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale of truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son tak heed:
Whane'er to drink you are inclin❜d,
Or Cutty Sarks rin in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys owre dear;
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare."
Burns has given the extremes of licentious eccentricity and convivial enjoyment, in the story of this scape-grace, and of patriarchial simplicity and gravity in describing the old national character of the Scottish peasantry. The Cotter's Saturday Night is a noble and pathetic picture of human manners, mingled with a fine religious awe. It comes over the mind like a slow and solemn strain of music. The soul of the poet aspires from this scene of low-thoughted care, and reposes, in trembling hope, on "the bosom of its Father and its God." Hardly any thing can be more touching than the following stanzas, for instance, whether as they describe human interests, or breathe a lofty devotional spirit.
"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 cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee.
His wee-bit ingle, blinkin bonilie,
His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile,
The lisping infant, prattling on his knee,
Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,
And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.
Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in
At service out, amang the farmers 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 deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.
Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,
And each for other's welfare kindly spiers;
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet;
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears:
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view;
The mither, wi her needle and her shears,
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.
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
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart struck, anxious care inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ;
Weel pleas d 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; Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en;
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye The youngsters artless heart o'erflows wi' jer, But blate an' laithfu”, scarce can weel behave The mother, wi' a woman's wiles can spy
What makes the youth sae bas'.fu" an' sae grave, Weel piens d to think her buẩn • respected like the lave,
But now the supper crowns their sungie board
The halesome parritch chief o. Scotia » food
The soupe their only hawkie does affi ed
That vont the halian snugly chowa her coud
The fane brte ga forth in complimental trood,
To prace the fad her weed hained kebbuck, fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it gual,
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