25th January.
"Our monarch's hindmost year but one 'Was five and twenty days begun, 'Twas then a blast o' Januar' win'
Blew hansel in on Robin."
WueErEvER the English tongue is spoken, this day will be remembered as the birth-day of one who though dead yet speaketh, and speaketh in the delight-giving voice of song, and in songs imperishable as long as there are lovers. to re-echo his: sentiments, for the lover offers the beloved the best. Thomson, the compiler of a book of national songs to whom Burns lent his willing pen and mind of me-ady, writing to him, says: These songs of yours will descend with the music to the. latest posterity and will be fondly cherished 80 long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our is-lend." He is indeed immortal, and for his inspiration we would render the thanks of gratitude.
Save for a short space "Hungry ruin-had him in the wind," and it does seem that his ory of despair, "And behold on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it shall not prosper" was justifiable: and yet not entirely so, for our poet was ambitious for fame. "Never did a heart pant more ardently than mine tobe distinguished," he cried—and his heart's desire that he should live as a poet has been gratified.
Carlyle has paid a tribute to what Stevenson terms "his head of gold" and yet, the latter was not oblivious to his idol's "feet of clay." As a auth he attracted more attention in His country-side-than any of the other swains by the fact that he wore his hair as did the gallants of the day, being the only young man in his station who had the boldness to do so: he liked to be different from others and was most eager to shine, This desire to shine led him into strange paths whither we will not follow him. In Edinburgh, Scott saw him, and he has put it on record that he had never seen such an eye, "thepoet's eye in fine frenzy rolling." Carlyle and Stevenson are both full of admiration for Burns' conduct during the Edinburgh episode. Burrs himself said: "Mere greatness never embarrasses me: I have nothing to. ask from the great, and I do not fear their judgment." Stevenson says: "He never sacrificed.a friend for an acquaintance, even though that acquaintance was a lord." "In fact his song "A man's a man" expressed his sentiments entirely. He was rather ashamed of the servile adulation other poets had been guilty of, and said; "I am determined fo flatter no created being either in prose or verse," but he made exceptions which we shall call_not flattery but compliments and which were addressed mostly to the ladies:—
"For prentice han' she tried on man And then slue made the lasses, 0."
Delicate in constitution, sensitive in temperament, a prey to melancholy, he was yet "a man of independent mind." His own description of himself is worthy of note. " A man who had little art in making money, and still less in keeping it, but was, however, a man of some sense anda good deal of honesty and unbounded good will to every creature rational and irrational." It is a description the justice of which none will deny. One feature more of Burns the man, before dealing with Burns the poet, and that is Burns in conversation, Those who knew him say that his speech was even more charming than his songs, high praise surely, et. he whose entrance into an inn lured all the serving men from their beds to listen in open-mouthed astonishment could have been no ordinary babbler.
Burns the poet it is we honour. He is what may be called a natural: poet, son of nature. There is very little of the artificiality so prevalent in his time to be found in him. His grand theme was man, and especially was he the poet of the poor man, for he was the son of a poor man and himself a poor man; butit is as the lover that he is unmatched. Then he is exquisitely tender, and his songs live for their tenderness: such tenderness could flow only from tenderness—figs do not grow on thistles. Besides his passionate tenderness, he has a boisterous mirth: not only can he soothe, he can also excite. The reader soon becomes entranced in his jovial com-pay an finds himself oe es his hilabty of Poosie Nancy's he has a folly Beg, enjoying the glorious great fund of humour in him too; sometimes pawky, sometimes playful. He is master of both styles. His Beautiful, that in the Cottar's Satur-thos is very touching and very day Night for its sacred solemnity, that in John Anderson my Jo for its quaint simplicity.
The contrast between the Cottar's Saturday Night and the Jolly Beggars is most marked. Principal Shairp could not understand how the same man could write both; the one being' a picture of tie deep religious life of the Scottish peasant, the other of the reckless joviality of she outcast. Our literature is richer for both.
Another characteristic of our poet is his power of vivid representation. Tam, the immortal Tam, does not ride alone to Kate. He has our company as he watches the dance of the evils and at "Weel done, Cutty Sark" we see the lights extinguished and behold the devilish array as it sallies forth in pursuit of the flying object of their fury. Eager spectators, we follow the race. Our hearts palpitate as Cutty Sark nears her seeming prey and we breathe freely only when certain that Meg, though tailless, has passed the Keystone.
By his exposure of cant he did more than any man to introduce the true spirit of religion into the life of his people and he was deeply religious Has he not said: " A mathematician without religion is a probable character; an irreligious poet is a monster?" and "Ifreligion—so precious to the. poor—is a mere phantom existing only in the heated imagination of enthusiasm, what truth on earth so precious as the lie"
Tam o' Shanter is a master-piece his song of patriotism "Scots wha hae" is a gem; and the world, what would the English-speaking world do without his song of friendship, " Auld Long Syne"?
With all his faults we love him still. He was mortal—flesh of very flesh—and had his vices, but forget it not, ye upright,'these vices had his censure too. "Regret! Remorse! Shame; ye three hell-hounds that ever dog my steps, and bay at my heels, spare me! spare me!" he cries. Oh the anguish of it! Does not such a piercing wail from a self-despising soul move even the sternest heart to pity? The evil that some, men do, joes certainly live after them. Has he not too frequently been invited to the stool of repentance? Let us again read "Holy Willie's Prayer," and perhaps in the silence of meditation, the words, " thou art the man" may be heard, and then will surely follow, "judge not that ye be not judged."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.