these interviews passed at the inns of the town, and often terminated in convivial excesses. Among the inhabitants also, there were never wanting persons to lead or accompany him to the tavern; to applaud the sallies of his wit; and to witness at once the strength and the degradation of his genius.

In the four years that he lived in Dumfries, he produced many of his beautiful lyrics; and cheerfully consented to give his aid to a collection of original Scottish airs and verses, projected by George Thomson, of Edinburgh. During this time he made several excursions into the neighboring country. In one of these he passed through Glendenwynes, a beautiful situation on the banks of the Dee, in company with Mr. Syme, and reached Kenmore, where they remained three days at the seat of Mr. Gordon. On leaving Kenmore for Gatehouse, they took the moor-road, where every thing presented a wild and desolate aspect. The sky appeared to sympathize f with the dreariness of the soil. It became lowering and dark. Gleams of sheeted lightning were followed by the awful rolling of thunder. Burns spoke not a word, but seemed wrapped in meditation. In a little while the rain began to fall; and for three hours it poured in torrents on the waste. In the midst of this storm, though drenched as it were by the embattled elements, he remained absorbed in thought, wholly inattentive to the descending floods. He was equally regardless of every thing around him during his ride home from St. Mary's isle; and his a companion did not venture to disturb him. Next day he produced the celebrated martial hymn, entided Robert Bruce's Address to his Army, a hymn unparalleled in the annals of modern poetry, and equal to the happiest efforts of the greatest geniuses of antiquity.

Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in

excise; but circumstances occurred which prevented their fulfilment. The events of the French revolution, which interested the feelings of every thinking mind, were commented on by Burns in a manner very different from what might have been expected from an officer under government. Information of his sentiments were given to the Board of Excise; an inquiry was instituted into his conduct; and, after being reprimanded, he was suffered to retain his situation.

This circumstance made a deep impression on his mind. Fame exaggerated his misfortune, and represented him as actually dismissed from his office; and this report induced gentlemen of muck respectability to propose a subscription in his favor. But he refused the offer with great elevation of sentiment, and nobly defended himself against the imputation of having made submission for the sake of his office, unworthy of his character.

"The partiality of my countrymen," he observes, "has brought me forward as a man of genius, and has given me a character to support. In the Poet I have avowed manly and independent sentiments, which I hope have been found in the man. Reasons of no less weight than the support of a wife and children, have pointed my present occupation as the only eligible line of life within my reach. Still my honest fame is my dearest concern, and a thousand times have I trembled at the idea of the degrading epithets that malice or misrepresentation may affix to my name. Often, in blasting anticipation, have I listened to some future hackney scribbler, with the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exultingly asserting, that Burns, notwithstanding the fan-faronade of independence to be found in his works, and after being held up to public view, and to public estimation, as a man of some genius, yet

quite destitute of resources within himself to support his borrowed dignity, dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk out the rest of his insignificant existence in the meanest of pursuits, and among the lowest of mankind.

"In your illustrious hands, sir, permit me to lodge my strong disavowal and defiance of such slanderous falsehoods. BURNS WAS A POOR MAN FROM HIS BIRTH, AND AN EXCISEMAN BY NECESSITY; BUT-I WILL SAY IT!THE STERLING OF HIS HONEST WORTH, POVERTY COULD NOT DEBASE, AND HIS INDEPENDENT BRITISH SPIRIT, OPPRESSION MIGHT BEND, BUT COULD NOT #SUBDUE."

It was one of the last acts of his life to copy this heart-rending letter into a book which he kept for the purpose of recording such circumstances as he thought worthy of preservation. Upwards of a year before his death, there was an evident decline inhis personal appearance; and though his appetite continued unimpaired, he was himself sensible that his constitution was sinking. From October, 1795, to the January following, an accidental complaint confined him to the house. A few days after he began to go abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned home about three o'clock in a very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicated. This was followed by an attack of rheumatism, which confined him about a week. His appetite began to fail; his hand shook, and his voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker and more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived him of sleep. In the month of June, 1796, he removed to Brow, in Annandale, about ten miles from Dumfries, to try the effects of sea-bathing. Here he was invited to dinner by a lady in the

neighborhood; and as he was unable to walk, she sent her carriage for him to the cottage where he lodged. As he entered her apartment the stamp of death seemed imprinted on his features. He appeared already touching the brink of eternity. His first salutation was, 66 Well, Madam, have you any commands for the other world?" He ate little, and complained of having entirely lost the tone of his stomach. He spoke of his death without any of the ostentation of philosophy, but with firmness and feeling, as an event likely to happen very soon. His anxiety for his family hung heavy upon him; and when he alluded to their approaching desolation, his heart was touched with pure and unmingled sorrow.

At first he imagined that bathing in the sea had been of benefit to him; the pains in his limbs were relieved; but this was immediately followed by a new attack of fever. When brought back to his own house in Dumfries, on the 18th of July, he was no longer able to stand upright. A tremor pervaded his frame his tongue was parched, and his mind fell into delirium, when not roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever increased, and his strength diminished. On the fourth, the sufferings of this great, but ill-fated genius, were terminated; and a life was closed, which had been embittered by suffering, and insulted by unmerited calumny.

When his death was known, it excited a deep and mournful sensation. It was felt as a loss which no earthly power could replace; as the extinction of a prodigy whose appearance was rare and uncertain. He was lamented, not merely like a common individual, by friends and neighbors, but by a whole country, whose pleasures he had an exclusive capacity to augment.

He left a widow and four sons. The ceremonial

of his interment was accompanied with military honors, not only by the corps of Dumfries volunteers, of which he was a member, but by the Fencible infantry, and a regiment of Cinque Port cavalry then quartered in Dumfries. On the same day, by coincidence singularly touching, Mrs. Burns was delivered of a son, who did not long survive his father.

Burns was nearly five feet ten inches in height, and of a form that indicated agility as well as strength. His well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling hair, expressed uncommon capacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of ardor and animation. His face was well formed, and his countenance strikingly interesting.

Of his general behaviour every one spoke in the a highest terms. It usually bespoke a mind conscious of superior talents, not however unmixed with the 15 affections which beget familiarity and affability. His conversation was extremely fascinating; rich in wit, humor, whim, and occasionally in serious and opposite reflection. No man had a quicker apprehension d, of right and wrong, or a stronger sense of what was e ridiculous and mean. Neither chicanery nor sordidreness ever appeared in his conduct. Even in the midst of distress, while his feeling heart sunk under the secret consciousness of indigence, and the apprehensions of absolute want, he bore himself loftily to the world. He died in the utmost penury, but not in debt; and left behind him a name which will d be remembered as long as departed worth and gooderness are esteemed among men.

After contemplating the melancholy story of his life, it is impossible not to heave a sigh at the aspe rity of his fortune, while we reprobate the conduct of those who drew him from the simplicity of hum