The influence of the sainted William Burnes colored the bard's thoughts until his dying day, and it was to that influence that we are really due the constant recurrence, in one shape or another, of the refrain of “A man's a man for a' that," which flows through so much of the bard's writings, and that inspired in him such thoughts as those which, for instance, were crystallized in " Man was Made to Mourn." The story of the life of William Burnes is a sad one, about the saddest which was ever made known by literary history; yet it brings before us one of the truest types of nature's nobility, one of the most precious examples of the highest development of Scotch religion and character. Rigid and inflexible in his Presbyterianism, a Calvinist of the purest type, a believer in the direct inspiration and literal interpretation of the Bible, implicitly accepting it as the rule and guide for his life, and confidently relying on its promises for the future, he passed through his three score and three weary years in daily and direct communion with his Maker. As he was, so he desired his family to become, and as we see him, in the gloaming of his life, all his human thoughts were directed to the upbringing of his offspring, so that whatever their worldly fortunes might be, they would all meet again, and "Ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere." William Burnes contributed nothing to literature, but it is to him that we really owe the "Cottar's Saturday Night." Such a father imparted to Burns a religious training, a familiarity with Scriptural themes and a theological groundwork which all the Daddy Aulds and Black Russels in Ayrshire could never have implanted. Burns was at heart a religious man, he loved to question, to doubt at times, as was the manner of his day, but from the essentials of religion he never wavered. He was by no means purely orthodox, he was not by any means evangelical in his views, but then what brilliant man of genius could be bound by the placid orthodoxy of the Peebleses, or the evangelical combativeness of the Moodies, or be aught than wearied over the hair-splitting contentions of the Auld Lichts or the New? But the father had not all to do with the home training of Burns. His mother had her share, and the few glimpses we get of her, bring before us a thrifty Scotch housewife of the old school whose kingdom was her home, whose subjects were here bairns, and whose sovereign was her ain guidman. She had received the most meagre education, but she was possessed of a fund of shrewd common sense, a retentive memory and a warm heart. She was a storehouse of legendary lore, of old ballads and songs, and was always crooning over some of them when going about her work, or doing it with some of her bairnies round her knee. She was a cheerful woman, kept a brave front even when the clouds of life were darkest, and toiled unceasingly for the comfort of those round her. She lived long after her famous son had passed away, and was proud in the knowledge that the foremost place in Scottish poetry-in the Scottish national heart-had been freely, spontaneously, awarded to him. As might be expected, William Burnes attended with the utmost scrupulousness to the education of his family, and from various little circumstances he seems to have been particularly careful about the training of Robert. He taught his children their letters, their first text-books were the "Shorter Catechism," or rather the entire " Confession of Faith," and the Bible. The father strove to supplement, by his own conversation, the need of other books-to a certain extent and he discussed history, theology, geography and the rest with his bairns while they were all performing their daily tasks. By his precepts and example he inspired in them sentiments of honesty, of independence, of gratitude, of brotherly love. Then Burns (so he himself spelled his name) enjoyed the tuition of William Murdoch, and in a lesser degree of Hugh Rodger the parish schoolmaster at Kirkoswald. Between them all Robert's educational advantages were really superior to those of boys of his own age and class in his time, and we question very much whether he did not know more when he left of schooling than a boy does in these passing years when he graduates from the Grammar School. Professor Wilson summed up his study of this point by saying that "not a boy in Scotland had a better education.' And yet people talk about Burns, even in our time, as an uneducated peasant, and seem to derive as much satisfaction for the thought as others do when they try to add to his glory by demonstra ting him to have been a sot! A young fellow who before his 18th year has read, re-read, digested and mastered such works as Salmon's "Geography," Derham's "Physico-Theology," Ray's "Wisdom of God," Stackhouse's "History of the Bible," Locke's "Essay," several of Shakespeare's plays, "The Spectator," Pope's "Homer," Taylor on "Original Sin," besides books on history and poetry, would be deemed a prodigy even in these days of School Boards and Standards; and Burns knew them all as well as his Bible, and his "Confession of Faith." Then, too, he had a smattering of French and Latin, was thoroughly equipped in grammar and composition, had studied mensuration, surveying and geometry, and possessed a wide range of information on various matters communicated to him orally by his father or his teachers. Even on medical themes he was fairly well posted for one not in the profession, for Dr. Mackenzie, the family physician, said: "When the conversation, which was on a medical subject had taken the turn he wished, he began to engage in it, displaying a dexterity of reasoning, an ingenuity of reflection and a familiarity with topics apparently beyond his reach by which his visitor was no less gratified than astonished." But all these things are well known. They have been told us by the poet himself, by his teachers, by his intimates; they are matters of record, and yet every now and again the silly lament of Burns's scanty education is dunned in our ears by men who ought to know better, or might easily know better, if they made a little enquiry before opening their mouths or taking up their pens. III. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE MUSE.-WRESTLING WITH FORTUNE. BURNS's educational period may be said to have closed with his nineteenth year, when he returned to Lochlea to help his father on the bleak soil of the farm. Not that he had been unacquainted with toil before, for all the Lochlea bairns had to work as soon as they were able, and many a day's darg had Robert done before this era, but now the heyday of early youth had passed and the future was to be one of toil and buffeting; the boy had to throw off his boyishness, gird up his loins and “wars'le " with the world like his fellow men. By that time, however, his muse had begun to find utterance, although the divine fire that afterward burned into his very soul had not come to him. It lay there however, awaiting the development of the mind it was associated with. The poet himself was clearly conscious of it since reading Hamilton of Gilbertfield's paraphrase in rhyme of Blind Harry" Wallace." Its perusal aroused all the patriotism in his nature and the deeds of the doughty Wallace became one of his most dwelt on topics. Possibly it was the reading of this book that first made him conscious of a desire to sing. As he afterward wrote in connection with his reflections on this book. "Even then a wish (I mind its power)— A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast, That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake From The song soon came and he commenced writing in his 17th year, with love and misfortune, however, for his themes. His early masters in the art of poetry were Ramsay and Fergusson and he followed their methods, their themes, their rhymes closely all through his literary career. Ramsay he acquired mainly his knowledge of the wealth that lay in the field of Scottish song, and from Fergusson as well as from Ramsay he learned that the genius of Scottish poetry lay in the scenes of daily life which passed before him, in delineating the customs, the manners, the amusements and the pathos of the people. Of course in the soul the essence of poetry-in prophetic insight, in the privilege of interpreting the hearts of the people and in his mastery of the knowledge of the springs of human nature, he far surpassed these masters long before his own genius attained its zenith. But his obligation to them for the art which enabled him to express his thoughts in a manner agreeable to the people, as well as to the critics should not be forgotten. They certainly directed his early efforts. It must be confessed however that none of Burns's early essays are worth much, except for showing that his mind 66 and was opening; nor can we class as anything but rhymesexperiments, rather-the productions of his pen which were the fruits of his 18th, 19th, 20th or 21st years. But for his after fame they would have long since been forgotten, and it is almost a pity that, except for biographical purposes, they did not share the fate of the tragedy which in that interval he wrote more or less fully, and which, be it said with thanks, was destroyed or has been lost. These four years were too full of the tragedy and business of life to permit the mind to wander much from the terrible problem of existence. He had fallen in love-how often we cannot tell-for in reality love making was one of the supreme pleasures of his life and at no stage of his career was there not a woman uppermost in his mind and more or less lending color to his hopes and sentiments. He commenced with the girl he sang of as Handsome Nell," then Margaret Thompson upset his composure and his mensuration, then Ellison Begbie claimed his heart. Many of the poet's admirers have tried to figure out that Ellison would have made a beau ideal wife for the poet, but she did not think so herself and we are of the opinion that she was the best and most clear-headed judge of the matter, more clearerheaded than even the Ettrick Shepherd who thought the failure of the poet's matrimonial intentions with this sensible girl a mistake for both parties. But we cannot linger further over these or other passing flames of the poet. His experiences in connection with them however were part of the unconscious preparation for his real life-work, but in that preparation he knew he was engaged, to a certain extent, and so he was busy seeing and studying human character and in enlarging the scope of his own observations. He mingled in many merry meetings, but over all these years hung a shadow, for the central figure in the busy household at Lochlea was "wearin' awa." Privations were there doubtless "tholed" of which the world now has no ken, and on Robert, as the eldest son, was surely to devolve the sacred duty of keeping the family together when the parent "slipped away." Under all this the poet did not lose heart, or attempt to shut his eyes to the inevitable. He got as much enjoyment out of these years as he possibly could, and certainly developed his own powers of observation, his knowledge of the human mind, and his views of life generally. He was "taking stock," as the Americans |