health or his self-respect. He had trifled with life, and
must pay the penalty. He had chosen to be Don Juan, he had
grasped at temporary pleasures, and substantial happiness and
solid industry had passed him by. He died of being Robert
Burns, and there is no levity in such a statement of the
case; for shall we not, one and all, deserve a similar
epitaph?


WORKS.


The somewhat cruel necessity which has lain upon me
throughout this paper only to touch upon those points in the
life of Burns where correction or amplification seemed
desirable, leaves me little opportunity to speak of the works
which have made his name so famous. Yet, even here, a few
observations seem necessary.

At the time when the poet made his appearance and great first
success, his work was remarkable in two ways. For, first, in
an age when poetry had become abstract and conventional,
instead of continuing to deal with shepherds, thunderstorms,
and personifications, he dealt with the actual circumstances
of his life, however matter-of-fact and sordid these might
be. And, second, in a time when English versification was
particularly stiff, lame, and feeble, and words were used
with ultra-academical timidity, he wrote verses that were
easy, racy, graphic, and forcible, and used language with
absolute tact and courage as it seemed most fit to give a