conceived an idea, that he was as one sent into the world for no other purpose but to mark the characters of others; and it was enough to recommend any man to his society, that there was something original about him, which exhibited human nature in a different light from any thing he had met with before. To this darling habit of observation, Burns, indeed, sacrificed almost every other consideration. Long before he quitted Lochlee, or was at all known to the world, he tells us that he made no scruple of even courting the acquaintance of that part of mankind, commonly called blackguards; those who by thoughtless prodigality or headstrong passions have been driven to ruin. Though disgraced by follies, nay sometimes stained with guilt, he yet found among them, in not a few instances, some of the noblest virtues,-magnanimity, generosity, disinterested friendship, and even modesty." 66 While making this progress in the knowledge of mankind, Burns did not neglect the more immediate objects for which he had been sent to Kirkoswald; but pursued his geometrical studies with great vigor till the sun entered Virgo, a month which was always a carnival in his bosom; when a charming girl, who lived close by the school, overset his trigonometry, and set him off at a tangent from the sphere of his studies. It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. One week more which he staid, he did nothing but rave about her, or steal out to meet her; and, during the two last nights of his stay at * Burns, of himself-written March, 1784. Kirkoswald, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image of his fair charmer would have kept him guiltless. Burns returned home somewhat wiser, and perhaps not worse, than when he left it; but he was still without any definite plan for his future guidance. While all his school-fellows and youthful compeers were striking off, with eager hope and earnest intent, in some one or other of the many paths of busy life, he alone was " standing idle in the market-place," or only left the chace of the butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt fancy from whim to whim. Vive l'amour et vive la bagatelle! were, for the moment, his sole principles of action. Poetry was still an exercise in which his mind delighted, but it was only indulged in according to the humour of the hour. He had usually half a dozen or more pieces on hand at a time, and took up one or other as it suited the tone of his mind, dismissing it again as the work bordered on fatigue. His passions, when once lighted up, raged with violence till they got vent in rhyme, and then the conning over his verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet. About the end of the year 1780, Burns and his brother Gilbert having heard that a debating society had been established in Ayr, resolved to try how such an institution would succeed in the village of Tarbolton. Joining themselves to five other young peasants of the neighbourhood, they formed what they chose to call the Bachelor's Club of Tarbolton; the declared objects of which were to relax themselves after toil, to promote sociality and friendship, and to improve the mind. The laws and regulations were furnished by Burns; and, in the last of them, we have the fol lowing happy designation of the qualifications necessary for becoming a member. 66 Every man proper for a member of this society must have a frank, honest, open heart, above any thing dirty or mean, and must be a professed lover of one or more of the female sex. No haughty selfconceited person, who looks upon himself as superior to the rest of the club, and especially no mean-spirited worldly mortal, whose only will is to heap up money, shall upon any pretence whatever be admitted. In short, the proper person for this society is a cheerful, honest-hearted lad; who, if he has a friend that is true, and a mistress that is kind, and as much wealth as genteelly to make both ends meet, is just as happy as the world can make him." This society never exceeded the number of twelve, but continued its meetings regularly for some years. Burns took a leading part in its discussions, for which he did not disdain to make considerable preparation; and thus improved greatly in that fluency of expression, for which he had been remarkable from his earliest years. In his twenty-third year, partly through whim and partly from a wish to set about doing something in life, he thought of turning flax-dresser, and engaged for a time in that employment at Irvine; but, after a trial of six months, abandoned it as agreeing neither with his health nor inclination. The melancholy to which Burns was constitutionally subject now increased upon him to such a degree, that he began to grow sick of life. Writing to his father before he left Irvine, he thus despondingly expressed himself: "I am quite transported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains and uneasiness, and disquietudes, of this weary life; for I assure you I am heartily tired of it, and if I do not very much deceive myself, I could contentedly and gladly resign it. "The soul, uneasy and confin'd at home, "It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 9th chapter of Revelations, than with any ten times as many verses in the whole bible, and would not exchange the noble enthusiasm with which they inspire me, for all that this world has to offer." 15.-Therefore as they are before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. 16.-They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them nor any heat. 17. For the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. A melancholy of this description, as those who have studied the affinities of mind must know, is apt, after a while, to seek relief in the endearments of society, and has no distant connection with the flow of cheerfulness, or even the extravagance of mirth.* A youth of so susceptible a disposition as * Currie. Burns had not to wander long after consolation. A new divinity rekindled the flame of love in his bosom, and a lover's hopes soon revived all nature around him. How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom! Was my sweet Highland Mary. The gleam of bliss, unhappily, was but transient. The object of this passion died early in life, and Burns was again thrown into the profoundest melancholy. None of all his early attachments equalled that to his Highland Mary, and years after, the remembrance of it was still so vivid, as to give birth to the beautiful lines which he has addressed to Mary in Heaven. Thou lingering star with less'ning ray, My Mary from my soul was torn. O, Mary, dear, departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? The claims on Burns as a son and a brother happily broke in upon the indulgence of his personal sorrow. The embarrassments connected with the farm of |
