om he addressed several Epistles,--a
form of composition which he found in Ferguson and Ramsay, and of which
he was enamored. That he thoroughly enjoyed the impulse which suggested
and dictated these Epistles was evident from the spirit with which they
were written. In the first of the two, which he addressed to Sillar,
he discovered and disclosed for the first time the distinctive
individuality of his genius. It was a charming and touching piece of
writing; charming as a delineation of his character, and touching as a
confession of his creed,--the patient philosophy of the poor. As his
social horizon was enlarged, his mental vision was sharpened; and before
long, other interests than those which concerned himself and his
poetical friends excited his sympathies and stimulated his powers. It
was a period of theological squabbles, and he plunged into them at once,
partly no doubt because there was a theological strain in his blood, but
largely because they furnished opportunities for the riotous exercise of
his wit. He paid his disrespects to the fomenters of this holy brawl in
'The Twa Herds,' and he pilloried an old person who was obnoxious to
him, in that savage satire on sanctimonious hypocrisy, 'Holy Willy's
Prayer.' Always a poet, he was more, much more than a poet. He was a
student of man,--of all sorts of men; caring much, as a student, for the
baser sort which reveled in Poosie Nansie's dram-shop, and which he
celebrated in 'The Jolly Beggars'; but caring more, as a man, for the
better sort which languished in huts where poor men lodged, and of which
he was the voice of lamentation in 'Man was Made to Mourn.' He was a
student of manners, which he painted with a sure hand, his masterpiece
being that reverential reproduction of the family life at Lochlea,--'The
Cotter's Saturday Night.' He was a student of nature,--his love of which
was conspicuous in his poetry, flushing his words with picturesque
phrases and flooding his lines with the feeling of outdoor life. He was
a student of animal life,--a lover of horses and dogs, observant of
their habits and careful of their comfort. He felt for the little mouse
which his plowshare turned out of its nest, and he pitied the poor hare
which the unskillful fowler could only wound. The commoners of earth and
air were dear to him; and the flower beside his path, the gowan wet with
dew, was precious in his eyes. His heart was large, his mind was
comprehensive, and his temper sin