uritan in works of art, ever
read without delight the picture which he has drawn of the convivial
exaltation of the rustic adventurer, Tam o'Shanter? The poet fears not
to tell the reader in the outset that his hero was a desperate and
sottish drunkard, whose excesses were frequent as his opportunities.
This reprobate sits down to his cups, while the storm is roaring, and
heaven and earth are in confusion;--the night is driven on by song and
tumultuous noise--laughter and jest thicken as the beverage improves
upon the palate--conjugal fidelity archly bends to the service of
general benevolence--selfishness is not absent, but wearing the mask of
social cordiality--and, while these various elements of humanity are
blended into one proud and happy composition of elated spirits, the
anger of the tempest without doors only heightens and sets off the
enjoyment within.--I pity him who cannot perceive that, in all this,
though there was no moral purpose, there is a moral effect.

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the _ills_ of life victorious.

What a lesson do these words convey of charitable indulgence for the
vicious habits of the principal actor in this scene, and of those who
resemble him!--Men who to the rigidly virtuous are objects almost of
loathing, and whom therefore they cannot serve! The poet, penetrating
the unsightly and disgusting surfaces of things, has unveiled with
exquisite skill the finer ties of imagination and feeling, that often
bind these beings to practices productive of so much unhappiness to
themselves, and to those whom it is their duty to cherish;--and, as far
as he puts the reader into possession of this intelligent sympathy, he
qualifies him for exercising a salutary influence over the minds of
those who are thus deplorably enslaved.

Not less successfully does Burns avail himself of his own character and
situation in society, to construct out of them a poetic
self,--introduced as a dramatic personage--for the purpose of
inspiriting his incidents, diversifying his pictures, recommending his
opinions, and giving point to his sentiments. His brother can set me
right if I am mistaken when I express a belief that, at the time when he
wrote his story of _Death and Dr. Hornbook_, he had very rarely been
intoxicated, or perhaps even much exhilarated by liquor. Yet how happily
does he lead his reader into that track of sensations! and with what
lively humour does he describe the