his frank, direct,
and masterly utterance, and not by his homely choice of subjects. That
was imposed upon him, not chosen upon a principle. He wrote from his own
experience, because it was his nature so to do, and the tradition of the
school from which he proceeded was fortunately not opposed to homely
subjects. But to these homely subjects he communicated the rich
commentary of his nature; they were all steeped in Burns; and they
interest us not in themselves, but because they have been passed through
the spirit of so genuine and vigorous a man. Such is the stamp of living
literature; and there was never any more alive than that of Burns.

What a gust of sympathy there is in him sometimes flowing out in byways
hitherto unused, upon mice, and flowers, and the devil himself;
sometimes speaking plainly between human hearts; sometimes ringing out
in exultation like a peal of bells! When we compare the "Farmer's
Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie," with the clever and inhumane
production of half a century earlier, "The Auld Man's Mare's dead," we
see in a nut-shell the spirit of the change introduced by Burns. And as
to its manner, who that has read it can forget how the collie, Luath, in
the "Twa Dogs," describes and enters into the merry-making in the
cottage?

"The luntin' pipe an' sneeshin' mill
Are handed round wi' richt guid will;
The canty auld folks crackin' crouse,
The young anes rantin' through the house--
My heart has been sae fain to see them,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them."

It was this ardent power of sympathy that was fatal to so many women,
and, through Jean Armour, to himself at last. His humour comes from him
in a stream so deep and easy that I will venture to call him the best of
humorous poets. He turns about in the midst to utter a noble sentiment
or a trenchant remark on human life, and the style changes and rises to
the occasion. I think it is Principal Shairp who says, happily, that
Burns would have been no Scotsman if he had not loved to moralise;
neither, may we add, would he have been his father's son; but (what is
worthy of note) his moralisings are to a large extent the moral of his
own career. He was among the least impersonal of artists. Except in the
"Jolly Beggars," he shows no gleam of dramatic instinct. Mr. Carlyle has
complained that "Tam o' Shanter" is, from the absence of this quality,
only a picturesque and external piece of work; and I may add that in the
"