Twa Dogs" it is precisely in the infringement of dramatic propriety
that a great deal of the humour of the speeches depends for its
existence and effect. Indeed, Burns was so full of his identity that it
breaks forth on every page; and there is scarce an appropriate remark
either in praise or blame of his own conduct but he has put it himself
into verse. Alas for the tenor of these remarks! They are, indeed, his
own pitiful apology for such a marred existence and talents so misused
and stunted; and they seem to prove for ever how small a part is played
by reason in the conduct of man's affairs. Here was one, at least, who
with unfailing judgment predicted his own fate; yet his knowledge could
not avail him, and with open eyes he must fulfil his tragic destiny. Ten
years before the end he had written his epitaph; and neither subsequent
events, nor the critical eyes of posterity, have shown us a word in it
to alter. And, lastly, has he not put in for himself the last
unanswerable plea?--

"Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark--"

One? Alas! I fear every man and woman of us is "greatly dark" to all
their neighbours, from the day of birth until death removes them, in
their greatest virtues as well as in their saddest faults; and we, who
have been trying to read the character of Burns, may take home the
lesson and be gentle in our thoughts.

FOOTNOTE:

[3] For the love-affairs see, in particular, Mr. Scott Douglas's
edition under the different dates.

III

WALT WHITMAN

Of late years the name of Walt Whitman has been a good deal bandied
about in books and magazines. It has become familiar both in good and
ill repute. His works have been largely bespattered with praise by his
admirers, and cruelly mauled and mangled by irreverent enemies. Now,
whether his poetry is good or bad as poetry, is a matter that may admit
of a difference of opinion without alienating those who differ. We could
not keep the peace with a man who should put forward claims to taste and
yet depreciate the choruses in "Samson Agonistes"; but, I think, we may
shake hands with one who sees no more in Walt Whitman's volume, from a
literary point of view, than a farrago of incompetent essays in a wrong
direction. That may not be at all our own opinion. We may think that,
when a work contains m