Literature has need of a revolution, both in her authors and in

her patrons.

Many of the faults which dishonour genius, were exceedingly conspicuous in Burns: a dissolute conduct with respect to women, a dreadful propensity to intoxication, and a general wildness and imprudence, in thought, word, and deed. But all this did not prevent the Scotch from noticing and applauding him. To be sure, their patronage added little to his fortune; but fortune is not the best blessing in the gift of the great. Fame is in their power and fame, though it be but air, is vital air to a poet. Burns longed for reputation, not for wealth: he gained a decent maintenance by the humble situation, which the influence of his more powerful friends procured for him under government: and perhaps a decent maintenance was all that he had a right to expect, as solid reward. The rich can hardly be expected to make larger pecuniary presents, than may be sufficient to save a poet from sinking beneath absolute distress. There should still perhaps remain enough of pressure, to keep activity and industry always alert.

Burns was not only praised during life by the great, but deified after death by his biographers and commentators. Dr. Currie, Mr. Cromek, and the rest of our poet's critical eulogists, have done small service to literature by their zeal in his favour. The temptation to write carelessly and rapidly, like Burns, is but too powerful in all cases; but it certainly is in some degree counteracted by the dread of posterity's neglect or condemnation. Complaint may therefore justly be made of biographers, who praise all the weaknesses of their hero, and lead the injudicious to believe that faults are immaterial in great men. We read of a custom among the ancient Egyptians, which was thought extremely advantageous to the state. They brought the dead bodies of their kings to a regular trial before the performance of any funeral rite, in order that the merits of the deceased might undergo that investigation, which would not have been conducted without bias during life. According to the re

sult of this trial, the final obsequies were granted or denied. But modern biographers embalm without the process of enquiry, and enshrine alike the vicious and the pure.

He seems to have been perfectly aware of his own real value: and his manner of expressing his opinions on this subject is pleasingly free, both from the presumption of conceit on the one hand, and from the affectation of modesty on the other. In a sort of common-place book of his own, he says:

"Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, &c. by R. B.-a man who had little art in making money, and still less in keeping it; but was, however, a man of some sense, a great deal of honesty, and unbounded good-will to every creature, rational and irrational. As he was but little indebted to scholastic education, and bred at a plough-tail, his performances must be strongly tinctured with his unpolished rustic way of life; but as I believe they are really his own, it may be some entertainment to a curious obser ver of human nature, to see how a ploughman thinks and feels, under the pressure of love, ambition, anxiety, grief, with the like cares and passions, which, however diversified by the modes and manners of life, operate pretty much alike, I believe, on all the species.” (Vol. II. p. 5.)

In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, he exclaims:

"You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet. Alas! Madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do not mean any airs of affected modesty; I am willing to believe that my abilities deserved some notice; but in a most enlightened, informed age and nation, when poetry is and has been the study of men of the first natural genius, aided with all the powers of polite learning, polite books, and polite company--to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned and polite observation, with all my imperfections of awkward rusticity and crude unpolished ideas on my head-I assure you, Madam, I do not dissemble when I tell you I tremble for the consequences. The novelty of a poet in my obscure situation, without any of those advantages which are reckoned necessary for that character, at least at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of public notice, which has borne me to a height where I am absolutely, feelingly certain my abilities are inadequate to support me; and too surely do I see that time when the same tide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far below the mark of truth, I do not say this in the ridiculous affectation of self-abasement and modesty. I have studied myself, and know what ground I occupy; and, however a friend or the world,

may differ from me in that particular, I stand for my own opinion, in silent resolve, with all the tenaciousness of property. I mention this to you, once for all, to disburthen my mind, and I do not wish to hear or say more about it.-But

' when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,'

you will bear me witness, that, when my bubble of fame was at the highest, I stood, unintoxicated, with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking forward with rueful resolve to the hastening time when the blow of Calumny should dash it to the ground, with all the eager. ness of vengeful triumph." (Vol. II. pp. 40, 41.)

And the same thought occurs in a letter to the Rev. G. Lowrie:

"I thank you, Sir, with all my soul, for your friendly hints; though I do not need them so much as my friends are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant reports; but in reality, I have no great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of prosperity. Novelty may attract the attention of mankind awhile; to it I owe my present éclat : but I see the time not far distant, when the popular tide, which has borne me to a height of which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall recede, with silent celerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, to descend at my leisure to my former station. I do not say this in the affectation of modesty; I see the consequence is unavoidable, and am prepared for it. I had been at a good deal of pains to form a just, impartial estimate of my intellectual powers before I came here; I have not added, since I came to Edinburgh, any thing to the account; and I trust I shall take every atom of it back to my shades, the coverts of my unnoticed, early years." (Ibid. p. 48.)

Even if a doubt of Burns's poetical immortality had not been suggested by that general deficiency of very transcendent beauties, which, not withstanding a few meritorious passages, determines him a secondary writer, such a doubt would have sprung from the ordinary complexion of his subjects and of his dialect. A very large proportion of his poetry is written on topics of a peculiar cast. It is easy to conceive, that petty malignities and trifling attachments may have deeply interested our author himself, in Death and Dr. Hornbook, the Brigs of Ayr, the Calf, Poor Mailie, Tam Samson, and a long list of similar works; but the interest attached in the mind of an au

thor to the topics and phrases that engage his Muse, by no means extends itself to the minds of his readers. Those works will not be long admired, which cannot be understood, by students in general, without notes and references, biographical sketches, anecdotes, and explanations of particular conversations or occurrences. Among the Scotch indeed, Burns's credit may endure a little longer than on the Southern banks of the Tweed: for there is a great proportion of verbal peculiarities, of local descriptions, and of allusions to national habits, which is likely to be more relished where it is more familiar. But the Scottish language-for the title of a language ought not perhaps to be denied to a vocabulary so much nobler than the provincial dialects-the Scottish language is gradually waning: and thence its bards seem fated to become obsolete. If, like the Greek and Roman writers, the Scottish authors possessed any very striking beauties, any soul of poetry to keep alive the corruptible frame of their diction, they might be preserved amid all the decays of time. But having little more to recommend them, than a moderate share of ease and pastoral simplicity, a few pretty images on the subject of love, and a few characteristic descriptions in the Dutch style of painting, they will probably descend, even with their own countrymen, to that kind of neglect, which, among English readers, is at this day the lot of Fergusson, and Allan Ramsay, and one or two other Northern bards, well known by their names, but not at all by their works.

Though these pages are so bold as to predict the gradual de, cline of Burns's fame, let it be remembered, that this decline is not mentioned here as an occurrence likely to be immediate. Independently of the merit which he certainly possesses, many temporary causes yet continue to prevent the multitude from judging him clearly. Something is accomplished in favour of his reputation, by the still extant aristocracy, who delight to boast of having known a poet; and something, by the hodiernal taste for wonders. But the principal cause of present error

is, that, of late years, the leading departments of literature, both poetical and critical, have been almost exclusively in the hands of Scotchmen. With such advantages, it can be no wonder that Burns is still overvalued. But it is to be hoped for the credit of English talent, that the literary ascendency of our ingenious neighbours will not endure for ever: in process of time their domination may be superseded, and, with the sovereign influence, appear destined to fall the favourites whom the sovereign influence has npborne.

A COURSE OF LECTURES ON NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, AND THE MECHANICAL ARTS. BY THOMAS YOUNG, M.D. &c.

2 Vols. 4to.-1807.

THE

HE accumulation of knowledge, which the observations and the exertions of about thirty centuries have produced, exceeds, in an unappreciable degree, the capacity of a human being. Though divided into branches under appropriate denominations, and though a single individual generally directs his attention to not more than one or two of those branches; yet it can but seldom be said, that he becomes thoroughly possessed of the former; nor can it be denied, that the difficulty of comprehending and retaining increases in proportion as science advances. But the same industry, which has ascertained a multitude of useful facts, and has thus extended the limits of the arts and the sciences, has likewise contrived means of assisting the mind, both in the comprehension, and in the retention, of those facts.-The former of these objects is attained by clear, rational, and methodical explanations;—the latter, by arrangements in written repositories, wherein any particular kind of information may be easily and regularly obtained,