may be traced to an old stall-ballad, entitled the 'Life and Age of Man,' which Cromek recovered, and which opens thus: Upon the sixteen hunder year Of God and fifty-three, Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear, As writings testifie; On January the sixteenth day, As I did ly alone, With many a sigh and sob did say, Ah! man is made to moan. Burns, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, says: 'I had an old granduncle with whom my mother lived while in her girlish years; the good old man, for such he was, was long blind ere he died; during which time, his highest enjoyment was to sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the simple old song of the "Life and Age of Man." We now come to a poem, already cited in part, which illustrates, better than any other of its author's works, the home life of the Burnes family, and the character of its head. William Burnes had been in the habit, in accordance with an old Scottish custom which has not yet died out, of conducting family worship. After his death, it fell to the poet, as the eldest son, to take on himself the function of family priest, and he conducted the cottage-worship every night when at home during the whole time of his residence at Mossgiel. William Ronald, who for a time was 'gaudsman' in Lochlea, and subsequently became a farmer on his own account near Beith, in Ayrshire, used to declare that he had never since listened to anything equal to Burns's exercises; and Mrs Begg was in the habit of saying the same thing. These facts form an interesting prelude to the poem in which Burns has placed on everlasting record this phase of the rustic life of Scotland. Gilbert Burns gives us an account of what immediately prompted his brother to compose this poem. He had frequently,' says Gilbert, remarked to me that he thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the phrase "Let us worship God," used by a decent sober head of a family introducing family-worship. To this sentiment of the author the world is indebted for "The Cotter's Saturday Night."' It must be noted that the poet found a model in one of the best poems of his predecessor Fergusson, entitled 'The Farmer's Ingle.' THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.* INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ. † Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, The short and simple annals of the poor.-GRAY. My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween! November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The short'ning winter-day is near a close; ‡ whistling sound * Sainte-Beuve, in an article on Aloïsius Bertrand, after quoting that author's description of the interior of a farmhouse, whither he had gone for shelter from a storm, says: 'By the side of this, we may set the poet Burns's famous piece, "The Cotter's Saturday Night." We should then see in what respect, quite apart from poetic form, the latter maintains a great superiority. For, where Bertrand strives, above all, to be picturesque, Burns shows himself in addition to this-cordial, moral, Christian, patriotic. His episode of Jenny introduces and personifies the chastity of emotion; the Bible, read aloud, casts a religious glow over the whole scene. Then come those lofty thoughts upon the greatness of old Scotland, which is based on such home-scenes as this: Sic fortis Etruria crevit. Lockhart has probably given the final word of British criticism upon a poem whose weaknesses are as obvious as its merits, when he said: 'In spite of many feeble lines and some heavy stanzas, it appears to me that even Burns's genius would suffer more in estimation by being contemplated in the absence of this poem, than of any other single poem he has left us.' + Probably the first verse and the inscription to Mr Aiken were added later. Whan gloamin' gray out-owre the welkin keeks, Whan Thrasher John, sair dung, his barn-door steeks, What bangs fu' leal the e'ening's coming cauld, peeps drives jaded-shuts winnowing beats-truly makes doleful frightened The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad,' wi' flichterin' noise and glee. crows stagger fluttering His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant, prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, anxiety And make him quite forget his labor and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, The mother, wi' her needle and her sheers, By-and-by attentively private hard-earned wages inquires news Makes-clothes |