BURNS IN HIS DECLINE.

Oamaru Mail, Volume I, Issue 313, 25 April 1877, Page 4

BURNS IN HIS DECLINE.

Hh* elonds which had appeared on the horizon oil Elihaland are gathering now, to close i» ntter gloom- His Me, both outward and inward, grows more and more puotful to imagine or narrate. He is an acite officer, and his income i* L">o a y«ar, orfei exceptional circumstances LTO. 2Jb longer in the mornings* does he greet tb« Unset, smell the fragrant birch, or auitft with the dew-dropping rose; no longer doe* he come home, tired with work, to catechise his children and servant*- The freshness and sunshine of his •arty life i* gone. There is no content and repose, no "final perseverance" to balance the toa*; and now more than ever to-day falling, to-morrow repenting—he move* on in an ** eternal aigssag." The gentry of Dwufriea received Burns with open arm*- It is to be deplored that he ewhadanythingtoi do with the " gentle*," either at Edinburgh, Elltstand, or Dumfries- In Edinburgh he lost the stmpEcty of hi* early life, and he never regained it again. At Eliistand the hospitality of the wealthy led him into dissipation* which were incompatible with the life of a working Ikrraer. At Dnrnfrie* hi* little leisure %a* ill-spent in convivialities ; and the coldness and disdain which were ere long meted out to Kim steeped his already embittered spirit in gall. Still there i* much to be said for the companionship. There is ranch in his poetry which appealed more directly to the higher than to the lower classe* of society. His nationality came home to none more nealdy than to Mrs. Duniop, the descendant of Wallace. The Duke of Athote, we have seen, wrote successful Scotch song*. The poetry of Jaeobitiaro, for which Barns had a sentimental attachment, though it never touched his tenderest feeling, sang sweetly in his time. Mis* Lindsay, of Bakarre*, who wrote '* AuM Kobin itray," was his contemporary i so was Mrs. Cocfehurn, who wrote ** The Flowers of the Forest;" so also, or nearly so, was Mis* Otiphant, the author of ** The Land of the Leal." These are a* beautiful lyrics, and as catholic in feeling, a* any Burns could write. This is true r bat it is difficult to think with patience of Burn*''* intimacy with the class above him- One lady is anxious for him to write verse* on her poodle; " the blessed sun of heaven turns a micher" indeed, and '* eats blackberries." Another lady i* at first very friendly ; then there comes a quarrel. Burn** apologies are unaccepted, and he write* verse* upon her, at which his friend* must always grieve- He doe* not write now any nutria epistle* to Laprailc or to William Simpson, where the words come *"' sketpin' after other in namely rustic jingle."' We have, instead, writings in his English style, prologue* for the theatre, and more or less Ittfsome dedications. They are the writings of a man who goes out to> dinner to say clever thing*;: not of the poet who vwod to come home to write down the tanguau'e of his heart, the communing* which ht> held with 'Nature during the Uh-'Urs of the day.— Mrxcmdcr M.. l!dl. r M.d.