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BURNS AND TENNYSON.

́E are old enough to remember the time when the great English Poet, so recently called to his rest, was designated by the contemptuous critics as "Miss Alfred;" old enough too, we are, to recollect the bitterness with which Burns and his works were assailed by certain sections of "the unco guid" whose cant was only equalled by their unblushing hypocrisy. But this latter phase of feeling, circumscribed as it ever was, yielded up the ghost at the Centenary of 1859—and, now, we have done with it for ever.

The death of Tennyson evoked a consensus of public opinion, represented by the press of the entire civilized globe, such as has never before appeared in print; and yet, it does no more than justice to the illustrious dead by its fervency and force. The burden of the universal exordium may thus be epitomised:"No poet of the century has taken a firmer hold of the common heart of humanity than did Alfred Tennyson."

It was just because the Lincolnshire Bard, who was born fifty years after Burns, and who lived nearly a hundred years beyond him, took, like the Bard of Coila, nature for "his guide, philosopher and friend," rendering "the meanest weed a flower," and using the human heart as a harp, that he achieved the proudest position amongst the great singers of this memorable Nineteenth Century.

The pen that gave outward form and force to the following all-pervading sentiment of humanity-now "household words" over the globe-could not have been other than inspired in the highest sense of the term :—

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"And the stately ships sail on

To the haven under the hill

But O! for the touch of a vanished hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still !"

The depth of sympathy herein expressed with the countless millions of hearts which are daily being pierced and lacerated

by the cruel arrows of inconsolable bereavement never was so touchingly expressed. Never did a truer voice translate into articulate language the universal plaint which the dread exigency of life-death for all-has called forth in all ages, and from all conditions of men. Even had we space at command, there is no positive call for a multiplication of extracts to prove the magic of the late Laureate's touch. Every reader of his works can recall such priceless gems at will, and future students of his precious pages will not only find out these treasures, but will, of a certainty, discover new ones for themselves. It is because of this close communion with the world's great heart that Burns and Tennyson have obtained an almost unbroken sway over it from 1786 down to the present day. Cowper and Wordsworth, the most moral and philosophic, and Byron, the most glowing and passionate of modern British poets, have commanded, and still deservedly command, a vast amount of enthusiastic appreciation; but none of their writings ever become so indelibly engraven on the inner souls of men as those of Burns and Tennyson. And the reason, as already indicated, is not far to seek. After a long and dreary interregnum, beginning almost with the Shaksperian era, Burns seized on the National harp which had hung so long silent; and, looking from "Nature up to Nature's God," swept the strings with an inspiration which ere long touched the chords responsive of the universal world. Whether in English (and his English was of the best), or through the medium of his now classic Doric, he wrote as only a cosmopolitan poet can; and his reward came at length in the acclamation of humanity. Alas! that practically, so much of his due reward was reserved during his life, to be expressed after his death in marble and brass ever being added to and multiplied even until now.

As a disciple of the peasant Bard, Tennyson has likewise enshrined himself in the hearts of an admiring world, and secured a place in the annals of Modern Song which no other Englishman (Shakspeare alone excepted), has ever obtained. This, together with that "white flower of a blameless life," which he was privileged to wear from youth to age, will ever endear his name and his verse to the English speaking race throughout the coming time.

We do not for a moment seek to place the poet of Haslemere on a par with the peasant who "drove his Plough of Song into

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the inner hearts of men,” but as citizens of the World whose literature he has so enriched, we shall ever feel proud of one of the greatest teachers and preachers which the British Muse has hitherto inspired. Burns and Tennyson! In a sense, truly, the title given to this brief lucubration seems a somewhat incongruous one. The surroundings of no two men, in an almost contemporary position, could well have differed more widely than those which individually distinguished their personalities. One was reared in the lap of comfort and culture, the other, from his birth, was inured to poverty and almost menial toil. The Englishman, after enduring a few senseless and menseless sneers, issued quite a library of verse, and soared gradually upwards to wealth, distinction, and a coronet. received the unstinted admiration of the great, as well as the trusty friendship of his fellows; and at his obsequies was witnessed such an ovation as has rarely, if ever, been bestowed upon any author of ancient or modern times. The other, whose entire poetical works are comprised in one comparatively small volume, after a brief enthusiastic burst of not overly well balanced though well deserved - adulation, continued to labour, early and late, as an unsuccessful tiller of an all too sterile soil, combined with the paltry peddling details, which then appertained to the duties of an exciseman! Then, almost deserted, save by an ever faithful few, he sank into the arms of death—out of the jaws of "honest poverty”—at a period of life when most men have only arrived at the maturity and plenitude of their powers.

The world, we feel convinced, will long cherish Tennyson and his works, but will never cease to worship Burns as the greatest Poet of the People who has arisen since the mighty Bard of Avon gave utterance to his last deathless notes.

COLIN RAE-BROWN.

REVIEWS.

A PILGRIMAGE TO THE LAND OF BURNS, AND

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POEMS, BY HEW AINSLIE :

(PAISLEY: ALEXANDER GARDNER.)

the student of our native poetry few works have recently been issued from the Scottish press which surpass in interest the handsome volume bearing the foregoing title which now comes under our notice. Apart from its intrinsic value as the product of an original and gifted mind, its contents challenged our attention because of their close chronological relation to the unrivalled works of the master-poet of Ayrshire, Robert Burns, and also because their inspiration has been derived, though with less copious and commanding results, from scenes and circumstances in many ways akin to those rendered sacred by the elder Bard. Hitherto Hew Ainslie has been known to his fellow-countrymen as the author of some tender and touching verses, which were only quoted by those who had made themselves acquainted with the less frequented paths hallowed by the Scottish muse, but until the publication of this volume the strong and clearly defined individuality of the man has never been revealed to us, nor has the evidence of his just claim to rank among the foremost Scottish singers been so fully made known.

As regards the personality and prolonged career of our poet, the work of portrayal has been ably and comprehensively performed in the Memoir at the commencement of the book, where Ainslie's chequered life is succinctly recorded by a sympathetic but judicious friend and fellow-poet, Mr. Thomas C. Latto of New York, and the subsequent pages thereby invested with the enhanced interest attached to the genial and manly character of their author. Here we are informed of the fact that Ainslie was born at Bargany in the valley of the Girvan, in April, 1792. At this date Burns had as yet been scarcely a twelvemonth in Dumfries and was reluctantly making official acquaintance with that smuggling fraternity which were in the future to figure so conspicuously in the Girvan poet's best efforts. The latter, whom we are disposed to regard as

nearest to the Ayrshire bard in the reality and scope of his poetic gifts, was thus a boy of four years when the Dumfries Volunteers fired their farewell volley over the newly-closed grave of his ill-fated and illustrious predecessor. Like Burns, Ainslie was born of staid, industrious parents, owing to his mother his early initiation into and acquaintance with the songs of his country-side and of his native land, while his growing powers were fostered and strengthened by circumstances which led him into early contact with surrounding Nature, a contact to which his warm poetic heart did not fail to make response. His education proceeded first under a village dominie, from whose care he was transferred to the parish school at Ballantrae, and thence to the Ayr Academy, a course of instruction which does not appear to have been niggardly. He eagerly read Ramsay, Fergusson, and Burns, whose varied numbers allured him into the paths of rhyme. Being overgrown and delicate in health, his youth was not clouded with the incessant toil which came to Burns as a heritage, and which so early sowed the fatal seeds of disease in his undeveloped frame. The Ainslie family removed to Roslin, near Edinburgh, when Hew was seventeen, and he afterwards tried to study law with a relative in Glasgow. This did not suit him, however, and he became a clerk in the Register House in the Scottish Capital, and subsequently was appointed amanuensis to Professor Dugald Stewart. At that time his contemporaries were Sir Walter Scott, busy gathering material for his "Scottish Minstrelsy," Christopher North, Hogg, Aytoun, and many more northern lights. "Blackwood" was in the full blaze of its hey-day and the Chaldee manuscript was puzzling and enraging the town. Ainslie, however, did not enter much into the literary society of Edinburgh. Having married early, he found himself with an income too slender to support, without undue hardship, his wife and family, and he resolved on going to America to better his fortunes. But before forming so important a resolution, he had made his first literary venture, by publishing in 1822, "A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns." In committing himself to authorship he might be secretly influenced by the example of the Bard he so much admired, trusting perhaps by such an effort to "court Dame Fortune's golden smile." Unhappily his book, though it contained some of the best examples of his work, failed to provide for him an escape from the exile now forcing itself upon him,

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