prompts me to lay my little offering on the shrine of departed Genius. Though in his prophetic and pathetic "Epitaph on a Bard," he has touched the lines of his own character, and anticipated his hapless fate so emphatically, that no one can produce any thing comparable to it; "The poor inhabitant below "Was quick to learn and wise to know, "And softer flame, "But thoughtless follies laid him low, "And stain'd his name." Alas, for the verity of the prediction !—I have invariably tried to divest myself of an idolatrous veneration for Genius, and to consider virtue and probity as the only fit objects of unlimited love and veneration. The instances in which intellectual superiority has been debased by vice, or degraded by absurdity of conduct, are so frequent, as not only to discourage and depress those whom the enthusiasm of fancy leads to worship and admire their Maker in "that "larger portion of celestial fire," which he communicates to some of his creatures; but also to afford envy and dullness no small cause of exultation. How do the tasteless, the selfish, and the stupid, triumph over the splendid ruins of ill-fated Genius! Though one worthy and virtuous person be worth a thousand unprincipled and licentious wits, yet it is hard for those who have never tasted the full cup of public admiration, to judge of its intoxicating qua Q lities, and doubly hard for those who make their way through life, wrapt up in selfish caution, and wholly occupied by the wants and cares of the little individual, to comprehend the dangers that environ the children of Genius; who pass through a deceitful world with open arms stretched out to embrace all that solicit compassion, and offer gratification; and whose naked hearts, overflowing with kindness and good-will, are unprotected from treachery and temptation. Indeed, the snares that vanity and pleasure spread in the way of those who join exquisite sensibility and a glowing imagination, with artless simplicity and a high relish for all that flatters the senses, are so numerous and fatal, that the obscurity of retirement, especially in the early period of life, is perhaps their only chance for safety. We are often tempted to accuse Providence for allowing merit to pine unknown to the world: But we see but in part, and know but in part. Perhaps the blooms of Genius are too delicate to bear the unhallowed breath of the world, and can only bud safely in the deep shelter of retirement, and expand to full perfection in the sun-shine of divine complaAs MILTON says of cence. "Immortal amarant, a flow'r which once "In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, "Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence "To heav'n remov'd, where first it grew, there grows, "And flow'rs aloft shading the fount of life.” I do not mean so far to give up the cause of Genius, as to say that poets are necessarily less virtuous than others: I only mean that they are less prudent, less firm, more susceptible, more simple. I do not know whether most to pity or admire Burns. Why were such people made? What a fatal delusion, to lean for happiness on the bosom of the gay and fortunate, because they make us the companions of their pleasures! Though ready to rejoice with us, if we possess talents to heighten their festive hours, alas! when the day of affliction comes, we are left to pine neglected, or perhaps have our sorrows embittered by the sneer of wanton insult. Ask me of his Genius !I have not power to do justice to its vigour, extent, and versatility. His poetry shows him in a walk of superior excellence, while his correspondence proves him equal to any thing. It is nauseous to hear people say, what he would have been if he had received a more thorough education: In that case he would not have been BURNSthat daring, original, and unfettered genius, whose "wood "notes wild," silence the whole chorus of modern tame correctness, as one of our mountain blackbirds would an aviary of canaries. He did know his own strength, as such a superior intelligence necessarily must; but then he also knew his own. weakness. This best knowledge however did not answer the purpose of self-defence. O that he had but learned and habitually practised self-command and self-denial, without which the highest attainments cannot lead to happiness :-But this theme is endless. Yet one word more :-How different are his letters to Mrs DUNLOP, where his heart truly opens, from his effusions to his gay companions,-that unaffected scorn of the world and its vain pursuits,-that sublime melancholy, that aspiration (tho' struggling through doubts and darkness) after what the world does not afford-that sensibility, that manly sincerity,-every thing, in short, that characterises genius, and exalts humanity! ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. "So may some gentle Muse "With lucky words favour my destin'd urn; "And as he passes, turn, "And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!” MILTON. WHAT adverse fate awaits the tuneful train! Has ОTWAY died and SPENCER liv'd in vain ? Yet, pensive wand'ring o'er his native plain, |