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‘Banquet hall deserted,
Whose flowers are dead,
Whose odours fled,
And all but I departed.’

But it avails not either sighing or moralising; to have known the good and the great, the wise and the witty, is still, on the whole, a pleasing reflection, though saddened by the thought that their voices are silent and their halls empty.”

Yes, indeed, Scott possessed deep feelings, though he did not exhibit them to the public.

Now Burns does exhibit his deep feelings, as I demonstrated by quotations. And I suggested that it is just his strength of emotion, his command of pathos and readiness to employ it, by which Burns appeals to the mass of his countrymen. On this point “J.B.” expressly agrees with me; but–he will have nothing to do with my quotations! “However excellent in their way” these quotations may be, they “are not those that any Scotsman would trust to in support of the above proposition”; the above proposition being that “Burns appeals to the hearts and feelings of the masses in a way that Scott never does.”

You see, I have concluded rightly; but on wrong evidence. Let us see, then, what evidence a Scotsman will call to prove that Burns is a writer of deep feeling. “A Scotsman,” says “J.B.” “would at once appeal to “Scots wha hae,” “Auld Lang Syne,” and “A man’s a man for a’ that.” … Think of the soul-inspiring, ‘fire-eyed fury’ of ‘Scots wha hae’; the glad, kind, ever fresh greeting of ‘Auld Lang Syne’; the manly, sturdy independence of ‘A man’s a man for a’ that,’ and who can wonder at the ever-increasing enthusiasm for Burns’ name?… I would rather,” says “J.B.,” “be the author of the above three lyrics than I would be the author of all Scott’s novels.”

Here, then, is the point at which I give up my attempts, and admit my stupidity to be incurable. I grant “J.B.” his “Auld Lang Syne.” I grant the poignancy of–

“We twa hae paidl’t i’ the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine:
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.”

I see poetry and deep feeling in this. I can see exquisite poetry and deep feeling in “Mary Morison”–

“Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance ga’ed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yor the toast a’ the town,
I sigh’d and said amang them a’
‘Ye are na Mary Morison.'”

I see exquisite poetry and deep feeling in the Lament for the Earl of Glencairn–

“The bridegroom may forget the bride
Was made his wedded wife yestreen;
The monarch may forget the crown
That on his head an hour has been;
The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I’ll remember thee, Glencairn,
And a’ that thou hast done for me!”

But–it is only honest to speak one’s opinion and to hope, if it be wrong, for a better mind–I do not find poetry of any high order either in “Scots wha hae” or “A man’s a man for a’ that.” The former seems to me to be very fine rant–inspired rant, if you will–hovering on the borders of poetry. The latter, to be frank, strikes me as rather poor rant, neither inspired nor even quite genuine, and in no proper sense poetry at all. And “J.B.” simply bewilders my Southron intelligence when he quotes it as an instance of deeply emotional song.

“Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
His riband, star and a’ that.
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a’ that.”

The proper attitude, I should imagine, for a man “of independent mind” in these circumstances–assuming for the moment that ribands and stars are bestowed on imbeciles–would be a quiet disdain. The above stanza reminds me rather of ill-bred barking. People of assured self-respect do not call other people “birkies” and “coofs,” or “look and laugh at a’ that”–at least, not so loudly. Compare these verses of Burns with Samuel Daniel’s “Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland,” and you will find a higher manner altogether–

“He that of such a height hath built his mind,
And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so strong,
As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame
Of his resolved powers; nor all the wind
Of vanity and malice pierce to wrong
His settled peace, or to disturb the same;
What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may
The boundless wastes and wilds of men survey?

“And with how free an eye doth he look down
Upon these lower regions of turmoil?” …

As a piece of thought, “A man’s a man for a’ that” unites the two defects of obviousness and inaccuracy. As for the deep feeling, I hardly see where it comes in–unless it be a feeling of wounded and blatant but militant self-esteem. As for the poetry–well, “J.B.” had rather have written it than have written one-third of Scott’s novels. Let us take him at less than his word: he would rather have written “A man’s a man for a’ that” than “Ivanhoe,” “Redgauntlet,” and “The Heart of Midlothian.”

Ma sonties!