t 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 bridegr