gusson that in
a great measure finally determined the Scottish character of his poetry.

_II.--The Loves of a Peasant Poet_

Just before their father's death, Robert and Gilbert took the cold and
ungrateful farm of Mossgiel, in the parish of Mauchline, to which the
family now removed. The four years of Burns's connection with this place
were the most important of his life. It was then that his genius
developed its highest energies; on the works produced in these years his
fame was first established, and must ever continue mainly to rest; it
was then also that his personal character came out in all its brightest
lights, and in all but its darkest shadows; and indeed from the
commencement of this period the history of the man may be traced, step
by step, in his own immortal writings.

Burns now began to know that Nature had meant him for a poet; and
diligently, though as yet in secret, he laboured in what he felt to be
his destined vocation. He was never more productive than at this time,
when he wrote such skits on the kirk and its associates as "The Twa
Herds" (pastors), "Holy Willie's Prayer," "The Holy Fair," and "The
Ordination." "Hallowe'en," a descriptive poem, perhaps even more
exquisitely wrought than "The Holy Fair," also belongs to the Mossgiel
period, as does an even more notable effort.

Burns had often remarked to his brother that there was something
peculiarly venerable in the phrase, "Let us worship God," used by a
decent, sober head of a family introducing family worship. To this
sentiment we are indebted for "The Cottar's Saturday Night," the hint of
the plan and title of which were taken from Fergusson's "Farmer's
Ingle." It is, perhaps, of all Burns's pieces, the one whose exclusion
from the collection, were such a thing possible nowadays, would be the
most injurious, if not to the genius, at least to the character of the
man. In spite of many feeble lines and some heavy stanzas, it appears to
me that even his genius would suffer more in estimation by being
contemplated in the absence of this poem than of any other single
performance he has left us. Loftier flights he certainly has made, but
in these he remained but a short while on the wing, and effort is too
often perceptible; here the motion is easy, gentle, placidly undulating.

Burns's art had now reached its climax; but it is time to revert more
particularly to his personal history. In this his loves very nearly
occupy the chief place. T