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Nothing like it has been seen on earth since trembling Tam O'Shanter saw the devil and the witches at their orgies that stormy night in "Alloway's auld haunted kirk." We visited the Louvre, at a time when we had no silk purchases in view, and looked at its miles of paintings by the old masters.
To these experiences we owe not only those excellent drinking songs, John Barleycorn and Willie Brewed a Peck o' Maut, but the headlong fun of Tam O'Shanter, the visions, grotesquely terrible, of Death and Dr. Hornbook, and the dramatic humor of the Jolly Beggars. Cowper had celebrated "the cup which cheers but not inebriates." Burns sang the praises of Scotch Drink.
He had, to be sure, a whole literature of popular songs and ballads behind him, and his immediate models were Allan Ramsay and Robert Ferguson; but these remained provincial, while Burns became universal. He was born in Ayrshire, on the banks of "bonny Doon," in a clay biggin not far from "Alloway's auld haunted kirk," the scene of the witch dance in Tam O'Shanter.
The last time we saw him he was holding a meeting in our district school-house, with a vagabond pedler for deacon and travelling companion. The tie which united the ill-assorted couple was doubtless the same which endeared Tam O'Shanter to the souter: "They had been fou for weeks thegither."
Aeons later, a voice spoke from below. "Hullo!" said the voice. Mr. Bennett looked down. The stalwart form of Jane Hubbard was standing beneath him, gazing up from under a tam o'shanter cap. Smith, the bulldog, gambolled about her shapely feet. "Whatever are you doing up there?" said Jane. "I say, do you know if the car has come back?" "No. It has not." "I've got to go to the doctor's.
They had not long time to admire this spectacle, for another turn of the road carried them into a close lane between plantations, through which the chaise proceeded in nearly total darkness, but with unabated speed. Tam o'Shanter. We must now return to Woodbourne, which, it may be remembered, we left just after the Colonel had given some directions to his confidential servant.
It is scarcely necessary to enter into the details of Mr. Jefferson's acting of the Dutch Tam O'Shanter. Notwithstanding the fact that the performance is made up of admirable points that might he enumerated and described, the picture is complete as a whole and in its connections.
At first, nearly the whole subjects chosen as ornaments, were taken from Burns's poems; and there can be no doubt, that the "Cotter's Saturday Night," "Tam O'Shanter," "Willie brewed a peck o' maut," &c. &c., have penetrated in this form into every quarter of the habitable globe.
The thirst-parched traveller in the poisonous alkali deserts holds back in deadly fear from the sedgy ponds till he finds one down whose centre is a thin, clear line, and a faint flow, the sign of running, living water, and joyfully he drinks. There is magic in running water, no evil spell can cross it. Tam O'Shanter proved its potency in time of sorest need.
The universal seizure by the sex upon the boy's "Tam o'Shanter" as peculiarly suited for a play and school-hat, is therefore right and proper. For a more showy style, lingerie hats are justified.
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