those beginning' Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear'; and the song 'O my love is like a red, red rose."" Few, I think, will demur to that. And such songs voice not the sentiments of a rake, as some critics would fain dub their author. Robert Burns, a sinner by accident often, was never a sinner by design.

ANNIE RANKINE

ANOTHER early love-song of the poet's-and bred in an earlier hour than "Mary Morison -was "The Rigs o' Barley," and quite a number of " Annies "in the Tarbolton district have contended for the honour of being its heroine. Scott Douglas says, "dubious honour"; but I perceive no justification for the word, and see no reason why the "Rigs o' Barley" may not be accepted as a pure song. A much older ditty says:—

"Some say kissing's a sin,

I think it's nane ava;

For kissing has wonn'd the warld

Sin' e'er there was but twa.

And if it wasna lawfu',

Lawyers wadna aloo it;

If it wasna holy,

Ministers wadna do it."

And any lover surely may kiss his lass. He will be a "thoweless" one indeed who does not.

Annie Ronald, among others, has been named as its heroine; but Annie Rankine, daughter of the "rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine "-the farmer at Adamhill, within two miles of Lochlie-and who afterwards became Mrs. Merry, claimed to her dying day that she, and no other, was the Annie of the song, and to this lass the honour is generally conceded. It was her favourite song besides, which she was ever ready to sing, as to the last she spoke affectionately of the memory of the poet. But if

Annie Rankine really called forth the compliment," then,” Scott Douglas comments, "Gilbert Burns was right when he told Dr. Currie that there was often a great disparity between the fair captivator and her attributes,' as depicted in song by her lover."

"Annie," a widow from and died as late as 1843. yard at Cumnock.

1802, kept a hotel in Cumnock,

She lies buried in the old churchNot many years ago, Mr. A. B. Todd,

the veteran journalist and poet, at the request of a local gentleman, composed the following epitaph for the tombstone that marks her grave:

"Ah! Annie, now, how changed thy lot

Since 'mong the corn rigs bonnie,

Ye romped and ran, a lassie gay,

As blithe and loved as ony.

To thee, like Burns, Death came and called,

Nor would he treat or parley;

And here ye spend a long dark night,
Where bloom nae rigs o' barley."

Her descendants, however, with a peculiarity of taste, as one is entitled to think, refused to allow the lines to be engraved.

Here is the song—a prime favourite of the concert hall— and let who dares call it else than pure. It is to the impure alone, I opine, or such as do not understand country life, that it conveys even the suggestion of impurity !—

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa' to Annie:

The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,

Till 'tween the late and early,

Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,

To see me thro' the barley.

Chorus

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right goodwill,
Amang the rigs o' barley;

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly,
She ay shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;

I hae been happy thinking: But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley.

AGNES FLEMING

WE come next to "My Nanie, O," composed by the poet in his twenty-third year, and while his father was still living-who, by the by, expressed his hearty appreciation of it. Until 1792, this song had "Stinchar" instead of Lugar" in the opening line-thus :

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"Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows."

But, writing to George Thomson in the year named, Burns says:"In the printed copy of My Nanie, O,' the name of the river is horribly prosaic. I will alter it." And he gave his editor the choice of four streams-Afton, Lugar, Girvan, and Stinchar. Thomson, with good taste, preferred Lugar, which has since been the name regularly printed. A vast deal has been written concerning its heroineship. The Rev. Hamilton Paul, who belonged to Ayrshire, and was almost a contemporary of the poet, writing in 1819, says:"In Kilmarnock Burns first saw 'Nanie,' the subject of one of his most popular ballads. She captivated him as well by the charms of her person as by the melody of her voice. As he devoted much of his spare time to her society, and listened to her singing with the most religious attention, her sister observed to him that he paid more attention to Nanie's singing than he would do to a preaching, he retorted, with an oath, Madam, there's no comparison.' Mrs. Begg, on the other hand, asserted that it was written