suddenly the mists part, and there are the heather, the briar-rose, and the gowan, there are the

Burnies, wimplin' down your glens
Wi' toddlin' din,

Or foaming strang wi' hasty stens

Frae linn to linn;

the cushat is moaning; the curlew is calling; the plover is singing; the red deer is bounding; and look! the clouds roll utterly away and the clear summit touched with the tender glory of sunshine, Heaven's own benediction.

Taurel for the Great Poet of Scotland. IKE children who with regularity take up with the "time for marbles," the "time for kites," the 'time for tops," etc., the Scotsman about the 25th of January each year takes up with "the memory of Burns." This tendency needs neither apology nor defence. Burns was man and poet. A lover of the soil on which he was born, he never failed in opportunity to exalt it and to make it apparent to friend and neighbor that the privilege of being a Scotsman was not surpassed by any other blessing vouchsafed by Heaven. This may seem like the breathing of egotism, or the operation of a brain fantasy, but such a suspicion will rapidly dissipate itself after we have sat down for a short time in company with the prince of Scottish poets.

Attempts have been made to destroy the elements in Burns' character and life which entitle his memory to reverence, while also efforts have been put forth to exalt him above measure, and to present him to us as one who was purer than his fellows and gifted with virtues beyond his friends. Indeed, we have heard Burns so extolled that one might have been excused for wondering why he was not born in Bethlehem instead of Alloway-why his gambols were not on the banks of Jordan instead of the banks of Doon. He was too much of a man, too much of a true Scotsman, to need extravagant praise or exaggerated estimation. Scotland has given to the world an unstinted supply of greatness and goodness in the men she has sent forth to exalt history, and literature, and art, and science, and mechanics, and theology, but she presented mankind with no greater gift than that which has its personality in Robert Burns. heart was full of patriotic ardor, and his soul was fired with the spirit of goodness. His most earnest yearning was for happiness rather than greatness. In his letter to Miss Davies mark the effort of a great soul, and its aspiration after the welfare of others"Why this disparity between our wishes and our powers? Why is the most generous wish to make others blest impotent and ineffectual-as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert? In my walks of life I have met with a few people to whom how gladly would I have said, 'Go, be happy!" This is the language of a man desiring to love God with

His

all his heart, soul, mind and body, and "his neighbor There is no cant about it. And was

as himself?"

he helpless? Was he impotent and ineffectual? Have not his inspirations, his sturdy common sense, his comforting periods, and his buoyant expressions, for nearly a hundred years been contributing to the hopefulness of mankind in every country where the English language is the medium of communication between men? There is no point in his character, no illusions in his words, nor any delusion in his works calculated to lower the standard of manliness, or to invite men to feasts of vice. Wherever he erred, and whenever, he utilized blessed solitude that he might exercise himself in the holy office of confession, in the magnifying of right, and in the struggle for pardon. To him religion meant not a mummery, but an emancipation; hence he hated to see it dragged about as a cloak, and submitted to vile purposes. As he observed in a letter to his friend Cunningham, “Of all nonsense, religious nonsense is the most nonsensical." He had a conscience, and when that addressed him he failed not to make immediate, prompt response.

Burns was manly amongst men, to the verge, often, of risking offence. Weak men were offended; strong men were pleased. In the better social elements of his time he found sympathy and cordiality. They who had the repute of greater learning and more wealth than he were proud to be on his list of friends. In this respect the account was evenly

balanced, for if he was exalted in spirit by the lofty associations which fell to his lot, both the men and the women whose lustre shone around him felt that there was a great compensation in being privileged with his presence and his good cheer. He never failed to interest those with whom he came in contact, and his spirit of independence suffered not a jot by the consciousness of the intensity of light or the brilliancy of learning which occasionally overshadowed him. He held true greatness and goodness in reverence, never in awe. The low-born peasant frettishness contained in the expression, "I am as good as you," was not evinced by any act of his life. And yet he was not a fool. He was abundantly conscious of the high qualities which proclaimed, in him, superiority over those with whom his lot was cast in the humbler walks of life, but he regarded it as his duty to elevate and to help, not to degrade and oppress them. His tale of "Tam o' Shanter' is as powerful a temperance address as was ever delivered to mankind, and to-day its grand satire, as well as its romantic and poetic power, is as appropriate in any age or among any people.

Carlyle, with incisive strength, in his analysis of Burns, remarks that "Many a poet has been poorer than Burns; but no one was ever prouder. Those who reverence the memory of the poet are often tempted, as they pore over his correspondence, and review the names of his correspondents, to ask"Why was it that among all these well-to-do people

Burns was allowed to endure the ills of poverty?" The question is natural enough, but it is hardly reasonable. The noble persons who were proud of the distinction of friendship with Burns may be credited with a better and more intimate knowledge of the man they had to deal with than we are at this distance of time. Many reasons may be offered for this state of things. It is no small thing for a person of station to venture to offer help to a man of intellectual breadth and excellence. You may toss a crown or a dollar to a beggar and it will be greedily if not gratefully accepted, but a money gift offered to a man like Burns might be refused with scorn, if not with rebuke. Besides, Burns must have been at least measurably familiar with the pecuniary ability of his friends. To be well-off in this world is not always to be affluent. There are many persons whose hearts have treasures that largely exceed their bank accounts. Title does not always depend on wealth, nor does scholarship revel in the riches of the world. Among the friends of Burns in Edinburgh or nearer home were, undoubtedly, those whose hearts burned within them to be able to place the poet in possession of abundant means, but their limitation was in abounding, earnest, and sincere friendship. Those of title, conscious of what strength there was in that circumstance, were ready to lavish whatever of its influence the situation called for. The men of high repute in the world of letters were spontaneous in their desire and effort to give the poet the benefit of their weighty commendation.