Tam O'shanter And Souter Johnny.

The "Tam O'shanter Inn," Ayr.

"Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious !"

Not far away is the bridge across which the affrighted tippler rode for dear life on his gray mare, Maggie, believing that the evil spirits which, he thought, were after him would have no power to cross a running stream.

All visitors to Ayr drive about two miles from the town to the little cottage, so famous as the birthplace of the peasant poet. It needs but a glance at the low-roofed, humble room where Burns was born to convince us that he was essentially a man of the people. He is a splendid proof of the democracy of genius. Never was there a better illustration of the truth that a poet is born, not made. His was a genuine inspiration. He said of himself that his passions raged like so many devils until they found vent in rhyme; yet his brother Gilbert declared that Robert never wrote half the brilliant thoughts that flowed from his lips while he was cutting peat in the bog. Burns did not claim to be a student. Scholarship is, of course, desirable; but poets do not always need scholastic training. Great scholars are too frequently as dry as the parchments they peruse. Bloodless as ghosts and passionless as dust, they never really touch humanity; but Robert Burns, with youth's warm blood coursing impetuously through his veins, frankly exclaims:

The Burns Cottage, And Room Where Burns Was Born.

Along The River Bank.

"Gie me a spark of Nature's fire ! That's a' the learning I desire. Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire At plow or cart,

My muse. - tho' hamely in attire, - May touch the heart!"

That it did touch the heart, we are reminded when we leave the house and stroll beside the neighboring stream which his sad verses have immortalized.

"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, - How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care ?"

Who has not felt at times the cruel contrast between smiling nature and a breaking heart; and, feeling it, who has not found in Robert Burns a friend? For Burns, like Byron, speaks directly to the emotions; and it is through the emotions that we really live. Moreover Burns, like Byron, is at once intelligible. One of the most attractive features of his poetry, like that of all things truly great, is its simplicity. His stanzas need no teachers to expound their meaning. We find in them no mysteries to be debated by a class of students. The throbbings of his heart awake, immediately, answering pulsations in our own.

" Ye Banks And Braes O' Bonnie Doon".

A Bit Of Scotch Scenery.

Thus, the whole essence of a hundred love-stories has been condensed by Burns into four simple lines:

"Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted".

When have the joys of friendship ever been more truthfully expressed than in the exquisite lines of "Auld Lang Syne"?

In contrast to these humble memories of Burns, I looked with curiosity at several fine estates belonging to the aristocracy of Ayr, and recollected that the poet never lived in such luxury. On the contrary, in view of all the honors heaped upon him now, we think with infinite compassion of the poverty which hounded him to the grave. How bitterly he felt it his own pathetic letters tell. But one thing in him I admire with all my soul, - his hate of patronage. The only luxury he craved was that of being free from the necessity of asking or receiving favors. As he himself exclaims, he desired money, "Not for to hide it in a hedge; Not for a train attendant: But for the glorious privilege Of being independent".