Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, Think ye, we are less blest than they, Baith careless and fearless Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; And even should misfortunes come, They let us ken oursel'; They make us see the naked truth, observe Though losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There's wit there, ye'll get there, But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! This life has joys for you and I; There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, Ye hae your Meg,' your dearest part, It warms me, it charms me, And sets me a' on flame! Oh all ye powers who rule above! Is not more fondly dear! Deprive my soul of rest, Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast. Oh hear my fervent prayer! All hail, ye tender feelings dear! Long since, this world's thorny ways 'Sillar's flame was a lass named Margaret Orr, who had the charge of the children of Mrs Stewart of Stair. Burns, accompanying his friend on a visit to Stair, found some other lasses there who were good singers, and communicated to them some of his songs in manuscript. Chance threw one of these in the way of Mrs Stewart, who, being struck by its elegance and tenderness, resolved to become acquainted with the author. Accordingly, on his next visit to the house, he was asked to go into the drawing-room to see Mrs Stewart, who thus became the first friend he had above his own rank in life. It was not the fortune of 'Meg' to become Mrs Sillar, Gilbert says in addition, and the addition is most interesting: 'I thought it [the epistle] at least equal, if not superior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that the merit of these, and much other Scottish poetry, seemed to consist principally in the knack of the expression; but here there was a strain of interesting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the language scarcely seemed affected, but appeared to be the natural language of the poet; that, besides, there was certainly some novelty in a poet pointing out the consolations that were in store for him when he should go a-begging. Robert seemed very well pleased with my criticism, and we talked of sending it to some magazine; but as this plan afforded no opportunity of learning how it would take, the idea was dropped.' In the seed-time of 1785-the date is from the poet's own authority—he attended a masonic meeting at Torbolton, when there chanced to be also present the schoolmaster of the parish, a man with as powerful a self-esteem as the poet himself, though of a different kind, or manifested differently. This personage, John Wilson by name, to eke out a scanty subsistence, as Gilbert tells us, had set up a shop of grocery goods. Having accidentally fallen in with some medical books, and become most hobby horsically attached to the study of medicine, he had added the sale of a few medicines to his little trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, at the bottom of which, overlooking his own incapacity, he had advertised that "Advice would be given in common disorders at the shop gratis." On this occasion he made a somewhat too ostentatious display of his medical attainments. It is said that Burns and he had a dispute, in which the poor dominie brought forward his therapeutics somewhat offensively. Be this as it may, in going home that night, Burns conceived, and partly composed, his poem of Death and Dr Hornbook. 'These circumstances,' adds Gilbert, he related when he repeated the verses to me next afternoon, as I was holding the plough, and he was letting the water off the field beside me.' This, then, as far as we can see, is, next to the Epistle to Davie, the first considerable poem by Burns manifesting anything like the vigour which is characteristic of his principal pieces: I was come round about the hill, To keep me sicker; Though leeward whyles, against my will, I there wi' Something did forgather, A three-taed leister on the ither Lay, large and lang. Its stature seemed lang Scotch ells twa, The queerest shape that e'er I saw, For fient a wame it had ava; And then, its shanks, They were as thin, as sharp and sma', As cheeks o' branks." sure sometimes short race dismal hesitation fish-spear belly 'Guid e'en,' quo' I; 'friend, hac ye been mawin', It seemed to mak a kind o' stan', At length says I: 'Friend, whare ye gaun— It spake right howe: My name is Death, hollow But tent me, billie I red ye weel, tak care o' scaith, See, there's a gully!' 'Guidman,' quo' he, 'put up your whittle, I'm no designed to try its mettle; But if I did, I wad be kittle To be mislear'd; 3 I wadna mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard.'' advise-harm clasp-knife difficult 1 Torbolton Mill, situated on the rivulet Faile, about two hundred yards to the east of the village, on the road to Mossgiel; then occupied by William Muir, an intimate friend of the Burns family-from him it was called Willie's Mill. Mr William Muir, Torbolton Mill,' appears amongst the subscribers to the Edinburgh edition of the poems, in which the above piece first appeared. 2 Branks-a kind of wooden frame, forming, with a rope, a bridle for cows. To be put out of my art. This is not the usual sense of the word, which Burns himself interprets in his glossary into mischievous, unmannerly; but the sense of the passage can only be so understood. Both in the scythe and in this feature of the beard, which, as connected with a skeleton, is |