We're fit to win our daily bread,
As lang's we're hale and fier:

,1

'Mair spier na, nor fear na,'
Auld age ne'er mind a feg,
The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only but to beg.2

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,

gound

When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin,
Is doubtless great distress!

Yet then content could make us blest;
Even then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste
Of truest happiness.

The honest heart that's free frae a'

Intended fraud or guile,

However fortune kick the ba',

Has aye some cause to smile :
And mind still, you'll find still,
A comfort this nae sma';
Nae mair then, we'll care then,
Nae farther we can fa'.

1 Ramsay.

ask

fig

2 "The old-remembered beggar, even in my own time, like the baccoch, or travelling cripple of Ireland, was expected to merit his quarters by something beyond an exposition of his distresses. He was often a talkative, facetious fellow, prompt at repartee, and not withheld from exercising his power that way by any respect of persons, his patched cloak giving him the privilege of the ancient jester. To be a guid crack· that is, to possess talents for conversation-was essential to the trade of a 'puir body' of the more esteemed class; and Burns, who delighted in the amusement their discourses af

What though, like commoners of air,
We wander out we know not where,

Without-hold

But either house or hal'?
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods,
Are free alike to all.

In days when daisies deck the ground,
And blackbirds whistle clear,

With honest joy our hearts will bound
To see the coming year:

On braes when we please then,

We'll sit and sowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't,

And sing't when we hae dune.

con

forded, seems to have looked forward with gloomy firmness to the possibility of himself becoming, one day or other, a member of their itinerant society. In his poetical works, it is alluded to so often as perhaps to indicate that he considered the consummation as not utterly impossible. Thus, in the fine dedication of his works to Gavin Hamilton, he says: And when I downa yoke a naig,

Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg.'

Again, in his Epistle to Davie, a brother poet, he states that, in their closing career,

The last o't, the warst o't,

Is only but to beg.'

And after having remarked, that

" To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,

When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin,

Is doubtless great distress,'

the bard reckons up, with true poetical spirit, that free enjoyment of the beauties of nature which might counterbalance the hardship and uncertainty of the life even of a mendicant." SIR WALTER SCOTT Notes to Antiquary.

It's no in titles nor in rank,

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank,
To purchase peace and rest;
It's no in making muckle mair ;
It's no in books; it's no in lear,
To mak us truly blest;
If happiness hae not her seat
And centre in the breast,
We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can be blest;

Nae treasures nor pleasures
Could make us happy lang;
The heart aye's the part aye

That makes us right or wrang.

Think ye, that sic as you and I,

learning

Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry,
Wi' never-ceasing toil;

Think ye, we are less blest than they,
Wha scarcely tent us in their way,

As hardly worth their while?
Alas! how aft, in haughty mood,
God's creatures they oppress !
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid,
They riot in excess!

Baith careless and fearless
Of either heaven or hell!

Esteeming and deeming
It's a' an idle tale!

observe

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce;

Nor make our scanty pleasures less,
By pining at our state;

And even should misfortunes come,
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some,
An's thankfu' for them yet.
They gie the wit of age to youth;
They let us ken oursel';

They make us see the naked truth,
The real guid and ill.

Though losses and crosses

Be lessons right severe,
There's wit there, ye'll get there,
Ye'll find nae other where.

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts!

And am

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,

And flatt'ry I detest)

This life has joys for you and I;

And joys that riches ne'er could buy;

And joys the very best.

There's a' the pleasures o' the heart,

The lover and the frien';

Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part,
And I my darling Jean!

mark

I Sillar's fame was a lass named Margaret Orr, who had

Oh all ye powers who rule above!

Oh Thou whose very self art love!
Thou know'st my words sincere !
The life-blood streaming through my heart,
Or my more dear immortal part,
Is not more fondly dear!
When heart-corroding care and grief
Deprive my soul of rest,

Her dear idea brings relief

And solace to my breast.
Thou Being, all-seeing,

Oh hear my fervent prayer!
Still take her, and make her
Thy most peculiar care!

All hail, ye tender feelings dear!
The smile of love, the friendly tear,
The sympathetic glow!

Long since, this world's thorny ways.
Had numbered out my weary days,

Had it not been for you!

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