"N> THE ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS A PASTORAL OF THE PRESENT AND DRAMA OF DAYS LANG SYNE. "^ rvt, Y, ^ O, Caledonia ! stern and wild. Meet muse for a poetic child ; Land of brown heath and shag£^ wood Land of the Mountain and the flood. Land of my Sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand ? Scott's ''Lay of the Last Minstrel. r»EW YORK: WRIGHT & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. L . TWO COPIES RECElVci;i: Library of Cofigesffiy Office of tfeii APR 1 4 1900 S«glttir of Copyrights 5B672 Copyright, 1899, BT JON TEMPLETON. Dramatic Bights reserved by the Author. Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England; at Ottawa, Canada; Paris, France, and International Copyright Countries. (Printed in the United States.) SECOND COPY, TO ANDREW CARNEGIE, THAT KING OF SCOTS IN THE UNITED STATES. whose enterprise and energy have given honorable employment to so many thousands of his fellow men ; whose encouragement of Industry has done so much to better the condi:ion of the worthy poor; whose libraries and liberal institutions, founded In the Cities of Great Britain and America, have so largely aided in the cause of a higher and a better education ; whose words, written and spoken, have always been for the benefit of mankind ; whose life of usefulness, integrity and generosity has been an inspiration and example, THIS WORK IS DEDICATED, WITH SINCERE RESPECT AND HONEST ADMIRATION. AMERICAN ROMANCE. A FICTION, fable— call it what you will — herein becomes a fact! We wise Americans periodically sit down and figuratively **bay the moon with howling" for An American Romance! This done, we wag our heads and wait and watch, and, when the vic- tim our lament has lured, comes from his lair, we read his tag and note the ear-marks of the **Common Cry," andif he's of the mongrel breed that feeds on scraps and refuse stuff — the real- istic carrion which so many crave whose tastes are high — or broods on second-hand and thread- bare things, we greet him with a recognizing sniff and let him pass — but if he's of the Royal Lion's blood and has ideal dreams of something lying still beyond our sight, and in temerity at- tempts to overleap the barrier by which we hedge him in, why then let loose the pack. We dog him down and seize and rend and tear until there is not left the wherewithal to tell the tale ! This, sad to say, is not American romance, but simple, sober, solemn fact. 6 AMERICAN ROMANCE. Within a month Great Britain, in acknowl- edgment of worth, has knighted ihree illus- trious men— a poet, a player and a novelist — and France has added one to her ** immortal" list — a writer of romance. Germany exalts and favors all her men of mark, and Spain, despite her poverty, still finds someway to honor those whose words have honored her. What we have done within a century of years, the literary world well knows, and all must feel, except the lucky few who live by other means or dwell within the narrow circle of success. Our Muse American is a Commercial Muse! Her duty is to count the cash. She opens a full '*set of books"— not one. Beneath her rule Shelley and Keats had measured tape and Byron kept a clothing store. Beyond the realms of trade she never strays, and woe to those who do not follow in her steps, or, if they needs must write, deal only in realities which make the commonplace more common still. On those who would aspire to higher thought she frowns and cries **Forbear!" Doomed is the wretch who dares to leave the beaten track, to travel on an unknown path, to touch on grounds tabooed, or cross the boundary line of the con- ventional, or deal in interdicted things, or put a AMERICAN ROMANCE. 7 happy thought into a worker's mind, or cause a pleasant dream to ease his troubled sleep, or raise another joy within the human heart! These are the deadly sins which, in this modern world, we lash with ribald jests and scourge with whips of scorn. Say not, this is not true; it's more — it's verity confirmed. Our parks are filled with monuments to foreign men — commemorating genius, which, to honor here does honor to ourselves! But those whose work of hand and brain helped make our coun- try great, now, for the most part, sleep in hum- ble graves, unmarked, unhonored, or unknown. This is more sorry fact and shameful history. No wonder we must call in vain for men of pure poetic thought, or resurrect the dead to find a writer of romance. We crush the seed, then ask that it shall spring ! We kill the spirit, then demand the song! In vain. The overbroken horse becomes a common hack; and man — his spirit gone — is but a soulless slave I What then?— why simply this: What is encouraged thrives here and else- where alike. What man has done in other lands, mankind may do in this. If there is only one in every million Heaven-born give him a 8 AMERICAN ROMANCE. chance to live. He's but a poor minority — what should we fear? By nature self-endowed, he asks no school, no bounty of the city or the State, no public and no private charity. He goes his way and does no man a harm ; his song is all of love and hope; his words are all of peace; his deeds are always kind; he gives to charity when it is his to give; he feeds and clothes himself, and what he lacks, the Eavens bring him in the dead of night when no man sees or knows — and when he dies, be sure some loving, gentle hands will bear him to his rest. Nation great, be great in this — encourage what's your own! An Argosy — if we would have, fitted to sail on any sea — loaded with gifts divine and bearing wealth from unknown shores— trim, then, the sails and bring them up from the dead level of the equatorial line, out of the doldrums and the trade-winds where they float, and steer for higher latitudes in fancy's course and broader longitudes of thought, and they shall bring us countless treas- ures back — rebuilding Borne and Athens in this Western World! BOOK I A Pastoral of Present Days. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS BOOK I. A Pastoral of Present Days. I. Looking down from Scotland Hill, over the farms of Rockland, across the intervening miles of roads and fields, beyond the valley of Mont- moor, the eastern view is bounded by a range of purple peaks which mark the Hudson's course and give the name of Highlands to the heights on either side. At Haverstraw, against the distant sky, ap- pears the towering Torne, and farther south, and shading Rockland Lake, a strange forma tion shows towards the west—the figure of an Indian sleeping on the hills— a mountain and a monument reared by the hands of Nature when she labored here, and left a silent witness of her mighty deeds. Over this range of hills, on summer nights, the moon appears, lifting her lanthorn slowly 12 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. as she comes and showing all the splendors of the sylvan scenes for fifty miles around. On such a night and viewing such a scene an old Scotch farmer sat within the shelter of his porch, and looked from off the western hill, straight towards the east, and saw the slowly rising moon, and watched it eagerly until the globe of yellow light, pushed up by unseen hands, stood out in all its glory, silent and alone. It lighted up the old man's face and marked the lines of care and age ; the pallor in his faded cheek, the silver in his hair; his wasted form; his worn-out hands — a being of the past — a light about to fade; but in his eyes the living fire— the undimmed joy of other days. *'0h, wife, gude wife!" he cried. **Themoon! The moon!'* **Yes, Duncan." The poor old woman an- swered him— as if in fear of some fatality— -Well— well!" **The moon is up, at last, gudewife! The moon ! Through long dark nights Fve waited till the storm should clear— through fever and through cold I've waited till she's come!" **Yes— yes— be patient — well!" "The moon! the moon! It is the same I've looked on near a hundred years— but ne'er will look on more," ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 13 **Duncan!" **It is the same we saw in Scotland when we two were bairns. Dinna ye mind the happy days we wandered by the Doon and she the only witness of our love?" **I mind it well— oh, Duncan, rest." **Aye! I maun be contented now. She smiles upon us yet as once she did — she'll smile upon our children when we're gone to dust!" **Yes, Duncan dear, and now come in." **No. Bid the young ones come to mg— here in the moonlight — let us part. I'll no die happy till they've said good-bye! But hark! His step and hers. Are love and death so close together?— Donald I" **Father!" •'Mother!" *'Hush! Dear ones— he would speak to you!" And now there knelt beside the father's chair a sturdy, dark-haired boy, and with him was the bright-eyed girl he loved. Behind the three, the mother wept. "Children"— the old man said — **how sweet the time of youth and love. Be ye so loving always. Yonder moon is called inconstant, but she's not. Shadows may come and shadows go ; but still behind them is her blessed smile- like my good wife's has always been to me. 14 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. Be patient Id dark hours— the light will come " "Father!" **But I maun leave ye now. My day is done and in the evening's light I pass away." **Nay, husband dear, don't speak it." **Seek not to stay me. 'Twill not be for long. Ye'U all come after— only live right here." **Father! We will! we will!" **Gudewife, bring me the books—the same we brought frae Scotland when we came — the only ones. Though old and worn, read and re- spect them still." ** We will! we will!" **The Bible for the lass— the Burns, my boy, for you. Kespect the good in each — the bad let go." **Father, we promise you." **That's well. There's good and bad in every- thing — in books and acts, in plants and flowers. The rose is lovely, yet it has a thorn; the thistle beautiful, but you must never touch. These lessons read in memory of me — and dinna all forget me when I'm gone!" ** Oh, father! never! never! Our blessing on the hands that worked for us, the head that sorrows bowed in our behalf!" **Gudewife, draw near— here— hand-in-hand ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 15 for days lang-syne, and for the days to come "Yes, father! Hand and heart and soul!" "So— good-bye — good-bye — good-bye— to ye all! Live here — and keep the old place as it is. The woods and trees — the meadows and the pastures — and the cattle — and the fowls. Don't let them miss me when I'm gone!" "We will remember— oh, father!— father!" "So, good-bye. The moonlight smiles and lights for me the way. I mind the lines I used to speak— they're not by Burns, but Lowe — ye ken them well. There are some others some- thing like in' Kenil worth,' but not by Scott— in which the moon is called the 'regent o' th' sky'- See! see! she's mounting higher. Now — she's looking down on Indian Hill — and now she smiles on me, a sad farewell! Yes— yes — I mind me well: " *The moon had climbed the highest hill That rises o'er the source of Dee, And from its eastern summit shed Her silver light on tower and tree. ' * ' "Father!" "Hush!— there's something more — I can't remember it — but so it ends— as— my last — 16 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. words to you — yes — yes — ^an' then— ye'll — then ye'U ** *Weep no more for me.' " And starting up, he fixed his staring eyes full on the shining moon and fell back dead within his loved ones' arms. • ••••••• • And now a lapse of many years — some bright and quickly passed, and others long, hard wrought and sorrowful; but these kind silence views in charity and comes on tiptoe, with her finger on her lip, and beckons them away, and so they go — their griefs untold— all buried there in that small space of sacred ground where rest the dead beside the village charch. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 17 II. Come now to present days and the same rural scene — the landscape brighter than it was be- fore; the bushy fields cleared up and sown with scented grass and blue-green rye; the pastures spotted by the daisy and the buttercup, and stone walls green with blossoming grape, wood- bine and bitter-sweet; the woods grown taller, and the scattered pines with longer branches swaying in the wind^ and over all the slopes, far as the eye can reach, ten thousand blossom- ing trees, scattering their spices on the warm May winds, and showering the green mantle of the fields with flecks of pink and white —a gaudy covering — outrivaling the honey- suckle's beauty and the dogwood's whiter bloom. Within the wood, and up and down the lanes, on every fence, just as of old, field-sparrows twitter and the bluebird gives his changing note ; the quail calls to his mate, the robins sing, all things revive and speak of happiness. Nature, rejoicing, lingers here and smiles on 18 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. man, her friend, and daily comes to that same little house upon the hill to see the woodbine and clematis clinging lovingly about the porch where, in the bygone years, the old man sat, and where the good wife and the lovers held him in their arms that moonlight night on which he died. And now these living blossoming things in Nature seem like the mortals did to him who passed away, and twine their arms about the ruins of the house, to wrap and fold it in a kind embrace, returning thanks for all the shelter and protection it has given them. The pansies and forget-me-nots look up in gratitude, and all the garden flowers nod in the wind and send the fragrance of their wasted lives in at the open door. The primrose and sweetbrier cling to the pillars which uplift the roof, and tall half-wild red roses, climbing the lower shutters, which they half conceal, reach up their hands and spread the crimson blossoms in the open windows of the old north room where the young couple sleep. In the soft air the branches sway and creak till the song-sparrow, nesting be- neath their leaves, gets up and sings. The bob- white calls aloud, and from the woods which border on the newly planted corn, a thousand crows cry **caw!" ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 19 The sun shows red and gold above the notch on Indian Hill— another day has dawned on the Elysian fields— as erst it did in Eden— if man- kind but knew. **Diccon, get up, and to the barn. I'll make the tire and 'Dusky Joan shall keel the pot.' " So calls the master of the house. "Come, Bar- bara! The old clock says it's half -past five, and father's watch, says six." "Yes, Donald," answered Barbara, speaking down the stairs. "Let Joan help Diccon with the cows and I'll do all the rest." So, aiding one another, they begin the day; and so with many days gone by, and which have passed in peace — for this new master of the little farm, this mistress of his humble house, are the same loving ones who, on that moon- light night, knelt by the old man's chair and promised him to keep the homestead place and live respecting what was good in life— rejecting what was not. Honored and blessed, so far they had lived, doing their duty to the utter- most, and helping others while they labored for themselves. And middle life was creeping on; but still they were content. The wear and tear of daily work was in his sun-burned face, and in his hardened hands, and in his hair a tinge of frost; but in his heart was cheerfulness, and in 20 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. his eye intelligence and kindness, courage for any fate, all clear as day. And Barbara was everything that could be asked of woman — industrious, thoughtful, gen- tle, good, loving and faithful where she'd set her heart, and womanly in all that makes a woman loved. The good wife— nearly ninety now, but still as cheerful as in younger days — ^was with them yet. To sit and knit and read and talk of all the follies of the present days and tell some tale old as herself, or to repeat some schoolgirl speech, or try with her cracked voice to turn a wornout tune, was her employment or expres- sion of content, and well she carried it ; for spite of an impatient bigotry and pride, she had those sterling qualities of mind and heart which never can grow old. So master and mistress, mother, man and girl made up this simple home— save when a traveler benighted lost his way — or when some friendly visitor came from a distant place, or some acquaintance from the city called, or lin- gered over Sunday at the house. And to all others — idlers, tramps or lazy boys, and so- called huntsmen who tore down rods of wall to seize a rabbit which was miles away; or dug the meadows full of holes to catch a chipmunk ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 21 which sat chuckling on a limb above their heads —the good dog, with more intelligence than theirs, gave warning with a bark and said **move on." But now the spare-room held a visitor— a mighty man and one, in brief, who knew all things — except himself. A man who feasted on the day's events, as detailed in the daily press, until, in fancy, he was something more than mortal *'I" and used the plural **we" to awe the millions of his fellowmen — a crank and a reformer of the latest date, and with the neces- sary forwardness to make his mission thrive. For reasons only known to Providence, Fate set this subject down on Scotland Hill. He knew the country always proved a fertile field in which the inspired fool could plant his crop of isms, leaving to time and better men the task of tending them until the harvest came and yielded his reward. First he essayed the village school, and gave a long harangue — telling his gaping listeners when and what and how to teach and who should teach it when 'twas taught. And then he boldly entered the Seceder's Church and^told them all the newer kinds of sins — sins that these innocent people never dreamed of — never knew before — how, like the dock, the daisy and 2'2 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. wild-carrot in the meadows, and thistle seeds and scallions of the pasture lands, these things were spreading far and wide, and every family —like the farmsteads they possessed — was in a daily danger of these pestilential blights on their prosperity and peace. He did not know what other men might do, but *'for ourselves," he said,** we should proceed at once to seize these monsters by the throat and dash them down and trample them beneath our feet!" As he spoke this he acted it, and grasped a section of the invisible air, and choking out what little life it had, he threw it to the floor and sprang upon it with his feet, and with a smile of triumph held it down. This perform- ance — more than was promised, by the way, roused up his one confederate to say **Amen!" This was enough. Before the sound of this sole exclamation had died out the easy convert found himself on a committee, self-appointed by the Columbus who discovered all this sin, to visit, with him, every house and introduce reform. Hence the spare-room at our friend's place was occupied—for courtesy and hospitality, never lacking in that little home, had made him welcome there, and Donald Stuart, knock- ing on the door, said in his kindliest manner: ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 23 '^Breakfast is ready, friend." And good Colurabus Cant was nothing loath, but prompt on call, and answered the usual morning question with the usual reply: "Yes, yes, we've slept well — and sleeping well has given us an appetite. In fact the work we have in hand has given us both appetite and inspiration." He rolled his eyes a little as he spoke, which gave his long and churn -like face a curiously unsteady look; but this was counterbalanced by a broad and beaming smile as he accepted all the good things passed his way. To do him justice there was something satisfying in his look; besides, his manner was magnetic and his words could charm. *'There— there," he said. "Now, good friends, don't mind us; and brother Stuart, you go to your work, for you cannot neglect your fields, nor can we ours — so go. We'll stay and talk to the good lady of the house; *for man and wife are one,' you know — eh? Yes. Ha! ha!" "But you will stay to dinner with us, will you not?" *'We-e-l— let me see — we-el — yes; 'always room for one more,' you know — eh? Yes. Ha ! ha!" ^4 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. The novelty and unique wit of these remarks made Donald loath to part with so original a mind — however, with a promise of another double-feast at dinner time, he went ; but what he thought, was hidden by good manners in his breast. That the Pretender's visit was prolonged from dinner until supper time, and then another night, and then another day, and then a week, might be a matter of surprise to those who do not know how really good a man can be who gives his soul to a good cause, and, knowing his own value, takes his pay as he performs. Donald said nothing, but thought much, and more than usual when, on coming home at night, weary and worn from labor in the tields, covered with dirt and dust, sunburned and overwrought, he had to listen to a homily from one who had passed the heated day in quiet and in shade, or swung himself to sleep in the broad hammock underneath the trees. *'You farmers don't know how to work," the visitor exclaimed. "You lack intelligence. Before we go — if we lind time — we'll show you certain papers and the books you ought to read. You don't plow deep enough — nor fertilize enough, nor use good seed. Kemember the parable of the sower, he— — " ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 25 **Yes— yes/' broke in Donald, impatiently, forgetting his restraint. *'He sowed! And, though he wasted seed on stony ground, and though the thorns choked some — yet some sprang up and yielded fifty and one hundred fold! God bless the man who plows! The man who sows! The man who works! As well as men who talk!" *'Donald! — why, what do you mean?" ques- tioned his mother and his wife. **0h, nothing! nothing!" said the visitor, to whom the sharp retort was merely pleasantry. *'He doesn't understand; but after supper he can read our books. Awakening is what he needs. His methods and his logic are all wrong." **Say that my manners are at fault, and Til agree," said Donald, rising as he spoke. *' Wel- come or not, you are our guest, and never un- derneath this roof has a stranger been treated otherwise than with kindness and civility." Saying this, he started in, and as he did so, his dog came up, and standing at his side, looked back towards his visitor and growled. 26 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. III. That night the troubled Donald had resolved to talk with Barbara. Often, of late, he had wished to speak about this stranger whom they sheltered ; but just as often he had paused, fear- ing he might let fall some hasty word, or in some way imply a doubt of her, or her good taste at least, in seeming to encourage one who but a fortnight back was quite unknown to all, and who was half a stranger still. And often since this strange man came, a guest unbidden, by him at least unwelcomed — whose presence was protested even by the dog — he had wondered why it was that he remained. Was it his mother's liking for the man who could talk Bible with her by the hour, while neither seemed to tire? Or was it Barbara's overhospitable way that made the stranger think he should remain, and caused him to as- sume so confident a tone? What could it be? Surely no man, unless encouraged in some point, unusual, unknown, would so prolong his stay. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 27 The more he thought of this the more it puzzled him; and now, at any cost, he'd speak to Barbara. She never had withheld her con- fidence — he knew she never would, and he must speak or doubt would grow to a suspicion that Barbara, whom he had always loved, had found another's talk more pleasant to her ear, if not another face more favored than his own. Then too, he missed their happy nights, when sitting by the kitchen fire, after the old mother had gone off to bed, and when no others save themselves were up — when the good dog kept watch outside, and puss and kittens played upon the floor — and when the wind went moaning round the house, and cricket chirped beside the ruddy hearth — when by the lamp-light Barbara read the best books that their scanty means could buy — and when on Saturday nights, the labors of the week all done and all was housed and put away — the horses in their beds of straw, the cattle underneath the warm dry shed, and Luath in his cozy kennel by the door; when he had read from Barbara's book and she from his, and the old father's gifts were priceless still and loved and honored for the good they had done and for his sake who made their memory dear. How many nights like these had passed — how 28 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. many ended with a kind **good-night" to father's picture on the wall. How many a time within the shaded light, these two had knelt and asked a blessing on the dear old house that sheltered all from ill. And now — with these recurring thoughts — he sat and mused, and then at last he spoke. ** Barbara, if I may trespass on your time which now I know is taken up with hospitality, pray tell me, if you will, what books are these?" ''Those, Donald dear, the ones our guest has sent you — why?" *'0h, nothing. They're appropriate. I lack intelligence and stand in need of reformation. But, Barbara, the first I seek from you — the last I'll ask from him." **Donald ! What do you mean?" ''Barbara, you know me well — and till these two weeks gone I've thought that I knew you. Tell me if I have been mistaken?" "Donald!" "Forgive me, but I think I have, or something strange of late has come between us!" "What do you mean?" "This— your confidence is turned away, and when I come home nights from labor in the fields, I find no welcome as I used. You look at me, not kindly, but reproachfully, as if ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 29 ashamed to see the honest sweat upon my sun- burned face, the homely patches on my work- ing clothes, the marks of honest labor on my hands. Is not this so?" **It is, but not for reasons that you givj. It is because I love you, Donald!'* ** Barbara!" **It is because I see you here, who might be honored among men, wearing your life away without a single gain and with a future showing no relief and offering no reward." *'Beware, dear Barbara ! The poisonous weed of discontent — if once we taste it — grows in time to be necessity, and kills at last! This stranger's talk has led to this." **It has revived what I myself have often thought, but never dared to tell you." •*And that ?" **That in the city yonder we could find some useful occupation which would build us up — not keep us down forever with the slaves!" "Hush, Barbara. Imagination all. Have you forgot my father's dying wish? The les- sons in the books he gave us? Dear wife, go bring them now, and doubt not we shall find, in one or both, some story of content." **Yes, Donald dear; but I forget. Your 30 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. mother took the Bible with her when she went upstairs, and Burns I cannot find." **It's in the stranger's room." **It was; but now it's gone. Joan told me of it first, and we both looked three days ago. It doesn't matter though. He says it's very com- mon, out of date, and low and vulgar as the writer was — that poetry is dead, that only facts and news are useful now ; that there's a war on fiction and on verse; that Shakespeare, Scott, Byron and Burns, Longfellow, Irving, Poe and such like men must go — and modern moralists will rise and take their place!" **Kise! Eise!" cried Donald, who had lis- tened in amazement to this revelation of sus- pected things. *'Kise! They have need to rise! A resurrection would not raise them high enough to take the place of any one you've named!" "Donald! ' **Don't mind me, lass," said Donald kindly, as he walked about the room. *'It's not your fault; but now I see — the cry is up! the war is on! No wonder my poor book is gone — no wonder!" **rm sorry that I told you now," said Bar- bara in distress. **Vm glad you did. You should have done so ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 31 sooner. I should have known what animal we lodged within the house, whose place was in the barn. The dog knew at the start we should have set him on." **But, Donald— patience. Is there not some truth in what he says? Some wrong— some error — and some evil in these things?" *' There is. There's right and wrong in all this world and everything which it contains. Gardens have weeds; the purest diamond has a flaw; there's not a field I till but labor must subdue. The best of books has in ii errors scattered far and wide, but its sublimities are there, like mountains capped with snow above the level wastes. The surface of the earth is hardly habitable, save where mankind has wrought and toiled for years and years, and I believe man's mission here is but to make it some day worthy of a God-like race!" **Donald!" **That's my belief. And every century's im- provement shows it's true. For that I daily do my part — knowing it is a duty which should be performed for Him who placed me here!" **Dear Donald — will you listen? " **Not to such arguments as his. They are as much too plausible as he's too good. What does he here? We were content and happy till 32 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. he came, and now all's wrong — and even she I've always loved sees faults in everything I do, and wrong in everything I prize!" **No, Donald. Do not turn away. See here, I put my arms about your neck, and looJs into your honest face, and say I love you more than all the world; and only because it is so, do I wish to see you have a higher place in life and higher thoughts, if any such there be." *'God bless you, Barbara, but let us not be self-deceived nor take a stranger's word before the best of books, for these are best of words by best of men, and no mere would-be wise man has a right to cry them down." **But, Donald, this man says it is the world in arms against the erring few. A crusade for the right, no matter who may fall." **Then let those fail and fall who most de- serve to do so, Barbara. Right will survive when all crusades and those who lead them on are low in dust! As for this canting stranger, let him go his way. Our house was blessed be- fore he came. I do not want an evil spell to settle on it now." **Nor I, dear Donald, only I had thought — as we lived here alone — away from all the greater world — there might be something we had missed — something we had not learned— something to ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 33 better both our lives, and other lives as well, which, may be, we had left undone!" '*Nay, Barbara, it was a loving, kindly thought, and I'll not chide you for it. I've often noticed how good women try to help the world— as angels fallen— knowing what we've lost — would lead us back to Heaven!" **If I deserved that thought I'd cherish it. But, Donald, dear, ours is a very lowly, earthly lot, and, save our books and all the fancies in your fertile brain, it sometimes seems discour- aging." "Barbara, unwittingly, you have confessed; our books, my fancies have made light to you — as God in mercy knows they have to me — the burthens and the troubles of this world ! Then let the bigot say whate'er he will; let strangers come and strangers go; let canting hj^pocrites or true crusaders fight these follias down— we'll not desert them any more than we'd desert a friend who stood unshaken in our hour of need." *'I cannot argue with you, Donald dear; nor shall I longer try to do so. What you say always seems the best that can be said, and may be you are right, for you have read and studied much, and thought and talked on subjects only dear to honest-hearted men who understand. But grant me one request." 34 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. **Name— and I grant it, Barbara." **It's only this: To-morrow night this man makes his report. The meeting's at the yellow schoolhouse, as you know, and all the neighbor- hood is asked to come — ourselves among the rest. Forget all prejudice and let us go — hear what is said, and then decide— you to conclude with me there may be higher, better things in life— or I, with you, believe as Shakspeare says: ** *Poor and content is rich and rich enough; But riches endless are as poor as winter To him who ever fears he shall be poor!* " ^'Barbara, come here, and let me kiss the honest lips that spoke those honest words ! — And he's to be replaced! What incandescent light, shining from out a vacuum, shall shame great Shakspeare's sun? What puerile popin- jay, with senseless twaddle of the times, shall step into Longfellow's shoes? What moralist, with an affected modesty, shall in the foulest terms urge on the rest? But, Barbara, as you have said, we'll wait until to-morrow night. Meantime, no more. God bless you! Go to bed. I want to sit and think awhile, alone." **Bless you, Donald. So, good-night! Don't let what I have said make you unhappy. My ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 35 thought was but to lighten care, and not in- crease it for you, dear." **I know— I know— don't say another word. Burns says it all in the old book: *' 'It's iio' in titles nor in rank — It's no' in wealth like Lunnon bank To purchase peace and rest, If happiness have not her seat And centre in the breast T Good-night!" *'Good-night!" 36 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. IV. The schoolhouse waited for Columbus Cant, as evidently it had waited for him when he was a boy. The night had come. His auditors ex- pectantly listened for his bold "Ahem!" and watched for his approach. The final day of grace had passed. The sinners shivered in their seats. The hour of judgment was at hand. Strange as it may seem, the coming of this solitary warrior on the field had captured all the camp. Audacity had conquered, and by its very boldness won respect. The call to meet the conqueror was as imperious as Caesar might have issued to a race of slaves, commanding them to pay their homage and their tribute at a certain hour. Further than this, these simple people— overawed by what appeared the great- ness and the goodness of their judge — were ready to confess to sins which he suggested, but which they, in worthy ignorance, had never seen or known. The day so big with fate was one to be re- membered. **To-morrow," he had said, **we'll ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 37 hear what you've to say," and children on this day had waked before the sun and asked their mothers: "Is it to-morrow now?" and had been answered: **Yes — to-day's to-morrow— now keep still." And well they might. Mothers cried "Fie!" to every little fault, and said "I'll tell the man !" Old women whispered and gave knowing nods in lieu of silly speech. Old men looked puzzled, but forbore to smile, and others laughed the matter off— while some, appropriately shocked at such unseemly levity, held up their hands. The village humorist was even sadder than his wont. The cogitating dog wandered about and hung his head with a dis- gusted and a guilty look, and many times sat down and closed his eyes, as if to shut out some unpleasant sight. Nature seemed hushed. A Sodom and Gomorrah haze hung o'er the land- scape like a cloud. The strain on all the day was great. Night only brought relief. The guiltless penitents, with mea culpa on their lips, were ready to confess to every crime in all the calendars of past and present time. But, hark! His voice! Committee of him- self and one walked down the aisle and mount- ing to the teacher's place, turned on his smile as he'd turn up a lamp, and so surveyed the subiects of his will. The smile died out. He 38 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. donned his frown, that all might see he set his gentleness aside, and stood for duty which he must perform. This understood, Jove-like he launched his thunderbolt and smote in the good cause. "Beware the lightning stroke!" he cried so suddenly, that many dodged, and following his swift gesture, as he pointed to the roof, ex- pected the impending crash! **Not now!" he said, **not yet; but it will come to drive you forth and cast you down! 0, race of vipers! Henceforth you shall crawl and hide you in the dust. For doom is yours. Your sins have found you out, and your iniquities cry even unto Heaven! — Your lands shall pass away, and your inheritance be set at naught! And igno- rance shall still be yours— and poverty shall curse you all your days! Behold in us the spies sent out by Israel to tell your downfall to a coming race! Lo! hear the list of your enor- mities!" Then followed in detail the unknown crimes, which took a good half-hour to tell, and which had such high sounding and imposing names that some felt glad that they were guilty of them. *'The money changers in the Temple," were especially elate, and chuckled in their usual country style. And ''women who ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 39 thought more of home and husbands than in 'tending meetings for reform," seemed rather proud to own it. But there was one offence too great for words to counteract. * ' On that, ' ' cried Cant, **we march with weapons in our hands. An army of Davids, we charge upon Uriah ! 1 mean— Goliath! Goliath — yes — ha! ha! Though he walk forth a giant in his strength as well as in his sin, a single stone shall bring him down — and then — ha! ha! we'll seize him by the throat and tread him underneath our heel!" And here again, the seizing and the stamping process was renewed — this time with variations — for he grasped an unoffending book and tore it into fragments which he scattered on the floor. "So perish all our enemies !" he cried — ** All fan- cies and all fictions of the brain! All poetry — frivolities and all romance. Yea, everything, in fact, but fact itself. Let those who would be happy read the Pentateuch !— or Saints of latter days— or save your worthless souls by this my Sermon upon Sin — protect yourselves at once ! Procure it while you still have time. Let our committee rise and pass about and bid the err- ing and repentant buy !" (The committee rose and did as was decreed.) '*Now, money changers, ply your trade in a good cause, if you would be forgiven ; for, look you— all your idols 40 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. are cast down — our Juggernaut annihilates and none was spared ! From simple Shakspeare down to driveling Irving all are gone ! Why even in the house where I have made my short so- journ, I was insulted by the soulless Burns! But I destroyed the book, as he who wrote it was destroyed, and now both burn in everlasting fire! In flames unquenchable! In " In what he did not say— he got no further. No peroration— no doxology closed this too clear a scheme. A. man sprang from a seat beside the door— the money changers gave him room, but the committeeman was overturned, buried be- neath his books — women who honored homes and husbands all stood up! A single man re- treated — and that so-called soul — too small to be perceptible— was sheltered in the carcass of Columbus Cant! Before the eye of Donald Stuart he shrank back amazed and trembling in the farthest cor- ner he could find; but Donald never paused nor looked toward his foe, nor said a word — he merely raised the centre window and he dropped his dear guest out— an unexpected exodus — no more — and then he shut the window down so softly, easily, that the slight jar it made was as a pin fall or a breath— and then he turned and faced his friends! ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 41 Shouts had been heard on Scotland Hill; but never such as rose in wild approval of the scene. It w^as a blending of the best that blood of Scotsmen and Americans could do — with women's voices like the shrill scream of the pipes, swelling and rising with a higher note than all the rest, and falling back to rise and rise again ! It was the war cry heard at Bannockburn, re- peated in our later days and for a love as loyal and a cause as true! 42 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. In the far distance, faintly heard at intervals^ — the booming of the British guns ^announced re- lief to Lucknow. Here it was the steady roar. The silence of the last two weeks had found a voice and now resolved to try it to its last re- source. Kestraint was at an end. The exit of the enemy in such a sudden, unexpected way was magical. The disappearance of the one and bringing forth another in his place was some- thing more— so startling the effect. Add to this a double joy— relief that one who held them bound was gone — delight that one who set them free had come— and then a joy supreme at sight of Donald Stuart's honest face. Say no more there is no love and sympathy in man — that all is coldly selfish in this world — and every one is for himself alone. ** Speech! speech!" they cried; but many minutes passed before he could be heard, and when he was, the frenzied crowd gave him his texts and furnished inspiration for his theme. **The man! the man!" **The book— the book!" **Our friends— our only friends!" ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 43 '*Burns!— Robert Burns!" *'Our ignorance and poverty!" Old men — their voices gone— used only gestures now, and women pressed towards the front and smiled through tears of joy. Donald alone was calm. In his familiar, friend- ly style he talked to them as he had often done; but those who knew him best saw some- thing was suppressed — asperities rang in his voice — and smouldering passion showed itself at times— 'for words came from his lips as touched by flame, straight from a heart on fire. **I should not say a word at such an hour," he said, **for what is personal to me may well be answered in a better way and at a fitter time; but we are friends upon these hills — the living and the dead the same — and while there's man- hood left we'll stand by one another." **Aye! aye! We will — we will!" they cried. **And suffer our inflictions as they come, this last among the rest." **No, never! no!" *'Yes. Some say our punishments are meas- ured by our sins, and now you all may judge how grievous our offence." " We do— ha ! ha ! We do ! But tell us, Don, what sin have we committed that we should suffer this?" **That book you were compelled to buy? 44 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. Why, none. It's one of those intended to re- place the trifling works of all our poets and philosophers by teaching us instead the newest kinds of sins. Your pardon that on this I speak my mind, but words will out when men must use them in a just defence, and here we stand between an open insult and our homes!" •'Hear! Hear!" *'The war is on. The Shakspeare-Bacon con- troversy proved how bold is the design. Begun in secret, it has grown an open foe. Its forces are sent out to *skirr the country round' until our firesides are no longer safe. The invader's hand has seized our household gods and set a brazen idol in their place. The stroke of the iconoclast has shattered all it touched and now would break the very images of thought itself. Fictions and fancies— poems and philosophies must perish all. The honored dead are tram- pled on— the living laughed to scorn. The monuments which love has reared above de- parted greatness have been undermined and totter to their fall. •'For, sooth to say, this is an age of plain uiili- ties in which the vulgar rules and shallow things hold sway. Nothing is sacred now. Sin is a jest, and wornout sayings masquerade as wit. The coarse, the common and the homely are in ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 45 vogue. Nothing has worth beyond its vital use. Polish is vulgar save upon a shoe; and even facts, to be believed, must be distinctly plain. *' Daily we hear the worldly homilies. Dis- card all fancies. Only read the news. The beautiful don't pay. All art is dead and inspi- ration is a dream ! The world, just as it is, is what we want, and what it might or may be is a theme which common sense cares nothing to discuss! Ah, well a day! Then to that realm called commonplace let those depart who will, and take along their everyday realities. Leave me in all my poverty, I pray, with only thoughts of things which make a brighter world ! The beautiful in every thing— the inspiration and the dream— a sound of music and a sight of art — a word of love— the last faint echo of a poet's voice, sounding from out the past! These seeming useless things, which never pay, but which are riches greater than a Plutus boasts to him who knows their value to the world. **Look you, my friends, our homes are founded on a favored spot. From yonder High- lands down the long Blue Ridge, along the Hud- son and the Delaware, throughout the Empire city and the Empire State we wander over fa- mous scenes which Cooper, Irving, Bryant, Drake and Edgar Foe, and later giants like to 46 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. these, have made a classic ground. Across the river yonder, on the western slope which ends in Sleepy Hollow, and within a stone's throw of the ancient church, is a neglected grave. About it and above it and on every hand are monu- ments to millionaires and those who fought for wealth and lived their little lives of selfishness and commonplace. But no one stops to ask their names or read their epitaphs— while at the grave of Irving men take off their hats and women kneel in homage and respect. '*What shall prevail against a tribute like to this?" ** Nothing! Never! never!" ''Nothing shall — ^for look ye, friends, a man's work is the man himself— nay more— his better self, his worth, his intellect, his heart, his soul! I take a book, as I would take a stranger in my house, and prove it by its worth. Is it un- worthy—then it goes; but once a friend, it is a friend forever! Such was Kobert Burns!" These four words, coming from a heart o'er- charged, and uttered with an emphasis of rev- erence and love, renewed the wildness of the scene just passed. The fire relighted shone in every eye. Shouts came anew from every friendly voice. Women and men arose and ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 47 waved their hands, and well it was no foe was in their reach, or those Scotch Grays of Water- loo had given their inspiring cry and trampled them to dust! 48 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. VI. When silence was restored, urged on by all, Donald resumed. '*My friends, we're simply country folks and ignorant and poor, therefore the little that we prize possesses double value. '*To me my father's gift was more than what it seemed. It was a souvenir as honored as himself, and one of the few things he brought from his old home. Upon its leaves his name was marked, with comments and erasures in his hand, till not an unclean word or thought- less line was left to mar its worth. **You knew my father well, and know it was his custom, as old age unfitted him for any work, to go about the lanes and fields and pull up every weed and useless plant that scattered its foul seeds about the farm. So had he done with this, for every one to read; for, as he said: 'Faults should be remedied, no matter where they're found. Nothing is sacred that is wrong. No error ever was inspired or ever will be — nor can we teach pure thoughts with impure words. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 49 No matter what the ground, the seed you sow will bring you harvest of its kind. Then wel- come good, wherever it is found, and let the evil go.' **I mention this, not to bemoan my loss, but that you all may know how honest was my father's way compared to this crusade. Father ! your gift is in my heart and only He who gave me life can take it from me. As for the other, let it go, an offering and a sacrifice for good, in memory of you. *'One hundred years ago, in Dumfries, Scot- land, died the poet Burns — his last days, passed in dire distress and hopeless poverty, were sorrowing penitential days for all the errors of his early life. ** Within his grave was buried all reproach for the light lapses he had made. The gentle, lov- ing, feeling heart was laid at rest. The grass that covered him was wet with sympathetic tears, and over him was reared a glorious mon- ument in memory of the loved and lost. From Aberdeen to Ayr — aye, and in many a distant land these sad memorials stand as witnesses and record still the greatness of the inspired bard — but all in vain ! For in these late degen- erate days come the self-righteous tribes— the rigid, scant religious ones denounced by Burns 50 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. —the offspring of the Holy Willies of the past, with curse on lip and stone in hand to war upon the helpless dead. Envy, jealousy and hate are theirs — and for encouragement the bigots and the pharisees plead and uphold their cause. **But let them come — the 'common cry of curs,' an unknown clan of little souls who shame their own obscurity. **In this defence let those assist who will. Let lukewarm friends stand neutral or retire; cowards retreat, or cravens hide. My answer is no plea for mercy or restraint ; nor protest, nor a favor asked; but my defiance uttered here — my gauntlet at the foeman's foot, my weapons in my hand ! And be this labor an expression of my love, This service give I here with all my heart, This stand I take for auld lang syne! Scotia, dear land of romance and of song, I owe thee much. From thy wild scenes my good forefathers came, bequeathing me the iron will of every clan that scouts the sun and storm on Caledonian hills, and with it the true love of country which all Scotsmen own; but to the poor man's bard I owe far more, and if the day could ever come when bigotry could banish Scott or Burns, and leave but cant and realism ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 51 in their stead, I never more should care to visit thee — to tread thy shores or see the glory and the glamour in thy name ! '*Ask not, my friends, why I am with the weak against the strong; the wrong against the right; the one against the many — I am not. That which seems strong and right and hedged by many friends, is only fraud in thin disguise. Hypocrisy in the good churchman's borrowed clothes, and all the might they boast is but the coward host whose cause unstable, shifts and vanishes, or changes with the fashion of the hour. Against all these one honest man's a giant, and inborn nobleness of thought is better than a world of their miscalled morality. Join then with me for what we honor and for those we love." *'Aye! aye! through life — through life!" *' Your hands — that's well — who will not stand for right must ever suffer wrong. Who will not fight for honor is a coward slave." ''Eight! right! But then our ignorance and poverty." ''Wonder no more, since you have heard me speak, that ignorance should dare to lift its voice. God bless the little schoolhouse where we stand and yonder convent with its cross and bell. With these to aid, let's make life better 52 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. as the days go by and teach our boys and girls, as best we can afford, to make them good and useful in the world; and, whatsoever else they lack, let them but learn the lessons taught by honor and by love and they will never more be ignorant or poor. **0, charity and kindness, gentleness and truth, thou modest teachers in the school of life, let thy sweet virtues but adorn their minds and none will see the sunburn on the honest face or heed the homespun of their poor attire. "And poverty— well, what of that? I hail it as an old-time friend. I've walked with it, and talked with it, and asked it to forbear me many a time ; but still it clings and lodges in the attic of my house, and many times comes down like famine to the board and shares our scanty meal. It steps into my leaky shoes and wears them out in cold and sleet, and wraps its shivering form in my greatcoat until the elbows gape and shine. It sits on watch while I am working in the fields, but never raises hand to help. It takes my only coin with a remorseless smile — but suffer as I must, and turn the matter as I may, I still believe that poverty's my friend. This much I know : the world owes more to want than wealth. All progess comes from our necessities. Nature has said to man: *This ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 63 world s yours; but there are certain things you need. Go, work, and you'll receive them.' Poverty produces— wealth consumes. Poverty is strength — wealth is weakness. Poverty is a giant — wealth a sickly slave. The hardened hands of toil upraised the Pyramids and builded Babylon and Nineveh. Poverty created the seven wonders of the world. Poverty of re- source made necessary all the great inventions of the age. The poverty of thought — our in- ability to know what lies beyond— has kept us cheerful here. Poverty — the non-possession of the things for which we yearn — has given us the poets and philosophers. Poverty gave us Ferguson, who, lying on his shepherd's plaid at night, with strings and beads mapped out the constellations in the heavens. The engine and the telescope — the needle pointing out the path- ways of the seas — the loom and printing press and all that makes the comfort and the glory of the world sprang from necessity alone. 'Tis poverty that digs the diamond from the deepest mine and makes it shine in crowns of queens and emperors. The silks and velvets in the robes of royalty are woven by the hands of poverty, and sorrow sews the ermine as she sits and weeps. Poverty builds palaces, and wretched- ness uplifts the monoliths to fallen kings. 54 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. *'In poverty and tears have been wrought out the noblest thoughts that animate the hearts of men. The sweetest melodies have sprung from discords in the human breast. *' *Sweet are the uses of adversity,' Shaks- peare says, and so say all who know and feel — yet poverty — poor poverty ! outcast, despised , how many do thee wrong! Thy friends are fev/ — thy votaries none. All shun thee, all despise thee; and thy first offspring— wealth, well dressed and proud — knows not his parent, but denies thee as he passes by. Thy home, alas! is in the open street, thy covering charity ; and so you sit and ask for alms, this label on your breast: 'That man alone is rich, ivho uses wealth which Heaven has given him, to aid hisfelloiv man; but he toho grasps his millions tvith a greedy hand, and hoards ivealth only for himself, that mari alone is poor.' **And now don't ask that I shall say another word, or my disjointed speech will be as poor as poverty itself. Take much for granted which I need not tell, and this believe that while I live, in all that's right I'm with you heart and hand— and when I'm dead I hope I still may come, and like *the spirit of the Gregarach walk' with those I love 'mid these familiar scenes!" ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 55 Bowing, he stepped upon the floor to meet a welcome shout and grasp an hundred out- stretched hands. Like some great knight— whose quarrel just had won the day might stand — so now stood he. Men welcomed him with loud acclaim and wo- men offered him their thanks. A crowd of girls encircled him ; but b(mnie Barbara put them all aside and placed her loving arms about his neck, and looking up into his smiling face, she kissed him then and there. 56 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. VII. Congratulations at an end, a little old bald- headed man, mounted upon a chair, stood in a corner of the room and vainly tried to speak. His voice, or what was left of it, came forth at intervals in feeble pipes like those which beg- gar-women constantly turn out, in grunts and squeaks, from imitation organs on the street; and still he made the motions as a windmill might, and swung his arms, and stamped his foot, and turned red in the face, and struck an attitude, till presently all eyes were on him. "Father Lindsay! Father Lindsay!" they all cried; *'a speech! a speech!" And Father Lindsay, like the great chief Tamanend, was borne along by all the warriors of the tribe, and fairly lifted over seats and ladies' heads, and spite of his gesticulating kicks, was placed upon the platform, where he stood, the council's hope and pride. ''Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" Father Lind- say bowed return, and then a matchless piece of oratory swayed the helpless crowd. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 57 Sign language did it all. He never spoke a word. A lot of motions, postures, stamps and nods made up his whole discourse. Yet he was earnestess itself, and emphasized each whispered point in such a way that laughter, shouts and bravos sounded on all sides. At every pause came cries of *'Good! Good!" "Bravo! Bravo !" **Hear !'' Then, after a long meter of gesticulated words, some one would cry: **Second the motion!" Then, as he struck the desk, they'd all cry '^Carried!" and repeat the whack until it rang again. ** Hurrah for Father Lindsay !" Father Lind- say rose to the occasion now. He stood up on the teacher's desk and made his points in such a way that every resolution ended with a bang; and not until the desk gave way was Father Lindsay carried off. '*Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" Sandy Ramsey took his place. He was a tall and raw-boned Scot, with leery eye, which twinkled with delight and looked as full of mis- chief as a wildcat's on a summer night. '*An' now!" he said, '*we've carried every- thing, includin' the last speaker to his seat, I'll just make bold to move that all the resolutions we've just heard be sent-— exactly as gude Father Lindsay spoke — to that same saintly 58 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. spy o' Eesrael that our gude frien' Don dropped out o' yonder windy there." *'No — no," exclaimed the crowd. **Yes! yes! It's our appreeceation — a sort o' blonk endorsement, don't ye ken? Here, Handy- Capper — you committeeman!" he called to that unfortunate — who during all this time had been preparing for departure, gathering up his traps and searching for his sacred books. **Here, you ! spy No. 2. Tak a' yer bukes an' keep the siller ye ha' got— an' here's a dollar more if ye'll no show yer long sour face in this veeceenity again. There, this blank paper just taps off yer load — now go — and stay. Hand on ! I'd help to carry that; but ye'll soon find the other spy awaitin' ye ootside. Ye should be goin' wi' a pole upon the shoulders of ye two, and, hangin' down between, a bunch o' grapes — that's the old Bible pecter — but ye're too airly in the season here. Our grapes are green— an' J yer two faces would turn milk and honey sour upon the way— and onyway we don't believe the gude Creator ever made one lot o' children to be blessed and ithers to be dommed, because auld Eesreal was sa' unco gude— and thenk ye were too long a-comin' anyway, and wasted time for forty years a-playin' in the Welderness —and makin' golden serpents an' the like — ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 59 till we ha' got a little Canaan here, an' now ye want us folks to gie it up; but you two manna- eatin', sarpent-makin' tramps, gae back an' tell the rest that we don't budge a fute except to kick ye oot— now go." Upon such gentle invitation the silent and the saintly stranger went, a goodly servant in a worthless cause. The eyes which followed him now turned to meet a more familiar face. The schoolmaster was in his place and patching up his desk. ''I wish," he said, *'the men who came to mend our morals would stop their tmkering at unknown trades and take to mending desks; bat. Father Lindsay, it is all your fault. You'll stay in after school for this, and I will give you something to take home and think of over night. Here, order now! We've had ^hurrahs' enough to last a month. Boys, get on your own side. Girls to your place. I've got a lesson that I want to put before you all, for I confess I've learned one here to-night myself. We all know now what friendship is, and what forbearance means, and if our better natures speak, we'd add, forgiveness too." **Right! Right! Hear! Hear!" **I move, then, that before we go we thank good Master Stuart for his manly words, and 60 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. SaDdy for his Sunday-school discourse, and Father Lindsay, too, for all he said— and more he didn't say." '•Carried." **Good!" **Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" '* Furthermore, I think, if we consider the re- sult, we can afford to offer thanks to him who has abused our hospitality and laid his impious hands upon the things we loved and prized." ** No— never—no!" **Yes! For his act has made us one; has taught us self-respect, and roused us up and jomed our hands in honor of our homes." **Good! Good!" "What say ye then if Saturday night we all meet here and plan to turn this evil into good, and welcome every honest friend they've tried to take away?" **Good! Good!" ** We'll all be here!" "Then school is out to-night. Let us go home, and keep our lessons in our minds ; and in our hearts a fixed resolve that right shall ever rule our humble homes and every fireside while it's free, shall claim the world's respect!" At this even Father Lindsay found a little voice to aid the final and approving shout. The shock was over— Scotland Hill stood firm. Like children going home from school these ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 61 honest people talked and lingered on the way ; and where they parted at some lane or path, or at the corners where departing roads led off into the darkness, there *'good-night!" in differing voice was heard — and calling back and shaking hands again, with promises to **come over to our house and spend the day" — and then a dis- tant call or merry laugh — and, finally, the voices dying out, and in the distance, barking dogs, and one by one the sudden lights— like will-o'wisps — as windows were lit up; and then the darkening as they passed, and then at last each party in the stillness of their lonely house, then silence over all. peaceful country scenes — what can com- pare, in all the glare and glory of the world with these sweet times of rest? What can re- place the stilly nights, the slowly waking morn, the short siesta, or the dolce far niente of a lazy afternoon when summer holds her sway. 62 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. VIII. Donald and Barbara, on arriving home, went up the path and opened the back gate. Luath had followed them so quietly they did not even know he'd been away from home; but now they called him in and patted him upon his shaggy head and asked him what the matter was — for strange to say he sniffed the air and whined and then ran to the road and back again, his nose upon the ground. Meantime a light shone from the window of the summer kitchen, causing Barbara to start. '*Donald," she asked, **what light is that? We left the house quite dark and closed the doors." '*0h, nothing," Donald answered. **Mother must be up. Go in this way. I'll go and see." And, as he spoke, he entered the back door and went into the room to find the light turned up— but no one there. Only a letter left for him beneath the lamp. He sank into a chair and opened it and read. Barbara, meanwhile, had passed into the ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 63 front room by the porch, to find the door wide open and the night wind blowing in. She lighted a small taper match and held it up — no- body there — but as she turned to close the door, a hand grasped hers — the light went out— and her sharp cry was answered by a caution- ing **Hush!" and then a hurried speech which told her everything. **No noise. I come to say good-bye, and tell you all. I love you. Loved you from the first. For that I lingered here. For that I brave all now. You know that this is true. I have no time to tell you more. Say only you believe — that you some day will leave this cur and come to me. Here is my card and my address. Keep it and write. One kiss, and now good-bye.'* Her answer was one word — her husband's name— as she rushed out upon the open porch and struggled to be free. But Donald heard no cry. He only saw the letters dance before his eyes, and read these words: ** A curse upon you! You have spoiled my scheme. But my revenge shall strike where most you love ! This is the wound I leave with- in your heart— and so good-bye!" Two strokes upon the window which he 64 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. faced, and he looked out to see the paws of Luath on the pane, and his great anxious eyes look in. Then the dog barked and ran away a moment and returned, repeating the same action as before, and Donald bounded to the door. Luath had said as loud as canine words could speak: **My mistress — come with me!" and one loud cry of Barbara answered him! "The Jibbonainosay was up" in Donald Stuart's heart. An instant and he faced the foe — to him in this dark hour, Wenonga Cant! He used no words — he drew no weapon — left no mark or cross upon his victim's breast, but in his hands of iron he grasped him by the throat, and cast him to the earth, and trampled him beneath his feet — the dread Lex talionis which he had been taught, with all forbearance and forgivenness cast aside. He dragged him to the fence — he raised him up and threw him over in the road — while Barbara looked on and Luath fairly cried for joy. Curses and groans, and noise of fast departing feet — kept up till they were lost beyond the hill, where Luath, following, sat and barked — ended the schedule of Columbus Cant. Barbara came out where Donald stood and held him in her arms, and leaned her head upon ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 65 his breast; but neither said a word, and pres- ently the dog came back — turning, and barking at each turn- and then at last he came inside, and following his master and his mistress to the porch he lay down quietly and placed his head upon his paws before their feet. ** Good Heavens! What's the matter here?" asked the old mother,in a half crying voice, as she came down the stairs, wrapped in a shawl, and peeped out of the door. **0h, nothing — mother — nothing!" ''Nothing? Why I thought the house was falling down. I never heard such noise in all my life. What was the dog barking at?" **He barked at nothing, too." **Huh! Just like that dog. He'll bark at nothing all night long; but if a robber comes to rob the house, I'll warrant you he will be sound asleep." **Yes, mother, yes. There, go to sleep your- self. It's getting late." **Well, ril go back. I do hope there won't be any more ado for nothing, anyway. You'll wake our guest." **No, mother, he has gone." •*Well, well, he's gone. That's good! Well, thank Heaven, he didn't hear the noise. Did he leave any word? What did he say?" 66 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. Damnation!" '•What?" •'Damnation!" **0h, and all for nothing. Well, maybe you two know everything, and all that Fm to know is — nothing! Well, good-night. Go to bed. Nothing — eh? Well, I never saw such times — I never — "and so she talked till she was back again upstairs. Now in the silence of the night, with no one near, and only faithful Luath lying at their feet, Donald and Barbara sat alone. So strong the bond 'twixt man and wife that, where they love, they can divine each other's thoughts— can almost see the mysteries of the mind, and read each other's faces in the dark. So Barbara, as she leaned on Donald's breast, knew all his troubled thought. Its silence told her more than words and forced her lips to frame an answer which should break the spell. "Donald," she said, **you are silent— yet I know a thousand words are working some dis- trust within your generous mind. Oh, Donald, speak to me." "Well, Barbara." "Only my name — and coupled with a sigh. What is the matter, Donald?" "Nothing, Barbara." ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 67 **Yes, but there is. You cannot put me off with such a word. There is some worry in your heart; and now, when I've to bless you most for your protecting arm, it only clasps me with a cold embrace and shows your confi- dence and love are gone." ** Forgive me, Barbara; but I cannot help but feel — and he said right — a sting is in my heart." *'Not a distrust of me?" **No, Barbara, no — and yet why is it that I feel it here? Tell me if you have ever led that man to think he could address you with dis- honest words. You, my dear wife, of all the world the one most trusted and beloved?" **Donald, I need not answer no. When you are calm enough to think, your trusting heart will answer fully in my stead and tell you all your confidence and love have never been mis- placed." "Barbara." **0h, husband, if I've had a thought it was to do you good, and in some way repay you for the honest love you've ever shown to me. I told you this last night, and I repeat it now— despite of all that's chanced since then — despite of what you think or all the world may say — my heart is yours alone." **No more, dear Barbara, no more. I take 68 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. you at your word as I have done these long years past. No witness shall be called 'twixt you and me, for when I can no longer trust I shall no longer love or longer wish to live." ^'Donald!" *'Kemeniber long ago— the night we both knelt here beside my dying father's chair — the moon came up and looked upon the scene, con- firming father's loving words: *Be faithful in dark hours. The light will come.' And see, she's rising over Indian Hill as bright and con- stant as in vanished days, and chaste and beau- tiful withal; but not more lovely, loving, faith- ful than my Barbara is whose home is in my heart." Clasped in each other's arms they seemed again the youthful pair of other years. Their hearts were just the same and all about them took the color of the past and led them back through the long lane of yesterdays to that sweet halcyon time of love no mortal e'er for- gets. Oh, happy is that man whose honest faithful wife can with him so retrace the journey of eventful years and find no shadows on the road they are ashamed to pass, or haunted houses at the end they dare not enter in ! And blessed the wife who, for the love and trust she gave. ROMANCE OF ROBEl^T BURNS. 60 has found a guide who leads her fearlesc through the world — whoso word is honored in the haunts of men — whose name with women is a title of respect — who wears no weapon, bears no shield; but who — no matter what his pov- erty or state — stands a true gentleman in every place — sans peur et sans reproche. CO ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. IX. When Donald closed the house that night he said *'good-night" to Luath at the door and called him his "good friend." The dog re- sponded with a whine in which affection was as clear as such sounds could convey. Then he put out his paw and wagged his tail and licked his master's hand. **My good old dog," said Donald, patting him upon the head, *'go to your kennel now. No one will bother us again. And see — the wind is shifting to the east and clouds are gathering around the moon. To-morrow it will rain. Well, as I can't work in the fields, I'll make you a new house. Good-night, my faith- ful fellow. You're better than the man you followed down the road. He plundered my poor home by day — you guard it in the night. While he deceived, he seemed a friend and looked me in the face and smiled — a thing no decent dog was ever known to do; but, Luath, justice recognizes right and always spurns the wrong. The man is in the ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 71 street — you in your house. He has the world's contempt — you its respect. Good- night." As Donald had foreseen, the morning opened cold and brought a northeast storm ; but bright fires made it cheery in the house, and the re- straint was gone which, for a fortnight back, had weighed upon it worse than gloom. Diccon and Joan went singing to their work and Bar- bara was like a girl released from school, en- joying the first holiday; and good old mother Stuart sang a dozen tunes, each one beginning on a wornout note and ending in a droning sound in concert with the kettle on the fire. At length the call of breakfast shut her off; but finding Donald did not hurry from the barn, she went to the back door and let her voice out in a prolonged yell — a **B-r-e-a-k-f-a-a-a-a-st!" in a quavering cadenza, good and strong, which brought an answering *'whoop," then she was happy and came in again and sung her little ditty by the fire. ^'Barbara," she said, while she was waiting for another tune, **did I get up last night and come downstairs?" "Why, yes, of course. Don't you remember how you talked to us?" **Yes, I remember that. I asked you some- 72 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. thing, but I couldn't understand what it was yon said. Who was it fell downstairs?" **Why, nobody, of course." '*Well, then, who was it made that noise?" "Nobody — yes— that is — nobody, too." **0h, I didn't know. Maybe I'd better sing: '* *From Greenland's icy mountains To India's coral sands ' " ^'That's beautiful, mother," cried Donald, coming in. *' What song is that?" **0h, nothing." '*I mean who wrote it, mother?" **Nobody. You see I make up my songs, just as you do your stories, as I go along. " *The wicked flee when none pnrsue — I am bound for the land of Canaan! If you get there before I do Just tell them I am coming too, For I'm bound for the land of Canaan !' *' As she finished this the knowing look she gave set Barbara and Donald in a roar; but the old lady never cracked a smile. **rd be ashamed if I were you," she said, •'disturbing people in the night by throwing visitors over the outside fence into the road. I hope you didn't break the palings off." ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 73 **Who told you that?" **0h, nobody, of course. I saw that in my dreams." ** What else, mother?" ** Nothing. Only this I say— the money I gave that fellow for the heathen reached the right hands for the first time. *' 'The heathen in his blindness Bows down to stocks and stone!* Well, well — no wonder he knew everything from Genesis to Malachi. Why, he knew nothing else. Well — show me a thief and I'll show you a liar — that is true if he was not. Don Stuart, you ought to be ashamed to touch that little six-foot man. Why didn't you call me? Give him some coflFee, Barbara — hot. He don't deserve to have a single thing — except the best the house affords. Oh, laugh! I'd laugh myself; bat there's a certain kind of humor that's so bad we can't tell which is best, to laugh or cry." **Laugh, mother, laugh," said Donald, with delight. ** When women smile within the house men never heed the stormy world without. This is our happy day." And so their merry talk beguiled the time till, breakfast over, Luath had a feast. Then Donald 74 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. took him to the shop and made a kennel for him with a gothic roof, a sliding door, and at the back, a window ; this, not only for the light, and sun and air, but that— as Donald said — *'some time a friendly face may look in there and warn you of mischance, as last night you warned me." It was the middle of the afternoon before the task was done; then Donald and the dog went out, despite the rain and dripping grass, to make their usual survey of the farm. **The night will be quite cold," said Donald, as he took his coat. ''Vm glad the storm con- tinues and the wind still holds and makes the wet trees shiver in the blast, for should it clear to-night the frost would come, and do more mischief in an hour than all a summer's work could mend. Come, Luath, come. First up in the back fields, then down the woods and then below the road, and when we come back home we'll bring the cows along. Diccon, put dry straw underneath the shed, and some in this new kennel for the dog, and take it when you go down to the house. We'll bring the cattle up. Come, Luath, come." And so the friends went out together in the rain, across the open fields. The man with merry calls j^nd bits of song—the dog, with ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 76 such poor voice as nature gave, responding from the gladness of his heart. Within the house both Barbara and Mother Stuart found enough to do — and as for questions — the old lady, who had learned the art, now found her opportunity and plied her trade. Suffice to say the little that she didn't know about the troubles of the night before, was like a dictionary to her now, with every word pro- nounced and properly explained. When satisfied that she had got it all, she said no more, but took her knitting and sat down and carolled some more songs: "*Arise! Arise! my soul, arise! Sha-ake off your guilty fears I' " And then these scraps she'd interline with a soliloquy. **Wonder they didn't break the fence," and then repeat, in song, the few last words: " *Sh-a-a-keoff your guilty fears!' "I'll thank that dog, when he comes home, if it's the last thing I ever do in my life." " *A-rise — arise — my soul, arise!* ** Wanted to kiss her — huh! — no wonder he went over the fence quick — 76 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. ** *And like a coward fell.' '* She always went to bed at dusk ; but days in May are long and she had time before the cow- bells and the barking dog broke off her song to run down, like the clock upon the mantelpiece, and then wind up again. **Come, now," said Barbara. **Donald has re- turned. Let's have our supper before dark to- night. What do you say?" ** Well— just a cup of tea for me; but give that dog a rouser. Luath! Here!" she called, opening the back door. "Here, good old dog. I treated you just like a cur last night; but now I take it back. I meant the other man." **No matter, mother," Barbara said. **We know now who to trust. Here's his new kennel Donald made, and here is Don himself. Come in, you good old darling, you— and take off your wet coat. I'll hang your hat up. There's the rain water in that pail. There's castile soap, and a dry towel's on the rack — and the best supper that we ever had is waiting on the fire." **Thanks, Barbara, for thought of me. I'm glad that every thing is housed; for as the Macbeth murderer says: *It will be rain to- night.' " ** Words full of meaning and appropriate," ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 77 said Barbara. **But I have four more apt and eloquent.*' "And they?" **Come in to supper, sir." Never is day too dark for cheerful hearts, or those who make best use of present joys. And never, never is our fate so hard but pleasant words can make all bright again. That night brought back the good old time. The peaceful house— the mother gone to bed; Joan's chattering talk, and Diccon's hesitating telling of his love, as he sat in the corner by the kitchen stove, and watched his rustic sweetheart do her work; the pattering rain ; the noise of waterspouts, and dripping eaves; the distant murmurs of the brook beneath the bridge; the fitful gusts of soughing winds, and moaning of the bending pines; the chippering swallow in the chimney top, and the faint cry of mice inside the wall; the purring of the doz- ing cat; the cricket's feeble *'ait"; the ticking clock; the murmuring of the fire and — as the night advanced — the crowing cock, and then the hush that followed it till answer came far down the road— and then the barking of a distant dog; but Luath's quiet said to all within: *Teace is upon this house. Go on and whisper all your tales of love— and good friends sitting by the 78 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. open fire, pull down the curtain that no eye in- trudes, or passers in the night behold you happy in each other's arms; or nature in her strife come to disturb your dreams." ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 70 X. The call to meet on the appointed night was not forgotten. The cause which made it was alive and every day intensified. A clarion note was sounding in the air. A simple lantern borne along the road by some belated messen- ger, who had gone out to talk the matter over with a friend, was portent of the coming storm. It was the "emblem of sepulchral yew" — the blazing cross and signal Malise bore across the Scottish hills. It called him coward and it '**doomed him woe," who failed to join the strife! Time, never halting, never slow, soon went the round till Saturday was reached. This hur- ried by. The noon-mark scarcely showed ere it was gone. A few hours and it seemed the sun went down. Already afternoon had closed the windows of departing day. The shadows lengthened as they crept along. Dusk came, close followed by the deeper gloom — then Night — dark empress over half the world — stalked forth and sat down quietly upon her ebon throne. Her robe was velvet of the raven's hue, 80 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. and the embroidery was jet. Her cestus and her girdle gleamed like eyes of fire. A starry diamond shone upon her breast, as Venus shines through rifts of cloud. Her black veil, spread across the heavens, was spangled with unnum- bered stars, and the great Moonstone centered in her diadem, with countless brilliants circling it about. Such was the radiant beauty of the queenly night. How great the business of this little world — how all engrossing are the passions of mankind or else how insignificant, alas! great Nature's works must be that man so seldom turns his eyes upon the glories of such scenes as these. But in the schoolhouse now, the men and women of the hamlet met, that which might change some portion of the world, or work out happiness and good for one or many of the hu- man race, was in the passing hour, to be dis- cussed. So simple are the ways, so seeming poor the instruments which, in the hands of Providence, are made to shape the fortunes of mankind. Lo, the reviled, but patient Nazarene — An outcast and a wanderer in Palestine ! To-day the master of the world's morality! Whose words sublime have swayed the sons of men — Whose deeds and death proclaimed a living God ! ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 81 The goodly company was early on the scene, and there was no delay. The master who dis- missed the meeting of the former night was in his place and opened the proceedings now. He rose and spoke: *'This meeting, called at my suggestion, Tues- day last, I call to order at this time. You know its object and will name the one who will preside; but first a word — let us begin where we left off and finish what we left un- done." "I'm thenkin' ye're jest right," said Sandy Ramsey, striding out upon the floor; **when workin' in the fields, we cut the swath where we have left the scythe — and take the corn row where we dropped the hoe, an' so there's n'aethin' skepped." **Right — Sandy's right!" said several who sat gaping in his face, and Sandy smiled and raised his voice : **Now, Mr. Overseer, or whatsoe'er ye are — the unfeeneshed beesnessof the ither night was Father Lindsay's speech, and I've been lyin' wake o' nights a-thenkin' what it was — and maybe if we put him on the table there he'll be a human phonegraph — and if we oil his gud- geons an' adjoost his crank his ceelender will turn, an' out of every little groove he'll grind 8^ ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. the words o' that same speech that's stored inside." There was a roar at this and everybody cried out: ''Father Lindsay! Father Lindsay!" and carried him triumphantly to the stand — and there he stood without a smile— and presently began to imitate the turning of a crank, and moved his lips, as everybody bent their ears to listen — and sure enough — a splur — and — blur^ — and blup and blang — and then the following in a phoney screech, which made the listeners almost drown the piping voice by laughing out of place. This was one speech not '*cut and dried" ; but rather one preserved: *'Hu-hu-hu-rah! Hu-hu-rah! for the man — who — threw the other man out of the window ! Good!" And here a flourish and the gesture No. 1, and all cried **Good it is!" **Second the motion!" ''Good!" *'And hu-hu-rah! 'Rah! for the man — who — made the window where one man threw the other out ! Hurrah !" And here a wave of arms— and short ** Hip! Hip!" and then all shouted with a will: ''Hurrah! Hurrah! for Father Lindsay!" "And hu-hu-rah! rah! for the schoolhouse ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 83 which had such a man — and such a window in it — hip — hurrah !" Then the shouts and flourishes renewed: '*Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" *'And hu-rah! rah! rah! for every man — who stands by every other man — who — in the school- house — throws a man or any other man — out of that window — or any other window — so he throws him out!" At this he brought his right fist down and whacked his left, and gave the desk a kick which made it shake again. The crowd all laughed and yelled : *'Hurrah for Father Lindsay !" "And in conclusion, this is what I say — if there is any man, who is a man, and doesn't throw a man who's not a man, out of all the windows in this old schoolhouse I'll throw him out myself!" This time, his final kick had broken desk and platform too, but that his laughing friends bore him away in triumph to his seat. **Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" No sooner was this orator in his place than Sandy Eamsey rose again and took the floor. To say the truth, he was a little jealous now be- cause the human phonograph had outdone its inventor, and he resolved to talk it down. 84 ROMANCE OF RORERT BURNS. **I'm thenkin'," said he, with a caustic grin, **the Lord is vara kind to let such humble een- struraents be heard at sic a time—and it was mercy to withhold the same the other night; but when ye want yer talkin' done ye'll call on me. I've had the etch for that these mony years. 1 learned the treck o' it when I was i travelin' in the West. I'll tell ye how it was — ye see— once on a time ^" m *'Order! Order!" cried the crowd, wh6) knew the genial Saady's *'etch" was cacoethes loquendi of the chroniG type; but Sandy neverr took a hint. ''Of course," he said, "if ye go makin' noise I can't talk half so fast or long. Once on time " ''Order! Order!" "Ye mind the time McShaw and I ran off from tjQnie__well— then— once on a time " « "Order! Order!" "The gentleman will take his seat." \ "Of course— I didn't thenk o' that. When ] am sittin' down I'll talk just twice as fast altho', in either way, I'm just a pump, an when ye work me up an' down, the suctioi brings the words, just like the water flowin' ii a stream ! But that's no matter now. When was travelin' in the West " ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 85 **Order! The meeting must proceed." **Well, open up!" said Sandy; *'ye won't bother me. Weel, travelin' takes siller all the time and so McShaw an' I got poor, and pov- erty sticks like a woodtick in the Eendean terreetory. Have ony of ye ever been oot there? Weel, one day when we were roound in that veeceenity^ " A low groan issuing from a corner of the room brought Sandy to a halt. He glared around, his swiveled eye on fire. *'Look here," he said; ''ifye'reso near the dyin' as a' that, I'll just wait till ye'regone an' then I'll come an' murn for ye." He paused and then somebody prayed before he could resume and asked, with other favors, that if the life of Sandy Ramsey was to be pro- ilonged his speech at least might be cut short. A general "Amen!" resounded through the room and Sandy sat down in disgust. **0f course," he said to those around him, if I'd a' known this was to be a funeral or a tellin' o' expeereance I would a' started on that tack mysel'," and here he rose again and re- pommenced on a religious key. **Brethern!" he shouted in a nasal twano-, "I'll gie ye my expeereance wi' a pair o' mules. [ bought 'em frae a deacon in the church just 86 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. after I had joined an' when I couldn't swear. Well, then, he guaranteed they'd pull a two horse load thro' ony mudhole that I ever saw. Weel — one day, down by Drinker's mill, they both stuck fast an' wouldn't pull a pound. I argued an' I coaxed an' used the whip, an' tied the halter strap to their forelegs, an' tried to pull 'em forward, but the place suited 'em too weel, an' so they settled down to stay. Then Drinker's boy kem out an' says he, *Sandy, them is Deacon Drawback's mules an' ye must give 'em jest the kind o' exhortin' that he used to gie — I'll show ye how.' An' then he straddled the nigh mule, an' kicked his heels, an' cracked the whip, and yelled out forty rods of D's— with *gee — ejo— long, therr— you infernal double d — d fools'— an' such a scatterin' ye never saw. The boy an' load were drapped off as they went. I couldn't see 'em for the dust, and never cotched 'em till they whizzed around the corner to the barn, just five miles from the start! Say — if there's to be more prayin' here to-night — jest eenterject a few spare words for me an' ask forgiveness for the way I swore." **Amen!" and laughter followed this— and then a silence as the master rose and greeted an old man who came in quietly and stood un- ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 87 covered near the door. His hair, snow white, set off a face of marked intelligence in which was mingled kindness and command. His man- ner spoke of gentleness and dignity, and as his kindly eye surveyed the room, he smiled and started down the aisle. At sight of him a reverential hush fell on the throng. The men stood up, the women offered him a seat; Sandy stared as if he saw a ghost, and hoped he didn't hear; the master grasped his hand and spoke: '^Welcome," he said. **This is an honor we did not expect. My friends, our worthy minis- ter." These words were useless and were scarcely heard. The sight of this good man they loved was like an inspiration. Involuntary shouts burst forth. Men cheered. This was a wel- come from the very heart— affecting all alike— the ones who gave it and the one who heard. There was a moment's pause. The pastor's face turned pale, and then, without a word of thanks or sentence of reply, he raised his hands to Heaven ! **0, God, in mercy bless thy people here, and guide them in the right. And this thy servant, standing in their midst, in sight of Thee, give him grace and strength and love, forgiveness, 88 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. kindness, charity, and let his feeble hands and voice aid them in every trial of their lives — in fortunes good or bad— sickness or health— or danger— or that dread hour when death shall come and end all brotherhood and friendship in this world. Amen." A silence followed this appeal. So solemn and so feeling its effect, no human voice essayed to break the spell. It would have seemed irrev- erent. Here were no ordinary, worn out forms. No cold words uttered in constraint of sin. No virtuous eyes to look the world to scorn. Here was a man with heart and soul of man — meet- ing the sinner upon equal ground, with love his only weapon, and with God his only guide. *'Let me preside," he said, '*if you will kindly give mo leave. I know your purpose and re- spect your cause — and such poor help as may be mine to give, I'll freely render you." ^'Thanks! Thanks!" all cried. *'Speak! Speak!" For now they longed to see his face and hear his voice who came to them a friend ; besides the kindness touched them home, and no one cared to interrupt it by a word — not even Sandy Ramsey with his tireless tongue. The minister was master now, and standing ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 89 in his place he spoke as calmly and as kindly as a father might to those he dearly loved. **My friends, the indignities which you have borne have not been yours alone. The church has suffered more from men who misrepresent her cause than from the greatest sinners in the world. In your case, you can turn the evil into good; but where we toil the laborers are few, and one unworthy worker brings contempt on all the rest. Against such men, with you, I have a common cause, and for the right against them I will stand your friend. **But first a word. Our hospitality must not be set aside because some stranger has abused it. Kindness is duty, as our labor is. As Nature blesses us, so must we others bless! **Keep then the fire upon a friendly hearth ; the loosened latch upon the outer door. Some day an angel may come in and say : *' *God bless this house, for it hath sheltered those in need and brought them peace and rest.' " 90 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. XL Continuing, the pastor said : **Now, good people, no formalities. I call upon the worthy master here and my friend, Donald Stuart, to come and sit with me a little while that we may formulate a plan to turn mischance into the common good." Donald's name— at all times dear — now uttered in respect by such a man, roused all the slumbering feeling of his friends and seemed a battle cry to conjure up the spirit of the hour. His lightest word at such a time was as a trumpet tone. His touch a talisman. His honest face — the magnetism of the man— drew every heart and raised emotions strong and deep in every breast. As the three friends clasped hands — school- master, minister, and tiller of the fields — the people greeted them with heartfelt cheers and felt in them an untold pride; for here were met the virtues and intelligence and strength which make a people great. Donald bowed till they permitted him to speak. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 91 **My friends," he said, **since last we met something most strange has chanced to turn the very current of my life. Two days ago a package reached me from an unknown source. In it a book — the counterpart of that same Burns I lost and prized — theEdinboro and Kilmarnock bound in one. The same marks and erasures; the same eliminations, and in every way — ex- cepting that it lacked my father's notes and name — the same familiar friend. In it a letter with no signature, and in a hand I never saw before, with this request : That I would take this book in place of that I lost, and keep it for my father's sake and for my father's friend, and in return the donoi asked but this — that I would seize the inspiration of the hour, and in some way would use the talents I possessed, and turn the whole to good. Do this, the letter said, and be assured that God will bless your work. My friends, what shall I say? This is the book" — he held it up — and as the people gazed, he turned towards the good old minister and cried: "And here the giver, if my heart does not deceive, and my dear father's friend. Generous sir! write here your name and make this gift forever priceless in my sight, and then command me as you will." So sudden this transition that its effect was 92 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. startling to all. Each eye was turned upon the minister, who for a moment bowed his head; but as he looked up, and took the pen and signed his name upon the fly-leaf of the book, he wrote a history of love and kindness every eye could read, though filled with joyful tears. Having signed, he rose and took the book and gave it back as Donald seized his outstretched hand. So they stood— but neither spoke. Words are but feeble, useless things when heart replies to heart. Used to all scenes of joy or grief, the minis- ter found his composure first, and— spite of the emotion evident in all — he spoke. '*My friends," he said, '*this incident and every step that has led up to it reveals the working of that unknown power which governs all our lives. There's something supernatural in all that we call fate. What was— what is— and what is still to be— let man decipher as he ^in__-^ise Providence keeps still its way, mys- terious and unchanging, often seeming wrong, but in the end, another step in progress and the right. **How slight a cause has made this an event, and yet how far in undiscovered time, re- curring, interchanging causes and efi'ects can reach. Life acts on life— intelligence breeds ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 93 higher thought— until they stretch beyond the present world and reach to God." **Let him who now complains of this be sure — that, certain as he lives, the time will come when he'll look back and bless this hour— and for myself, I thank my God for that which made this bond of brotherhood and joined our hearts in confidence and love. ** Already we're ten thousand times repaid for everything we've lost. You, in the knowledge of your better selves— I, in the grand discovery I've made, that he whose hands are worn by toil, whose face is furrowed by the trace of care, whose outward garb is but the honest homespun suit, bears in his breast a heart as open as a sunny day, in which the sweetest virtues lodge, and where,through sun and storm, love, peace, and honor all abide! *'Friend Donald, keep my gift, and read it with the greater one your dying father gave to you and Barbara, your honest wife. For her sake and for yours and all the world I would the blemishes were gone from that, as they're erased from this ; for as your father often said : 'No error ever was inspired or ever will be. Nothing is sacred that is wrong.' All evil, all mistakes, wherever found, should be removed or remedied. Revision should revise. And 94 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. good men should be honest and declare that un- known error, which man voted in, is not so rev- erend but man, who sees the wrong, may vote it out again. What value has a vulgar word — except to breed a thousand more? What is misstatement but a text for every skeptic and agnostic in the world to build his arguments upon? What wall can stand when an imperfect stone supports the base, or crumbles in the center of the arch? A good book is the best of friends — an evil one an enemy. Let us beware which kind we choose. Facts do not make a bad one good. Poems and fictions make no good one bad. The only right which either has to be, lies in the ennobling, elevating thoughts which they inspire within the human heart! ** On this a final word. To Donald Stuart I reiterate the one request I made, that he would make his love and friendship for the plowman bard the inspiring theme for some commemorat- ing work in honor of his name, and reaffirm what is my fixed belief, that these words, com- ing from his heart, at such a time, will meet a due reward. What need say more? The time, the will, the cause is his, and doubly now, since both in Scotland and at home, the over-saintly coward hands reach out to tear the laurel from the poet's brow and cast it on the ground. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 95 ** Donald, you are the knight to stand in this defence. I name you here protagonist. Who joins in my request, let him say *aye.' " There was a thundering shout — unanimously '*aye!" Not even Father Lindsay's little voice could utter **no,'* and Sandy shouted **r' four times, and followed it with all the letters of the alphabet until he reached the **Z." Donald spoke. *'Dear friends, the honor you confer, with grateful heart I here accept. The task you set is worthy those great men our country boasts, who honor all they touch. My hands are all unfitted for the work; but I'll do what I can. I'll think it over in the day, when working in the fields, and when the night has come, my heart shall speak and Barbara set down the words — fictions and dreams and im- perfections as they come; but they shall tell a story of the heart— a drama of Lang Syne." **'Tis well," said the schoolmaster, rising as he spoke, *'and I propose that, as each part is finished, Donald read it here, and we'll approve it as we go along." "Agreed," said Donald, *'only this — that our good friend and minister shall first revise the work." **With pleasure, if you wish," replied the good old man. **But when you pass through 96 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. Barbara's hands my task will be a light one. If I could rule, the censors of the press, the pulpit, and the stage should be, at least in part, com- posed of women. There may be matters where they show inferior to men, but in refine- ment—never." And the good ladies present, with one voice •^Agreed." *'Good," said the schoolmaster, with a merry laugh. **Then to the refinement and good taste of Barbara Stuart, Jean Cunningham and Ida Deans, we will commit the decorations of this room for the proposed event. It's now the end of the first week in May, and by the final Satur- day of the month — if Donald's ready with his first installment then — we'll have an entertain- ment here — ^first of a series which we will con- tinue every three months through the year. Are all agreed to this?" **Aye! aye! aye! aye!" **Listen, then. Each one must help the cause. Let those who sing, meet and decide what is appropriate, and practice it. Let those who write contribute prose or verse. Some read and some recite; some tell a story " This was Sandy's cue. ** Story," he said excitedly, as he walked boldly out into the center of the room. ** Story. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 97 Look ye here. I'm not much on stories, as ye ken, but when ye come to octual facts I'll never turn me back on ony mon. When I was travel- in' in the West " **Yes — yes," the master said, **we under- stand." *'Ye do?" said Sandy, **weel, ye're queck at comprehenden'. Oot there I met a mon keepin' a barroom full o' dreenks, an' twenty boozin' bummers sittin' round. Says I, *Have ye ony dreenks in here?' *I have'— says he— * all kinds.' *Ye're wrong,' I says— *ye have no scruples here!' Then he looked puzzled like; but after lookin' over me an' all the soakers sittin' round —he said he had. 'All right'— I says— *then I want three.' 'Three scruples, why?' says he. 'Because,' I says, *three scruples make one drachm . ' Aye, ye may laugh, but liquor flowed like water after that, an' just as free!" **Sandy Ramsey," said the minister with a sober face, ''three weeks from now yourself and Father Lindsay there, shall meet in a debate." "Look here," said Sandy, "I never yet hired out to talk to phonographs an' hope I never will. I'll just debate mysel'." *'No. That's impossible; besides, each one must do his part." 98 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. '*Then Til debate for both! For ye can juist rely ye'll want another ceelender for him be- fore he's thro'." **And Sandy," asked the minister, in his good-natured way, **what task will you set me?" **Ah, weel," said Sandy, 'Tm not jest per- teekeler so long's ye pray I won't backslide until I've sold old Deacon Drawback's mules. They'd make ye swear yersel'." **Might I suggest," said Donald, **as the time is short — let each do what he can. The master here allotting each his part, on Monday next. I shall be ready on the night of the last Satur- day in May, and this the place. What we take in shall all be given to such people in our midst as may be in distress. Is this agreed and under- stood?" **Yes— yes— right! right!" . ** And to our worthy master let me say — there are four times a year when those who farm have holiday. First is the time we've chosen, at the end of May— when all the plowing and the planting's done, and when it's yet too early to go through the corn. Next comes on after hay and harvest and midsummer work — say August, then, for our next meeting here; and the one after that, when all the fall work's out of the way and the November nights freeze up the ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 99 ground. And then midwinter, if you will, shall round our pleasant year. What say ye all to this?" "Good! Good!" **Friends," said the minister, **I had forgot. You'll not refuse the organ from the church, the singing-master and the young girls of our little choir? They're at your service any time. And now — good-night." **Not yet," said Donald, as he stayed their guest. **The honor you have done us we can never pay; but we can go to-morrow to your friendly church and give you our attention and encouragement, and every Sunday — every day — and each returning year — we promise here to greet you and uphold your hands, our honored and our best of friends, while life shall last!" So heart met heart and hand grasped hand. Tears filled the good man's eyes and deep emo- tion choked his voice as he dismissed them for the night. He raised his hands. All stood and bowed — and then his feeling words: *'May God in mercy keep you all! Good- night to every one, and take my blessing home." L. •; G. 100 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. XII. If ever Nature holds sweet converse with mankind, 'tis when she wakes and throws the white robe of the winter off to don the dress of showery spring. Then is her soft voice full of sad regrets that mortals should have waited her so long. Tears in her eyes; love in her soft embrace; and promises of joys to be renewed and happiness assured in days to come. Into the fields she goes and, where she treads, the scented grass springs up, and where her lips have pressed, the perfumed flowers. She calls unto the south wind *'come," and then she hangs the tassels on the trees and covers all the woods with hues of green. There, under the dead leaves, the arbutus and anemones shall flower, and where the hedges blossom birds shall sing, and over all the hills, on field and tree, a wilderness of bloom — and then in sweet- est words she speaks: '*0 mortals, chide me not for the delay. I know you have been faith- ful and the winter long. Come take my hand and let us not forget. Here let us work to- gether all the sunny days, and I will bring you ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 101 blessings manifold and aid you willingly and constantly, your faithful mistress and your loving friend!" man, ungrateful and unloving and unkind —what answer have you made to this appeal? Year after year, as Isis did of old, this sainted spirit comes and wooes you for your good ; but indolence has caught your ear, and all the yearn- ing of her loving heart is wasted in despair. Say not you never hear this voice — say rather that you never heed. Nature has few inter- preters. None understands the deep affections which are not revealed by human hearts and acts and words. None credits the unseen. Familiarity with things unknown — the visible invisible — has made all earth's great mysteries so common that men heed them not, nor see, nor hear, save as they're things of course. Who thinks on the unknown? Who translates words unspoken? Yet in the darkened chambers of the brain there is a mirror which reveals the shadow of a thought! On pathless seas the mariner beholds, within the glass, the coming storm, and in the binnacle a strip of steel which tells him his true course! In the deep woods and on the open wastes the Indian reads the signs which the Great Spirit sends! Dumb ani- mals are moved by unseen powers and know in- 102 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. stinctively which hand is kind and which will do them harm ! Who wonders at these wondrous things or hears their voice? There is a language none has ever learned. It is the language of another world, which here we know by signs alone; but which, to him who thinks and feels, is more intelligent than all of Babel's tongues. The omens of disaster may be understood by him who wills to know. The thunder's dreaded tone we can translate. The frightful earth- quake, trembling in its rage, and like a giant Samson, seizing on the pillars of the world to cast them down, says why it comes. The so- called messages from Heaven are never mira- cles, but simple facts, and as an open book for all wise men to read; and Nature's gentle voice is plain as is a mother's calling in the night to loved ones she has lost. The Sunday morning found fair Barbara com- muning with herself, and musing over Nature which reflected happiness and vied with her in beauty and in smiles. Branches of bloom and knots of variegated flowers lay in the fragrant shade and yet she gathered more. **I hate to rob you, my sweet friends," she ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 103 said, "but you shall be the incense on the altar at the church to-day, and there the best of men shall tell the worst of women she is wrong to offer you a sacrifice for his dear sake. Good Mr. Olds, who cares for souls, Each lovely flower that here unfolds Bears love for you, good Mr. Olds. ** There, Joan, pray take them carefully and put them in the vases there, and keep them damp and in the shade. Yonder is Diccon in the wagon, now, and Donald helping mother. So run along and mind you three drive around by the north road and take the lame girl and her mother in, and give them what I gave you. Then hurry to the church and give these to the deacon to put on the pulpit, as I said, before the people come. Kemember now. Donald and I will go across the hill. Here, Luath, here! Comeback here, sir! He never sees a wagon but he wants to go, just like poor Sandy Ramsey's tongue. So you have come alone. Go bring your master, if you please, then we three sinners will be off to church. " * Welcome sweet day of rest That saw the Lord arise ; Welcome to this reviving breast And these rejoicing eyes — And these rejoicing eyes!' " 104 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. *'Thanks, Barbara," said Donald, coming up, *'these good old words and tunes have my re- spect. They soothe some sorrowing heart— and fiction, fact, poem or sorriest prose that mortal ever penned, if it but do some good — is Heaven- inspired." The path they took across the fields led to a lane and this into a road that ran along the woods beneath the overhanging branches of the trees. Nothing was said, but thought was busy in the brain of both, and even Luath sometimes paused with a great look of wisdom in his eyes, but he was silent too. 80 they went on without a word until they reached a gate which was kept closed. As Donald opened it for Barbara, his eyes met hers. She seemed to read his thought. **Donald," she said, **you have been walking in a dream, and feel about you the same spell that's haunted me all day." "What makes you think so, Barbara?" *'Your thoughtful face; your attitude of lis- tening when you've paused; the intelligence which has lighted up your eye, when you have something heard." **What could I hear, dear Barbara?' " "Are there no voices then, besides our own, within these woods and fields?" ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 105 "Why ask? We are alone." "Donald, we never are alone ! I read it in your face. Your thought is as my own. Tell me — why were you silent?" ''Because I felt it would be sacrilege to speak when Nature's loving voice was sounding in our ears. You are right, dear Barbara, we are not alone. In woods or fields; in cot or palace; on ships at sea there is a friendly spirit comes by night and day and takes us by the hand and counsels us for good. Happy the man to whom that 'still small voice' shall not appeal in vain, and blessed be all who take into their homes and treasure in their hearts these messages of love!" "There, Donald, is the bell," said Barbara, as she paused and listened to its sound. "How harsh the note compared with what we've heard, and yet it chimes in unison or makes so sweet a discord that the angels love to listen to the sound." "Another proof, good wife, that things inani- mate can speak, each in its way — and some are heard in Heaven! There is a grand cathedral somewhere in the world, which people call *a prayer in stone.' Mute lips are often eloquent. Orisons devout are carved on Buddhists' images, or on the Indian rain-God's lips by penitential 106 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. hands; and, trust me, Barbara, these are under- stood and answered in good time. But, come. The sermon for to-day was not to be within this wood, but in the church hard by. Yonder's the humble spire and weather-vane that points the way — the bell invites — and here the sinners come." **Love one another." Such the blessed theme on which good Mr. Olds discoursed in presence of the greatest gath- ering his church had ever seen. From all the hills, the country folks had come in honor of the day, the work, the man. The minister was at his best. The poverty of his surroundings could not take away the grandeur of that noble face; nor dim his intellect; nor change his sim- ple eloquence, nor its sublime effect. *'Love one another." As he uttered these three words he seemed inspired. He did not shout them forth as a command, nor utter them with cold indifference ; nor in perfunctory style speak that which must be spoken; nor give the subject as dead words to be discussed, then, one by one, to be dissected and laid bare; but, as a father might, he took the theme — **Love one another" — from his own o'erflowing heart and ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 107 gave it as a blessing, Heaven sent, to those he knew and loved. **Love one another''— in the chureh,the school, the workshop, place of business, in the home by ties made sacred, for a common cause, for happiness, for good, for love itself, and all that love implies — **Love one another." **Be kind to youth and helplessness. Teach the young boy and girl an honest life — him to be just and her to never stray. Encircle them with all the loving ties your home can give, and when they leave you, let it be in tears and deep regret and the assurance that your love won't change, but they'll be welcome when they come back home. In middle life, or when old age steals on, love, do not desert, but hold them faithful still — brother and sister; man and wife; father and son ; the mother and her child ; lover and maid beloved; stranger and friend — where'er on earth you meet, or wheresoever you may make your home — by all the things worth living for in life, love one another and your God will love and honor you!" Words cannot tell the effect of words. They are the signs and symbols which, when given voice, can readily repeat the very shade of sense and sound of something heard before, but 108 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. which, although reiterated till eternity, would ever lack the spirit which they first possessed. The time, the man, the cause which animates his soul; the vital spark which makes his words electrical, all pass, or in imagination only leave their trace. Thank God, the voice which spoke that day is not yet hushed, and those who heard are living still ; and love, grown cold before, is warm in many hearts whose home is there. The flowers Barbara gave are scentless, dead; but others bloom eternal in their place in memory of that happy day. And blessed be Providence which watches all our lives ! no flower has yet been brought by loving hands to deck a new-made grave on Scotland Hill. The service over and the last word said did not dismiss the gathered friends. Some stayed behind to take the good man's hand and give him thanks — Donald and Barbara to ask him to their house. Women and men and boys and girls for just a friendly word, and Sandy Kam- sey, when the preacher said **God bless you all," cried ** Second the motion!" and **Amen!" to show the working of the leaven in his heart, then went and took the hand of Father Lindsay, his great rival in debate, and called on all to ''wet- ness' ' he had no ill-will and would be easy on him ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 109 when they came to talk— or, if Lindsay would tell him now what he was going to say, he'd make his argument against it light, to corre- spond, and anyhow he'd make defeat as easy as he could, for he had traveled and he knew the allowance should be made for country *'egner- ence," and if they wanted proof he'd tell them now a story that was just as true as any gospel Reverend Mr. Olds had ever preached. **Once on a time " But this was all he said-inside. The school- master and Father Lindsay led him out, in spite of all his gestures and protests, and calmed him down by promising that he should have an easy victory in the debate. **Here — whisper," said the master in his ear. **ril not give out the subject till the night has come, so Father Lindsay can't avail of outside help, and falls an easy victim to your ready wit." **A11 right," said Sandy, with a knowing wink, **but ef yer lookin' oot for somethin' gude ye'd better let me do the whole debate alone! I've traveled in the West, an' know a lot o' trecks. Ye mind McShaw? Weel, Mac was just a baby in me hands an' he is oot there yet a practicin' my style." "Of course — ^of course," his two companions 110 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. said, and hurried him along the road— his legs, arms, tongue all running at one time and keep- ing him engaged till they were out of sight. **I hear as how he's been complainin' 'bout them mules," said Deacon Drawback, as he rolled some plug tobacco for his pipe, **but what does he axpect? He's talked their ears off. Talk'd 'em deaf an' dumb an' blind, an' they don't understand a cussed word he says. Well —never mind. I'll buy 'em back — half price." Having decided this, he started up the road, and all the listeners laughed and talked and took their several ways across the hills, and quiet reigned again about the empty church. ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. Ill XIII. The Stuarts lingered when the other folks had gone, and went with Mr. Olds into the humble burial-ground which slopes towards the west, and stopped where one word, — *' Father"— marked a grave. On this, as each bent down , they placed the flowers they had brought— the poor old widowed mother taking those which she had pinned upon her breast and placing them with trembling hands, said: **Duncan, these are mine," and bowed her head to hide her tears. "Love one another." After death— beyond the grave — there is no limit where affection stops and says this is the end. From Barbara's loving gift the minister took but the poorer part, and all the richer ones he gave to his dead friend. *'Love one another" —parting is but a name, and friendship that is true extends beyond the present life to be re- newed in heaven. They turned away and, as they came into the road again, there underneath the great red oak, which love transformed into a balm of Gilead 112 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. tree, Diccon and Joan were practicing the text — his arm around her waist, his lips to hers. '*Love one another." Happy hallowed words, and understood by all— blessing the living and the dead, the highest and the lowliest, intelli- gence and ignorance alike — the sweetest, kind- est, holiest law that God e'er gave to man ! Take this alone, and follow it, all others may be put asida — all mortals would be blessed. Starting home, Donald and Barbara passed the cottage where the lame girl lived, and there they found her, sitting in the shade, surrounded by a lot of little friends and, as they passed, they heard these words: **We always loved you, Mary, didn't we? Yes, and we always will." **Love one another." innocence of youth- ful days! How warm your words; how sweet your voice. Your soothing tones can turn mis- fortune into joy — affliction into patience and content. Keep still your faith in better things. The time is long, but love will lead you to them yet, no matter what your state. **Barbara," said Donald, as they walked along, **the world still holds the many like myself who doubt and disbelieve much that is told and taught; but there are truths, not registered in books — words coming straight from what we ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 113 say is heaven, and bringing peace and comfort to the human heart. What message is this, Barbara?" **Love, Donald, nothing more. It is the lan- guage which all Nature speaks, and blessed is he who hears and heeds." "Kiss me, Barbara. My thought, like yours and all the rest, tends to that pleasant theme, and this great truth all know and feel, that while this love is in our hearts we never can do wrong." **Right, Donald; Nature overworks out good, and we are but the instruments and agents of His will who rules in this great world." "Yes, Barbara, I know that this is true, and he does well who day by day uses the gifts with which he is endowed to help in some good work — to cause some tree to grow; some grass to spring; some flower to bloom; some field to yield; some dumb thing to rejoice; some gen- erous, kindly word to be proclaimed; some cheering, hopeful message to be written down; some sorrow to be soothed, some wound re- lieved ; something to be done that's worthy to be called the work of man and is approved by Him who placed us here and in whose fields we toil." "Your pardon, Donald," said Barbara, with a 114 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. laugh. **It is the gate which stops your speech — not I. But we have come to our own grounds, and yonder in the shade we'll sit awhile and talk — and when the dinner's ready, Joan will call. See— there is our old rock beneath the tree where we have sat and talked so many times, and where you cut the initials of our names, in our first days of love." "Yes, Barbara. Dear the spot to me. I always have respected it, and always shall. There is the same old tree, with its outstretched and sheltering arms — only they're longer now and overhang the road, and bend so lovingly above the spot, they seem protecting it. And there's the hawthorn we transplanted that November day, in blossom now. Bless the old place and all the memories it conjures up of Barbara Douglas and her sweet girl's face, when first she listened here." **And am I changed then, Donald?" **No, Barbara, only to be more loving and more kind. Just as the tree is changed, which now extends its arms as if to clasp me in a kind embrace, while still it steadfast stands, immov- able as is the rock, and ever constant in this changing world." **Bless you, dear Donald. Here is a kiss for that. And now go on." ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 115 **I cannot, Barbara. All my thought has changed. This spot brings back my dreams, and well it does. Do you forget my task? The work is new. The time is short. This very afternoon I must begin to put my fancies into shape and bring my characters upon the scene." **What characters?" **Strangers, Barbara. Except the poet Burns, and some he mentions in his letters and his songs, there is no history. A dozen words tell all have ever said or done. The poet's father, brother, friends — the characters of which he speaks — are mostly mentioned in a line, or else are merely names of those who never speak, familiar as they seem. Highland Mary — Bonnie Jean — by love and genius made immortal names — have left no records of their words, no mes- sages of love or joy — no fond or fateful history. The memory of their love alone re- mains." **Then, Donald, build your tale on that. A simple story of the heart, without one modern defect or device. No murders and no myster- ies, intrigues or duels; no unsexed women; no unmanly men; no faithless wives, lords, ladies, servants, wills, fortunes, long-lost heirs; no poor girl in distress, with but a 'beggarly two thousand pounds'; no wonderful escapes; no 116 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. going* up to London' and no coming back; no balls or parties— scandals in society — no " '**Stop— stop— my gentle, guileless wife— I can't evolve an unknown race. Leave me a man or two, a little landscape and some sheep upon the hills. I'll plan a pastoral of other days; but Nature's hand grasps many things and I must take the gifts she brings and mould them as I may." *'Your pardon, Donald. What I wished to say was only this — that you'd not follow in the beaten track, but keep to Nature's ways and all the dictates of your generous heart — for therein you are strong. Fame's temple stands upon a hill, and he will reach it first who chooses the right path, then boldly keeps his way. Let not your humble lot make you distrust yourself. You yet may rise. Where shallow wits pose in prosperity, you have a better claim— for well I know that only overwork and poverty and con- stant cares have so far kept you down and sunk you out of sight." **Thanks, Barbara. You are a goodly moni- tor, and as I keep my faith in many things, I'll keep faith in myself. Without a touch of fear or thought of pride, I'll do for good. Then, as my work shall merit, let it live or die. Per- chance it may be blessed— just as my labor has ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 117 been in the fields, when it has brought forth in its time, despite of cold, dark days, and killing frosts and burning suns, and other sad dis- couragements." **Be sure then, Donald, your good work shall thrive, and by your fruits you shall be known, although it may not be in present time. In our orchard here the Summer Bough and the Ked Astrachan are apples pleasant to the sight and taste, but never last. Others there are have some corrupting spot, and hurry to decay; but yours shall be the honest Kusset, Northern Spy, and Winter-White, which grow the better as the days pass by, and dearer that the others all are gone." ** Yet, Barbara, ephemeral things are what the people crave. Something that neither asks nor gives a thought; or rather say, something that comes from nothing and returns to it. Let me die poor, forsaken and despised — for rather that, than come to this. But let's go home. Yonder is Luath bringing Joan, both wondering why we do not come — not knowing in their simple hearts, that we, the man and woman in this Eden here, grown tired of what is given us to do, seek out the tree of knowledge which shall drive us forth." 118 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. XIV. The dinner over, Diccon came, all dressed up in his Sunday clothes, with hat in hand, and said he thought— he'd like to know — if — he *' could take one of the horses for a little ride." ** Alone?" asked Donald, with a quiet smile. **Ye— es, sir. Yes— we only want the one." •*We? Who? There are two, then-eh?" **Well, yes, sir. Just at present, sir, we're two." **But if you could be, you d be one — eh, Dic- con—eh?" **Maybe we will be, sir, when we come back." **Well, Diccon, you're considerate for the horse. When going he is fresh, and draws the two — but coming back, he's tired, and draws but one. The other walks then, Diccon, I sup- pose?" ** You're good at guessing, sir; but you are wrong." **Well, then, perhaps you'll leave the other where you go." *'No, sir— you'll have to guess again." **It may be you will not return, yourself?" ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 119 "Oh, yes, sir, yes. I wouldn't leave you for the world— besides, she couldn't drive the horse." **She? Who?" **Her, if you please." **Whichher?" **Theoneyou caught me kissing, sir, to-day." "What— Joan?" "My Joan. That is, she's your Joan yet— until v/e come back home— and then, sir, if you'll kindly keep us on, we'll do you double service all our lives." "Go call her here, and bring my mother and my wife. Come here, my gentle Joan, and an- swer for your crimes. So, Diccon kissed you at the church?" "Ye — yes, sir; but I told him it was wrong." "How was it, then, you didn't strike him dumb with yoar indignant glance?" "He was so close, I couldn't, sir." "Why didn't you leave him, then, and come away?" "Why, sir, he never could have kissed me if I had— besides that would not have been accord- ing to the text." "Oh, yes— I see. You take things literally." "1 don't know what that is, sir; but I never took a kiss afore, so please excuse mistakes." 120 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. '*Ask pardon of the law. Both Diccon and yourself must answer this." *'That's what I told him, sir, along the road. We must be married now." **You told him that?" **Yes, sir, somebody had to tell him, for he didn't know, and what my mother says is true: *The man who kisses with delight Must marry you before the night! And, should his kisses e'er grow cold, Divorce before the day is old !' " **0h, innocent daughter of a knowing mother ! You've no time to lose. Diccon, you love this girl, and will be honest, faithful all your life?" **I promise, sir, with all my heart." **And you — confiding Joan?" **0h, sir, if I am ever anything but faithful to him, or to you, or to your mother, or my mis- tress here— then drive me from this place; but let us stay and work for you and we'll love one another all our lives." '*Diccon," said Donald, **here's some money — there, a girl who will make you a good wife. Don't waste your time; but get the horse and go. Don't hurry back. I'll do your work to- night; and, while you're hitching up, I'll write a line for you to Mr, Olds." ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 121 **God bless you, sir." '*My mistress, too," said Joan. ''And don't forget the text," said Barbara, "and Heaven will bless you two." Donald went in to write the note, and now his mother had her chance. Some little questions had occurred to her and these she fired relent- lessly at Joan, while Barbara, more considerate and less curious, helped the girl to dress. **Going to be married, eh?— Huh. When is it going to be? And where? Who is going to stand up with you? Did Diccon understand? Does your mother know? Will you know what to say? Were you ever married before? When are you coming back? Or are you going away? Why didn't you say something? Nobody ever said a word to me. How do you know you'll be satisfied? How long was your mother married? When were you born? What did you let him kiss you for, if you didn't want to get married? How do you know he loves you now? What is the color of your mother's hair?" And other all important things, appropriate to the time which might have been extended, but the horse appeared, and Donald handed in the prize and Diccon took the note. Then all said : "Well, good luck!" "Good-bye!" "Take care of youselves!" "Don't run away!" and 122 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. **Hurrry up!" and "Hurry back!" and similar original remarks by which the parting guest is cheered upon his way. The worthy three stood at the gate and watched the couple driving down the road till they were out of sight. Then Donald turned, and with a twinkle in his eye, said: '^Mother, all those questions must have made you tired as they did Joan. Will you go in now and lie down?" "Well, yes," she said, '*! will, a little while; but do you think it's right?" "What, mother?" "Why—didn't you say they were going to be married?" "Oh, yes—yes— mother. That's all right!" "And you're quite sure the horse won't run away?" "Yes — yes. He will go slow. Our horses are never in a hurry to go to the same place twice — especially on Sunday." "Well, then, I'll go, and take my nap. Good- bye !" And so she went inside and talked herself to sleep. Barbara laughed outright. "Donald," she said, "what sermon ever had so sudden an effect?" "None that I ever heard of," he answered with delight. "If that old horse can only make ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 123 2.40 now, in twenty minutes' time the Rev. Mr. Olds will make 2.01. That's quick dispatch and happiness enough for any man. The seed of the morning is the harvest of the afternoon. His sermon yields him fruit before it's hardly ripe— in fact, while yet it's green. Thanks to our hasty Darby here, and his impatient Joan." *'No wasted time, or wasted words," said Barbara, laughing still. "They jumped at this as if it were their only chance. Oh, it was too ridiculous!" *'Yes, yes," said Donald, **but you under- stand these two took the one step that led from the sublime. We laugh; but Nature has her way, and where she speaks of love all hearts are moved — the humblest as the best. love, thy story told, no matter where — inside the pul- pit or upon the stage — within the camp or by the cottage fire, is the one theme of which the world ne'er tires! But come — this day's too good to go to waste. Let's go up to the barn and open the big doors and let the wind blow through ; and give the horses some green grass ; and bring some water from the well; and sit down on the hay, and there resume our talk. To-morrow we'll have much to do, and we shall have no time." *' With all my heart," said Barbara. **Go and 124 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. open up the doors, and I will see all's right about the house, and put the things away, and come when I have done." And Donald did not have to wait. Within five minutes she was standing at his side and both were looking from the great doors to the north, where the blue hills were stretched along the sky. "A glorious scene. Eh, Barbara?" **Yes, Donald. It is beautiful. No wonder you admire it." **Barbara, it seems to me just like a picture which the border of this opening frames— a mammoth painting hung on heavenly walls. That was the scene my father loved, and here he used to sit on summer afternoons and watch the clouds, and say those hills reminded him of Scotland. Barbara, this landscape and my book of Barns shall Jurnish me the inspiration for the task I've set." **But, Donald, would you not love to see the very scenes which you must sketch? Or mingle with the people who could tell you more of those of whom you'd write?" **I would; but as it stands with me to-day, I think I never shall. Perhaps 'tis best; for in imagination I can see the scenes and faces which I would not have disturbed. How poorly would ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 125 the wretched street of Gretna Green repeat to me the romance of the place; or Ecclefechan's stony landscape show the greatness and the grandeur of Carlyle— or Abbotsford portray the mighty 'Wizard of the North'— and as for Robert Burns, why need I ask from the surroundings of his life that which would make him better known or better loved? His home is in the hu- man heart and Nature tells his history. There's not a wave that rolls and surges on the Firth of Clyde but kisses reverently the shores of Ayr and murmurs in the ear of Scotland a refrain which tells of days Lang Syne. There's not a bird that sings within the woods of Doon, but in its plaintive note recalls the poet's sorrowing lay. There's not a tree that waves or flower that blooms but tells some story of the one whose ways were Nature's own — whose songs were of the heart. The heather trodden under foot—the blue-bell broken from its stem— are emblems of his life o'erthrown while yet 'twas in its bloom. The modest daisy turned beneath the sod, ** *Like artless maid By love's simplicity betrayed Low in the dust' bemoans his fate as he lamented hers, and in her 126 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. sweet, remembering way, bedecks the narrow bed where now he lies! * * gentle Nature, thou art ever kind ! And he who loves thee well will never need another friend ! Within thy generous heart no harsh re- proaches bide — no faith in man is lost — no kind- ness is forgot! Thy love eternal calls thy children home, and when their weary work is done, to thy fond bosom they may come and sleep upon thy breast." There was a silence after this which Barbara did not break; bul as she saw her husband lost in thought, she jveiio and took his hand and sat down by his side. There was a bond of sympa- thy between the two which had no need of words. Nature was speaking now to both their hearts. The murmuring wind was bringing in the gossip of the outer world. The twittering swallow's call; the pigeon's **coo"; the blue- bird's loving cry. The fragrance of the blossom- ing orchards sweetened all the air— and, yonder in the shimmering light, hung Nature's painting close against the sky. Why should not man, at such an hour, and in a scene like this, hold some communion with his better thought and feel some love and sympathy for man? What was the value of the text which they had heard to-day, if those were only empty ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 1^7 words and had no other use than pleasant sound? How poorly great Guatama's blameless life appealed to millions of the Buddhists of the world if kindness and forbearance, charity and love had all been lived and lost! How vain the Savior's sacrifice — matchless example of pure sympathy for man— if all that wondrous wealth of love divine did not inspire a reverence endless and a love as deep! **Love one another," is the law of laws. ** Whatsoever ye would that others should do unto you, that do ye also unto them." This is the heathen's and the Christian's great com- mand, and comes direct from Heaven! Let no one grow so wise in this our little world that he can sneer at those who keep an open heart where love and charity can enter in. There comes a day — before or after death— when God's love is the only guard that watches while we sleep. "Forgive me, Donald," Barbara said at last, **but are you thinking out your story now, and shall I write it down?" **Not yet, dear Barbara — time enough. Just now I want to think and talk and call these stranger subjects to my aid and hear what they've to say. But after supper, Barbara, to- 128 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. night, and every night from this time on, this task shall take the place of all the pleasant readings which have passed. I'll come in early from the fields, and after other work is done, then for my own." ** Donald, I wish that I could aid you more. You're sure of everything?" ** Yes, Barbara — of everything except myself." **Fear nothing, Donald. Everything you say has worth and strength. Your spirit and your sympathy are sure." **Barbara, you mistake. Good qualities suc- ceed in practiced hands; but, even in the fields, worth, strength and sympathy will not suflSce. A giant cannot turn a decent furrow for the corn until he learns to plow; nor can I hope to shine in arts I've never learned." **Donald, now you mistake. No matter what the book, I love to read the words which come straight from the author's heart, without the aid of useless ornament. These, often coarse and sometimes ungrammatical, have yet the fire which gives them lasting life." ** That's true, sometimes, I will confess, and in the drama more especially ; and therefore, that has always seemed to me the grandest field for authorship. The characters walk forth — not visions, but realities. They live and move in- ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 129 spired by love or hate, ambition or their various desires — succeed or fail; do good or evil — as you will— and all the purpose of their coming and their going they relate — as Shakspeare tells, even ** * Life's but a walking shadow — A poor player Who struts and frets his hour Upon the stage* And then is heard no more!* Eureka!-— Barbara, see how a little thought or talk may end. Five minutes since I did not know how I could use the men and women who came knocking at my heart and brain to do me service. Now I'll have them come into our little room and tell their story. I will interpret — you shall write it down — and it shall be a drama of departed days, with many characters — Burns and his father, brother, many friends. High- land Mary — Bonnie Jean— drawn and arrayed as best I may. Holy Willie— Tam O'Shanter— the good Earl of Glencairn shall be the heroes of their histories in which their author shall him- self appear — and all the rest shall come from the invisible air — as Ariel came to Prospero — to do a willing task." 130 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. XV. The afternoon was passing by. The sun was on the western slope; the noiseless footsteps of retreating hours unchallenged passed the silent guards. Nothing spoke of change; but quietly ten thousand ambushed figures came and crept towards the east. Then at a sign, these shadows rose and pointed to the dial which proclaimed their reign was close at hand. Donald Stuart slept. Stretched on his rustic bed of fragrant hay, with Luath guarding at the door, he passed an hour in peaceful dreams. The work and worry of the week just passed were all forgotten now, and in their place came visions of Arcadian days on Caledonian hills. Sometimes he smiled and sometimes sorrow stole across his face, and Barbara knew that sympathetic look was for the people of his brain who told their mournful story to their best of friends. **Sleep on, dear Donald, dream," she said. **Forever must his waking or his sleeping hours be blessed, who so forgets himself for other's good— sleep on." ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 131 And saying this, she'd sit and watch, then go and come again, till her returning footfall told^ him she was near, and then he waked and smiled. '*Ha! ha!" he said. **How gallant husbands are ! A lover, now, would sit and watch a whole night through and swear that he was never tired." **Well, yes," said Barbara, **and just to prove he'd lived and lied for love he'd sleep the whole day long the moment he was once alone. Rouse up, good Mr. Lotus-eater, if you please. Though you are in the land of dreams it is not 'always afternoon' in this meridian and night will soon be here." ''Well, Barbara, let it come. We'll be pre- pared. The lovers won't be back till after dark, and as the song says <<