concluding chapter of
Ecclesiastes, furnishing in himself its fitting illustration. The evil
days had come; the keepers of the house trembled; the windows of life
were darkened. A few months later the silver cord was loosed, the golden
bowl was broken, and between the poor old man and the temptations which
beset him fell the thick curtains of the grave.

(1) Nathaniel Emmons was a New England theologian of
marked character and power, who for seventy years was
connected with a church in that part of Wrentham, Mass., now
called Franklin. He exercised considerable influence over the
religious thought of New England, and is still read by
theologians. He died in 1840, in his ninety-sixth year.
(2) Souter (or cobbler) Johnny, in Burns's poetic tale of _Tam
O'Shanter,_ had been _fou_ or _full_ of drink with Tam for
weeks together.

One day we had a call from a "pawky auld carle"(1) of a wandering
Scotchman. To him I owe my first introduction to the songs of Burns.
After eating his bread and cheese and drinking his mug of cider he gave
us Bonny Doon, Highland Mary, and Auld Lang Syne. He had a rich, full
voice, and entered heartily into the spirit of his lyrics. I have since
listened to the same melodies from the lips of Dempster(2) (than whom
the Scottish bard has had no sweeter or truer interpreter), but
the skilful performance of the artist lacked the novel charm of the
gaberlunzie's singing in the old farmhouse kitchen. Another wanderer
made us acquainted with the humorous old ballad of "Our gude man cam
hame at e'en." He applied for supper and lodging, and the next morning
was set at work splitting stones in the pasture. While thus engaged
the village doctor came riding along the highway on his fine, spirited
horse, and stopped to talk with my father. The fellow eyed the animal
attentively, as if familiar with all his good points, and hummed over a
stanza of the old poem:--

"Our gude man cam hame at e'en,
And hame cam he;
And there he saw a saddle horse
Where nae horse should be.
'How cam this horse here?
How can it be?
How cam this horse here
Without the leave of me?'
'A horse?' quo she.
'Ay, a horse,' quo he.
'Ye auld fool, ye blind fool,--
And blinder might ye be,--
'T is naething but a milking cow
My mamma sent to me.'
'A milch cow?' quo he.
'Ay, a milch cow,' quo she.
'Weel, far hae I ridden,
And muck