*

But I am rambling on too far and too fast for to-day. Here is one more
book, however, that I must say a word about, as it lies open on my knee,
the gift of PUIR ROBBIE BURNS to a female friend,--his own poems,--the
edition which gave him "so much real happiness to see in print." Laid in
this copy of his works is a sad letter, in the poet's handwriting, which
perhaps has never been printed. Addressed to Captain Hamilton, Dumfries,
it is in itself a touching record of dear Robin's poverty, and _a'
that_.

"SIR,

"It is needless to attempt an apology for my remissness to you in money
matters; my conduct is beyond all excuse.--Literally, Sir, I had it
not. The Distressful state of commerce at this town has this year taken
from my otherwise scanty income no less than L20.--That part of my
salary depends upon the Imposts, and they are no more for one year. I
inclose you three guineas; and shall soon settle all with you. I shall
not mention your goodness to me; it is beyond my power to describe
either the feelings of my wounded soul at not being able to pay you as I
ought; or the grateful respect with which I have the honor to be

"Sir, Your deeply obliged humble servant,

"ROBT. BURNS.

"Dumfries, Jany. 29, 1795."

And so I walk out of my friend's leafy paradise this July afternoon,
thinking of the bard who in all his songs and sorrows made

"rustic life and poverty
Grow beautiful beneath his touch,"

and whose mission it was

"To weigh the inborn worth of _man_."

THE NAME IN THE BARK.

The self of so long ago,
And the self I struggle to know,
I sometimes think we are two,--or are we shadows of one?
To-day the shadow I am
Comes back in the sweet summer calm
To trace where the earlier shadow flitted awhile in the sun.

Once more in the dewy morn
I trod through the whispering corn,
Cool to my fevered cheek soft breezy kisses were blown;
The ribboned and tasselled grass
Leaned over the flattering glass,
And the sunny waters trilled the same low musical tone.

To the gray old birch I came,
Where I whittled my school-boy name:
The nimble squirrel once more ran skippingly over the rail,
The blackbirds down among
The alders noisily sung,
And under the blackberry-brier whistled the serious quail.

I came, remembering well
How my little shadow fell,
As I painfully reached and wrote to leave to the future a sign:
There, stooping a little