sent themselves. Crocodiles with their hands in their
breeches-pockets. Persons throwing off their coats and waistcoats like
Newfoundland dogs. A master and man sleeping; master on the boards
a-top, and the man in the bed; master remarking in the morning he would
have preferred the lower station, but for the concetty o' the thing.

Coming down early one morning in great spirits at the prospect of a
long day's outing with his son, he said to the boy--

"I am not an early riser,
As you may surmise, sir;
But when I'm on a ploy, sir,
I feel just like a boy, sir."

No chance rhyme or pun, bad, good, or indifferent, was let slip, however
much taking it up might interrupt the subject under discussion.

The following childish little poem seems worth preservation now. It was
presented to his daughter Matilda on the death of her little dog. She
happening to visit a relative, who was physician in a lunatic asylum,
and showing the little poem, it was printed in the 'Asylum Magazine,'
from which it was copied into the 'Animal World:'

LAMENT FOR FOXEY.

Poor little Foxey,
With your coaxy
Little way,
You're gone for aye.
I'll no longer hark
To your garrulous bark,
See the fleeching grimace
Of your comical face,
Nor be touched by your yelping
When you get a skelping.
You had no orthodoxy
Poor Foxey,
Nor a commanding spirit,
Nor any great merit.
The reason for sorrow, then, what is it?
Just that you're missed,
And that's all
That shall befall
The rest of us,
Even the best of us.
An empty chair
Somewhere,
To be filled by another
Some day or other.
Sick cur or hero in his prime,
It's a matter of time.
The world is growing, growing,
The blank is going, going,
And will be gone anon.

CHAPTER VI.

LITERARY LIFE (_continued_).

_Illness--Resignation of office--Sale of Craighouse--Morton--Domestic
life--'Queen Anne'--Letters about ballad-lore--Singular incident
connected with it--Letters from abroad._

In the end of the year 1877 Dr Burton had the first severe illness of
his life. On the 18th day of December of that year, Mrs Cunningham,
widow of Lord Cunningham, died at Morton House, which had been the
summer home of her twenty years of widowhood, and at which illness had
detained her during the winter of 1877. The editor of the 'Scotsman'
applied to Dr Burton for an ob