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father's temples as he toiled on to little use. Robert had little inclination for his father's work; and yet somebody must take his place, for consumption was even then making rapid and fearful havoc with his constitution. The good old man ceased from his labours at last, and went where the weary rest. For a while Robert strove to fill his place-strove well, strove earnestly. But the farmer who stops to write poems over his plough seldom reaps a harvest to satisfy hungry mouths. And so poverty came; and Robert Burns, although the troubled eyes of his wife looked into his, and his little children were growing up fast about him, and needed a good father to teach them how to live in this world, and to earn bread for them till they became big enough to earn it for themselves, drank whisky to help him forget his cares.

His career was short, and ended sadly; but his poetry is full of purity and tenderness, freshness and humour; and his songs are such as will keep him in memory as a poet by all nations and all times.

FANNY FERN.

1 canopy, an ornamented covering raised over a throne, pulpit, bed, and other things. 2 Robert, Robert Burns, the famous Scotch poet. s disconsolate, sorrowful; sad. forego, do without. 5 supernatural, miraculous; wonderful. knotty, difficult to untie; difficult to understand.

6

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil's obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea-stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on homely fare we dine,
Wear 'hoddin grey, and a' that!

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that,

The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king of men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A king can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may—
As come it will for a' that-

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May 'bear the gree, and a' that.

J'or a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

BURNS.

1hoddin, cloth manufactured from wool in its natural state, and undyed.

3

2 birkie, a young fellow. coof, blockhead. 4 bear the gree, have the victory.

THE BOY WALTER SCOTT.

PART I.

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A SICKLY child sent to his grandfather's, for change of air. Nothing extraordinary in that. It has happened to many children of whom the world never even heard that they were born. Grandfather's house! It is the child's paradise. He has only to cry for what he wants to obtain. it. Grandpapa quite forgets the wholesome authority he exercised with the parents of his little grandchild, and how well they were made to "mind;" and he will always find some excuse, when they say to him, while he is spoiling their boy, "Grandpapa, you never allowed us to do so and so." He only shakes his silver head, and kisses the saucy rogue. Lame little Walter Scott was sent to his grandfather, to "Sandy Knowe," for change of air. Of course he asked everybody what was good for his grandson's complaint. One person recommended that a sheep should be killed, and the child immediately wrapped in its warm skin. This was done; and behold little Walter lying on the floor in his woolly covering, and Grandpapa Scott sitting there coaxing him to crawl round and exercise his little lame leg. There was his grandmamma Scott, too, in her elbow-chair, looking on. Now and then a visitor would drop in-some old military man— to see grandpapa; and the two would sit and talk about the "American Revolution then going on. These stories made little Walter's eyes shine, for under the lamb's woolly skin there beat a little lion heart; and then this little three-year-old boy crawled nearer and nearer the chairs where the old men were sitting, and devoured

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every word they said. All children like stories that are wonderful and marvellous; but perhaps little Walter would never have been such a beautiful story writer when he grew up, had he not lain there in his lamb-skin, in the little parlour at Sandy Knowe, listening to those old men's stories. People don't think of these things when they talk before children, who look so unconscious of what is going on.

Besides his good grandpapa and grandmamma, Walter had a very kind aunt, by the name of Janet, who liked children, and was fond of telling Walter stories, and teaching him to repeat little ballads. Of one of these in particular he was very fond; and when he lay sprawling on the floor, he used to say it over to himself.

It seems that Walter's illness did not sour his disposition. An old woman by the name of Tibby, at Sandy Knowe, says that "he was a sweet-tempered little 2bairn, and a darling with all the house." The shepherds delighted to carry him upon their backs among the crags, and he soon learnt to know every sheep and lamb in the flock by the mark put upon their heads. Best of all he liked an old man, who had the superintendence of all the flocks, who was called the "cow-bailie." When Walter saw him in the morning, he would never be satisfied until he had been put astride his shoulder and carried to the crags, to keep him company while he watched his flocks, After a while he became weary of this, as children will; then the nice old man blew a particular note on his whistle, to let the maidservant know that she was to come up and carry him down the crags to his grandpapa in the little cosy parlour. Many, many, many years after this, when Walter was an old man, he went back to see those crags, and this is what he said: "Oh, how I used to love the sheep and lambs when I rolled round here upon

the grass! I have never forgotten the feeling-no, not till this day!'

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Once, when little Walter was up on the crags, the people in the house where he lived forgot him. A. thunderstorm came up. Suddenly his aunt Janet remembered that he was there, and ran up much frightened, to bring him home. There she found him lying comfortably on his back, the sharp forked lightning playing overhead, and little Walter clapping his hands and crying, "Bonny! bonny!" at every flash. Walter's grandpapa, finding that he was fond of riding on the old cow-bailie's shoulder, bought him a darling little Shetland pony, hardly as large as a Newfoundland dog; in fact, he was so small that he used to walk into the parlour like a dog, and feed from the child's hand. He did not think then that one day he should have a little grandchild lame like himself, and that he should buy him just such a little pony, and name it like that-" Marion ; " but so it was.

Walter was a great reader. He read to his aunt, read to himself, and read to his mother. One day he was reading to his mother an account of a shipwreck, and became very much excited; lifting his hands and eyes, and saying, "There's the mast gone! crash! now they'll all perish!" While he was reading, a lady had come in to see his mother. After he had recovered a little from his agitation, he turned to the lady visitor with a politeness quite remarkable in a child of only six years, and said, "This is too melancholy had I not better read you something more amusing?" The lady thought, as well she might, that if she wanted to be "amused," she had better make him talk; so she said, knowing he had been reading Milton, "How did you like Milton, Walter?” "I think," said he, "that it is very strange that Adam, who had just come newly into the world, should know

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