Miss Davies had received an education superior to that of most young ladies in her station in life, and being besides in the bloom of early womanhood, and especially agreeable and witty, her company was much courted in Nithsdale. She was very small, as has been told, but was such a handsome little lady that some one who desired to compliment her welcomed her to the Vale of Nith as 66 one of the Graces in miniature." Burns, on being asked at Moffat why Miss Davies had been formed so little while the Hon. Mrs. Stewart was formed so big, replied neatly, and on the spot: Ask why God made the gem so small, She was the heroine of his almost best known, most tenderly-loving, and most widely-esteemed song, "Bonnie Wee Thing," concerning which and its origin, when enclosing it to her in a letter, he remarks :-" When I meet with a person of my own heart, I positively can no more desist from rhyming on the impulse, than an Æolian harp can refuse its tone to the streaming air. BONNIE WEE THING. Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Wishfully I look and languish In that bonnie face o' thine; Wit and grace, and love and beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o' this soul o' mine! Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, Lest my jewel I should tine. Short and sweet, like its subject, this is a song that is much sung, and its meaning is often marred by singers, following the editors of English song folios and substituting "wistfully" for "wishfully" in the second verse. If they would read the lines thoughtfully, then ask themselves what earthly meaning "wistfully" has there, surely they would never mouth it again in public. His other song to Miss Davies is in a bantering vein, but is a "brilliant effort," as Scott Douglas remarks," in the way of playful compliment." THE CHARMS OF LOVELY DAVIES. O how shall I, unskilfu', try The Poet's occupation? The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair, Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, Each eye it cheers, when she appears, When past the shower, and ev'ry flower As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, Her smile's a gift frae 'boon the lift, The man in arms 'gainst female charms, He hugs his chain, and owns the reign Of conquering, lovely Davies. My Muse! to dream of such a theme, I wad in vain essay the strain, ANNA PARK "ANNA WITH THE GOWDEN LOCKS." WE now approach a song of which the poet himself said, "I think it is the best love-song I ever composed." But the way towards and around it is set with thorns, and one must "gang warily." It is a song, indeed, however excellent as such, that celebrates a black chapter in the book of the author's life, and astonishment may reasonably be expressed at the fact that it ever was written, or, when written, that it was ever allowed to see the light. About the close of October, 1789, Burns entered on his excise duties, and the business he required to transact with Collector Mitchell in connection with that office led him often from Ellisland to Dumfries. In the Globe Tavern there—a still later rendezvous of the poet and his friends— he became too intimate with Anna Park, a niece of the landlady, Mrs. Hyslop, with the result that, on the 31st of March, 1791, to shame of father and mother alike, a child was born. We would not hang over the incident, but it deserves to be told that this child, a daughter, accepted from its mother, who perhaps died in childbed, was taken care of at first by the poet's mother and sisters at Mossgiel, and was thence brought, after a short time, to Ellisland, to be fostered by Mrs. Burns-most indulgent of wives-along with her infant son William Nicol, only ten days younger. A story is told, which has been already mentioned, of how old Armour visited his daughter one day unexpectedly at Ellisland, in Burns's absence, and seeing the two children in a cradle together, he looked only half surprised, and asked, "Have you had twins again?" "No," replied Jean, as few women in her situation could have done, "no; it's a neebour's bairn that's no weel." Another might have received a different answer, but to the man who never liked her husband-to the father who compelled her to burn the secret contract of her marriage with Burns-who had expelled her from his house because of her insistent connection with the poet-this was all, and it was in excellent taste-revealing "smeddum" and self-control. I have heard a daughter of that child-the late Margaret Thomson, when she had become the wife of David Wingate, the collier poet-tell how her mother was ever ready to testify to the uniform kindness extended to her by Mrs. Burns, alike in childhood, girlhood, and in womanhood. Never in any way was she permitted to feel that she was other than a regular member of the family; and not alone while she lived in the house, but even after she had left it, and when, indeed, she had a house of her own. Every New-Year's day, as long as the giver lived, brought its little parcel, with an expression of good wishes. But enough. The song meant to be sung to the sentimental Irish air, "The Banks of Banna," is one of vehement and almost abandoned passion. THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. Yestreen I had a pint o' wine A place where body saw na ; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine |