such guerdon of praise, homage and affection as she has given Robert Burns and Jean Francois Millet. Great artists both, each in his way unique; and prophets too, interpreters not only of new artistic but of new social ideals. Their pictures and verses are still active, living forces among men; and will continue to be until the day come, whose coming they certainly have promoted: "That come it may, as come it will for a' that, That man to man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that." Neither of these seers for a moment believed that Nature, whatever her seeming, as Tennyson suggests, is indeed “careless of the single life." Each as artist did much to hearten men, for each in his own way dignified, yes, glorified the common life of men and women. Each teaches us, with a passion and artistic power which few indeed have equalled, to see and feel and sympathize with the lowly, obscure and poor, the hewer of wood, the sower of seed, the gleaner of the harvest, the cotter by his hearth; to apprehend the worth and the significance of the individual life. The Melody of Burns The first reviewers of Burns gave the plowman poet of Ayr credit for talent, but criticised unfavorably his use of the Scotch dialect. They said that his fame could not become more than local because readers, other than the Scotch, could not appreciate many of the words and phrases. They were badly mistaken. The poems of Burns which are the most loved and most quoted today are those in which Scotch words and Scotch spelling are frequent. There is natural melody in the Scotch dialect. This gives to the sentiment of Burns poems, when read aloud, added expression. William Vincent Byars, the linguist, who has delved deeply into the philosophy of music, or melody, in spoken languages, and who is recognized as international authority on this subject, has pointed out the comparative strength of this quality of melody in the dialect as used by Burns and has shown how the poems of Burns gain thereby. He illustrated this for the Burns Club of St. Louis by the paraphrase in Lowland Scotch of one of the most familiar Psalms. Juist for Burns' Sake By W. Hunter of Kilbowie Jolley Beggars Burns Club Read by Frederick W. Lehmann at the meeting of the Burns Club of St. Louis, January 25, 1917 When Januar' winds blaw cauld and keen, Big heaped plates of hamely fare, And syne the whisky's haunded roon, Wi' stamacks fu', and hearts content, That glorious Immortal toast, That mak's the greatest Scotchman boast, 'Mang muckle glee the glesses clink, Noo, see them grip each ither's haun, They've taen ower much a' whit was gaun, "There was a lad was born in Kyle," Is sung in sic a jovial style, Ye'd hear it, aye, a hauf a mile, Juist for Burns' sake. Nane o' your low, saft, wheedlin tunes, And noo they tak' their sates yince mair, The nicht is spent wi' joke and sang, But time brings a' thing to an end, When "Auld Lang Syne" is sung they pairt, Resolved to meet again if spairt, The Twenty-third Psalm A Paraphrase in Lowland Scotch (1) The Lord himsel, he leads me. I dree nae need. (2) In pasturs green he feeds me; by pools sae clear he lets me rest. (3) My sicknen saul he qwickens; the way I tak, my ain best way, he gars me gae for his name's sake. (4) As noo I grope the dead-mirk thru', I hope an' dinna fear; yersel, my Gawd, are near, an' ye hae led the way; your stock and rod sall be my stay. (5) My buird before my faes ye spread; wi' oyle o' joy ye drook my head; my bicker ye fill fu'. (6) Sae truth an' gude gree hansell me, an' mercy too my last days thru; and at lang last, when earth's nae use, in Gawd's fair hus, Ise dwell forevir mair. Note: "Broad Scotch" vowels still have much of the same quantity which developed melody in Hebrew as a spoken language in the time of David. With the 23d Psalm, compare the 131st, 128th, 127th, 126th, 90th, 42d and 19th. Burns and the Commonplace From "Thoughts of a Toiler" by W. Hunter Read by Frederick W. Lehmann at the meeting of the Burns Club of St. Louis, January 25, 1917 WHAT HATEVER else contributes to our growing estimation of Robert Burns, whether it be his outspoken condemnation of hypocritical action or his inimitable lays of love, there exists no dubiety as to the real source of his popularity. The most superficial observer cannot fail to notice that the secret of his power breathes itself out in his rapturous expression on the simpler things of life. Whilst other gifted children of the Muse have floated on the wings of inspiration far up and beyond the trivialities of earthly existence, and wandered in a fairyland of rich imagination and fancy, the cotter of Ayrshire confined himself to a lowlier range of vision, which included all that had a bearing on the lives of struggling humanity. He never sought to withdraw his gaze from the scenes he witnessed around him, but on the contrary actually stopped to apply his transforming touch to the hitherto despised and unnoticed creations of Nature. No form of life, either plant or animal, was too insignificant to merit the breath of his genius. In this respect he proved himself more true to nature than any poet who ever sang. It requires no great stretch of imagination to feel that within the soul of Robert Burns there existed a holy alliance between a tender sensitiveness and a reverent love for the humblest and most unassuming of earthly things. Who beside him ever dreamt of giving utterance to such divine eloquence on so common and unheeded an object as the "wee, modest crimson-tipper flower?" To no one else but him did the daisy appeal successfully for recognition. Its fate had always been to meet with nothing but an occasional passing glance, and to be ruthlessly trampled underfoot; to be esteemed but the plaything of children, and of no value whatever to men and women fighting the battle of existence. But to Burns the handiwork of the Divine was as beautifully expressed and as apparent in the simple beauty of this tiny flower of the field as in the most stupendous and awe-inspiring of his works. How faithfully he has described the "early humble birth" of the "bonny gem," and told how "cheerfully it glinted forth amid the storm!" And with what kindly grace he spoke of its unsheltered situation: "The flaunting flowers our gardens yield High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field Unseen, alane." Then from the manner of its untimely death he drew the melancholy moral of such a similar fate overtaking the "artless maid" or the "simple bard." Again, our poet became inspired on the notable occasion when his servant Blane so far forgot himself as to set out to kill the "wee, sleekit, courin', tim'rous beastie," which had been so unceremoniously turned out of its "wee bit housie." How freely his sympathy ran out to the startled "mousie" whom he designated as his "poor earth-born companion and fellow-mortal." His poetic utterance glorified the simple theme of his musing, and therein Burns accomplished the real mission of his genius in directing the sympathy of men into the same channel as his own. In so doing he served the double purpose of attracting human interest to the smaller and less understood affairs of life, and also endearing himself to the toiling masses of his countrymen. And like a true poet he utilized the occasion to give expression to a truism brought home to us with unerring certainty: "The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley, And lea'e us nought but grief and pain The poet gave way to a still more remarkable outburst of feeling at the sight of the wounded hare, which managed to "hirple" past him after being shot by a neighbor of his In a fit of anger he went so far as to threaten to throw Thomson into the burn. He cursed the "barbrous act" which brought the career of the swift-footed "wanderer of the wood and field" to such a painful end. own. Such leal-hearted sympathy with the distressed and suffering in the humbler spheres of life betokened the presence of intense interest in the lives of the homely and hardy peasantry with whom he was most closely associated. The heart which could feel a pang of pity for the misery and wretchedness of the meaner animal creation was bound to |