Burns later removed with his parents to Lochlea, in Tarbolton parish, and Peggy was soon to be forgotten for some other fair charmer. While at Lochlea, Burns wrote about every tolerably good-looking lass in the district, often as not for some love-lorn, rustic swain, to further their wooing.

Ellison Begbie, the lass that dwelt on Cessnock's banks, was a farmer's daughter. Burns praises her as having "superior good sense, amiable goodness, and tender feminine softness." She was the inspiration of many songs, including that poetic gem, "Mary Morrison." Her name being difficult in rhyme, Burns took that poetic license, and substituted the more euphonic name of "Mary."

Burns' acquaintance with Mary Campbell (Highland Mary) came at the time of his estrangement with Jean Armour, a regretable estrangement due in part to the "thrawness" of Jean's father and partly to the man to whom Burns dedicated "The Cottar's Saturday Night." Mary was nursemaid in Coilsfield House (Montgomeries Castle), near Tarbolton. She was a typical Highland lass, warmhearted and sympathetic, and she came into Burns' life when he needed sympathy most. Burns had arranged to try his fortunes in the West Indies, and in view of his anticipated emigration, the lovers plighted their troth to be true to each other. The parting, the most touching and romantic episode of Burns' life, was performed by the little streamlet Faile, which joins the gurgling Ayr at Failford. Cromek has given us a description of the parting. "The lovers stood on each side of a purling brook; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and holding a Bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. They partednever to meet again."

"That sacre hou en I forget!

Can I forget that hallowed grove, Where by the win ing Ayr we met, To live one hour of parting love? Ayr, gurgling. kissed its pebbled snove O'erhung with wild woods, thick ning green The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene."

Those who have visited that enchanting place in Ayrshire can easily imagine the parting.

The Clarinda of the lengthy corres

pondence was Nancy Craig (Mrs. McLehose), who had many songs associated with her name, the last of the series being "My Nannie's Awa'."

Jean Lorimer (Chloris), the lassie wi' the lintwhite locks, was a Border lass, hailing from the Ettrick region. She was wooed by a neighbor of Burns, John Gillespie, who coaxed the bard to write poetry in her favor. Many of the poet's finest lyrical gems were addressed to "Chloris," but they failed to win her for honest John. Poor "Chloris" afterwards contracted a Gretna Green marriage with another, which proved a most unfortunate affair.

There was also Peggy Chalmers, the fairest maid on Devon's banks, and Miss Alexander, the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Mention of Jessie Lawers cannot be omitted, the poet's administering angel in his last sickness, which came at a time when Mrs. Burns was unable to care for him. In her honor, Burns composed that well known work which Mendelssohn subsequently set so exquisitely to music, “O Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast." Lastly, there was Jean Armour, honest, trusting Jean, the lassie he "lo'ed best."

"O' a' the airts the wind can blaw.
I dearly lo'e the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best,
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between:
But day and nicht my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my jean."

Jean Armour was a comely, dark-eyed lass, and one of the belles of Mauchline. "In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,

The pride of the place and its neighbor

hood a',

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
All the King's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again-
They tried, but they couldn't."

-Ancient Poem.

Among the glorious names that adorn the pages of history, names which are notable and famous, names of those who have left their footprints deep on the sands of time, there are a few which stand out in bolder relief, with greater prominence, and more conspicuous brilliancy than the others. Some are famous for their heroic deeds and glorious achievements; some

for their wisdom and eloquence, and some for the simple grandeur and noble fortitude with which they met and fought crushing misfortune.

It is among the latter that our hero shines. You have heard of the patience of Job, of the lamentations of Jeremiah, of the fortitude of the warrior Queen Boadicea, of the frenzy of King Lear, of the faith of the Maid of Orleans, of the undaunted Mary Queen of Scots, of the unquenchable spirit of Robert Burnsthese were all children of misfortune, but there is another name that stands out,

cameo-like, amongst them all, and that is the name of Humpty Dumpty.

As with many of the great ones of the past, little is known of the details of his life, and his origin and descent are lost in the mists of antiquity. Yet we are not without some means of ascertaining and estimating his character, and of acquiring some knowledge of his career; in those good old times in which he lived the method of nomenclature was different from ours; names were conferred on individuals because of some qualities peculiar to themselves, that were strongly marked in their character and actions, and not as with us a mere transferrence of cognomens from one or more of our forbears and progenitors.

Most frequently the first or primal name indicated the mental, moral and more spiritual qualities, and the second, or final name, the bodily and physical characteristics of the individual. A survival of this very ancient custom is found in the habit of attaching nick-names to certain people; thus "Torchy" conveys a mental picture of a person with flaming red hair, a freckly face, and an assertive disposition; "Shorty" suggests a somewhat diminutive party with long arms and broad shoulders and legs slightly inclined from the perpen dicular; "Fatty" indicates a being of rotund countenance, with a figure like a roll-top desk and legs like those of a grand piano; "Slim" conjures up to our mental vision a long, thin person, with a willowy droop, and so on. It is by the application It is by the application of this inductive method to his name that we learn much of the special characteristics of our hero. The first appellation, "Humpty" conveys to us much that is interesting and valuable. I diverge for a moment to explain that the affix, "ty," is a kind of qualification of the cognomen. It gives to us the idea that the person to whose name or designation it is affixed is something of a favorite, a lovable person, one that everybody likes. The "t" being introduced for euphony has no significance. Thus we say "lassie," "laddie," "dearie," "girlie," "daddy," "mammy," "baby," and

so on.

In this way we learn that Humpty Dumpty was a lovable character, a general favorite, a genial soul, a mascot or luck-bringer; a breezy, good-natured person of kindly disposition, always cheerful

and in the habit of humming away at catchy phrases.

Hum is prolific in suggestion. It conjures up to the mind's eye that exemplar of industry, that garnerer of sweetness, the bee. And so we get a further insight into the character of our hero; he was like the bee, energetic, assiduous, far-sighted, economical, straightforward, indefatigable; and as the bee does not belong to the bug family, there was no humbug about him; like the bee, he was a born fighter, expert in the use of his weapon, and extremely dangerous when attacked. His motto was -in fact, could only have been-NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT, the motto of Scotland even to the present day. Thus we find further that our hero was a Scotsman; and this is amply confirmed by the fact that he possessed so many admirable qualities, qualities universally found to be characteristic of Scotsmen all the world

over.

As to his personal appearance or physique, the surname, "Dumpty" or Dumpy.

indicates that he was of short stature and a combination which stockily built,

implies immense strength and activity. In this respect he resembled Hereward, William Wallace, Hal o' the Wynd, Napoleon, Sir Nigel and Allan Breck, and like all these heroes, he was a "bonnie fechter."

As we will hereafter see, Humpty Dumpty was a person of great consequence in the realm, one of the old nobility, dwelling in his own castle, a faithful and honored subject of the King.

The historian goes on to say that, "He sat on a wall." From this we are warranted in assuming that he sat on the wall of his own castle; in these remote times walls were few and far between and were vithout exception appurtenances of the feudal castles, and being jealously guarded, no one but the owner would presume to sit upon them. So we ascertain that he was a feudal Lord Superior sitting on the wall of his own fortress, none daring to make him afraid.

The height of the castle wall was—as we shall presently see on the outer or exterior side very great, having a terrace on the inner side, from which the top of the wall was easily accessible; and here it was, on the battlements of his Keep that Humpty Dumpty sat on this woful day.

As to the time of day, we conjecture that it was immediately after the dinner hour, which was in those days partaken of at high noon, and at which he no doubt indulged freely in the wine of the country, commonly called "usquebaugh," as was the custom of his day and generation.

It was contrary to his usual habit to spend the post-prandial hour on the wall; but on this fateful day there was a special and adequate reason for his assent to the battlements. The King's army was on the march: all the King's horses and all the King's men were passing by, returning most likely from some glorious battle in which they had defeated and dispersed the foe with great slaughter; and now with banners flying and trumpets blaring they marched triumphantly back to the capital. Sir Walter Scott has fitly depicted the scene in inspiring verse:

"High sight it is and haughty while,
They plunge into the deep defile.
Beneath the caverned cliff they fall,
Beneath the castle's airy wall,

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree,
Troop after troop are disappearing,
Troop after troop their banners rearing,
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch
And pressing on in ceaseless march
To gain the opposing hill."

We can imagine the effect of this stirring spectacle on the ardent nature of our hero in his exhilarated condition. Forgetful of where he was, he was oblivious to his surroundings. In his eagerness, he leant over too far, and then, Alas and Alack, and woe the day! Humpty. Dumpty had a great fall.

Long years afterward, on an autumn afternoon in a quiet English garden, another little man sat under an apple tree in profound contemplation, striving to solve the riddle of the universe, when an apple, detaching itself from the tree, smote him on the head and the shock startled him into the discovery of the wonderful law of gravitation.

Had Sir Isaac been present when our hero fell, the world would have been given the discovery much sooner, and the great philosopher would have demonstrated that against the attraction of the huge mass of the earth, Humpty Dumpty, though so stockily built, had no earthly chance. Another noted philosopher, years after the event, enabled us to estimate the height of the wall from which our hero was pre

cipitated. "In two seconds he struck the ground with a dull thud," the phrase persists unto this day. Galileo demonstrated that an object falls sixteen feet in the first second of time and sixty-four feet the next second; thus by adding the two together we find that the wall was eighty feet high. As Shakespeare says, referring to the incident, "Oh, Hamlet, What a falling off was there."

And now we have to face the melancholy task of surveying the lamentable consequences of the fall, or to speak more correctly, of the sudden stoppage of that fall. His constitution was shattered, his health broke down as his body broke up; his end was pieces, and there was no hope of reunion in this world; the parting was complete, "And all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Humpty together again."

It is just here that we find that he was a person of great consequence in the state; for no sooner did the awful accident occur than the triumphal progress of the army was stayed, and all the King's horses and all the King's men rushed to his aid. For any common five-eighths person they never would have done this; that he was "yin o' the heid yins" we cannot for a moment doubt.

Naturally, the horses got there first, but what they thought they might do, it is hard to imagine. We know that horses are the most sympathetic and tender-hearted of creatures; they are always ready to stop when they hear the sound of "woe"; they cannot look upon trouble with equine-imity, and when they saw our hero hors de combat, their withers were wrung with grief, but they were horse-powerless to help, and when appealed to could only answer, "Neigh," "Neigh."

The King's men, those mighty warriors who had seen many a stricken field, had to bow their crested heads and tame their hearts of fire and acknowledge themselves beaten at last; the historian, in language succinct but conclusive, says, "They tried, but they couldn't."

What

form their ministrations took to reunite the shattered form we do not know. "They tried, but they couldn't"; so all they could do was to collect the scattered fragments, and thus Humpty Dumpty was gathered to his fathers.

Vancouver, British Columbia.

"Scotland 1832-Palm Springs 1914"that is a long span, both of time in human life and of distance, and the link is an old Scotsman whom I have known in recent years, and on whose grave in this remote settlement in the Colorado Desert I have just laid a handful of desert abronias, almost as purple as heather.

A Scot of the Scots he was, old Dr. Welwood Murray, and that means, in the essence, a lover of the homeland. Myself born south of the border, and so representing the southern half of the British nationality, I write this sketch in honor of a fellow Briton, and to bring, as it were, my old friend for a last time into touch with the far-off land in which during life his thoughts constantly dwelt.

It was at the rambling old hotel on the main street of the village that I first met Dr. Murray. The house gave one at first glance an impression of homelikeness, oddly Scotch as it looked with its little dormer, in a setting of palms, figs, pomegranates, oranges, and many more semitropic plants; and even the sight of a grey knife-edge of great San Jacinto Mountain showing above the roof-line, did not break the feeling. In the garden was a sun-dia!, and I was met and inspected on the threshold by a pair of collies before the tall, thin figure of the doctor appeared in the doorway to receive me. That was seven years ago. The place is owned now by two charming ladies from the State of New York, who have remodelled the house and filled it with feminine and un-Scottish touches. By their kindness I was made free to wander about the rooms, still charged for me with memories of my old friend. As lately as a year ago, I had sat and chatted with him in his comfortable cabin-ceiled den, surrounded with the treasured books, many of them autographed, the old engravings of loch and abbey, Scott and Carlyle, the long frontiersman's rifle, the surveyors' instruments, the geological specimens, all and sundry tokens of the man, his mind and his life. The den is turned into a tasteful dining-room, Napoleon has displaced Scott, and bric-a-brac from Florence and Paris speak of leisured travel rather than

of long wrestle with Nature in her roughest moods.

I wandered into the library, where many of the shelves were still filled with the doctor's books. Here was more of the presence of the old man. I saw Lockhart's Life of Scott. Geikie's Scottish Reminiscences, Morley's Life of Gladstone, Andrew Lang's History of Scotland, several of George Macdonald's works, Macaulay's, Stevenson's; Dick's Lectures On the Acts, Pollok's Course of Time, the first volume of The Weekly Christian Teacher (1837), and so on, with a sprinkling of newer volumes, one or two by John Muir, who a few years since paid his countryman a memorable visit here. Broad, warm Scotch it must have been that the old walls heard on those evenings when the two sat in the great low chairs and talked of rocks, of books, of life of bird and plant from Sierra top to desert-below-sea-level, and, I warrant, of Scotland. Only a year ago, Muir, too, passed on, so perhaps they are talking once more together; who knows?

I passed out into the garden and orchard, the pride and daily care of the old man. I suppose the Scotch are gifted as gardeners; certainly, the botanist meets many Scottish names in the history of the discovery and dissemination of the wonderful Western flora-Jeffrey, Douglas and so many more. The doctor was keen botanist, more particularly a lover of trees, and deeply interested in the propagation of the new subtropical fruits with which the United States Department of Agriculture is constantly experimenting for the benefit of the arid desert region of the Southwest. In late years this more than anything else was his occupation and hobby, and he was constantly in advice with the far-seeing men at Washington who are at the head of the Bureau. It is hardly more than two years ago that I parted from him for the last time. He was in his shirt-sleeves, that February day, in the orchard, in which he was planting out some new ornamental shrubs and fruit-bushes. I see him now, a aunt, straight figure, then over eighty, and feel the friendly hand on my shoulder, and hear the Scot's voice, a little tremor in it, I thought, as he said: "Good-bye, my