dies, my Mary," to Thomson, in October, 1792 he says: "In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following fare-. well of a dear girl." Then referring to "My Highland Lassie,O," in the notes. which he made in the inter-leaved copy of Johnson's "Museum," for Captain Riddell, of Glenriddell, he writes:

"This was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was at all known to the world. My Highland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot, by the banks of the Ayr, where we spent the day in taking farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands to arrange matters for our projected change of life. At the close of the autumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness."

WHO HIGHLAND MARY WAS.

Mary's story-soon told-is a very pathetic one. Of Highland parentage, as her name indicates, she was born in the vicinity of Dunoon, on the Firth of Clyde, in or about the year 1764-where she resided until the period of early womanhood. Then, according to description, she was "a most sprightly, blueeyed creature, of great modesty and selfrespect." Her father, in his early career a common seaman, purchased latterly in partnership with a couple of well-todo friends, a small sloop for the coal trade between Troon, Ardrossan, Campbeltown, and other neighboring seaports. To Campbell, who was well acquainted with the river and Firth of Clyde, the command of the vessel was assigned; and Captain Campbell removed with his family to reside on the shores of the loch at Campbeltown at Whitsunday, 1773. About the same time his daughter Mary went out into service, and was induced by a relative,

Burns.

who was housekeeper to a family in Ayrshire, to come to that county and take a situation, though where, exactly, is not known. There is, indeed, without cause for wonder, considerable obscurity about the situations and movements of the poor Highland lassie; but the family of Gavin Hamilton were probably right in thinking that she was nursemaid to their brother Alexander, who was born in 1785, and that she saw him through some of the early stages of infancy.

As a stranger serving only for a short time in the village she had been little remembered. Mrs. Begg, the poet's sister, recollected no sort of reference to her at Mossgiel, except from her brother Robert himself, when he told John Blane one day that "Mary had refused to meet him in the old castle," the dismantled tower of the priory near Hamilton's house. That they met somewhere, however, there is no reason for doubting, and heart-wrung as he was by being thrown off by Jean at the time, he betook himself with the more ardour to Mary, who, despite the local scandal against him, did not deny his advances.

THE LOVERS' PARTING.

It was agreed between them that Mary should give up her place and go home for a short time to her friends in the West Highlands in order to arrange matters for their union. But before going, on the second Sunday of May-the Sunday before the term-the already plighted lovers held a farewell meeting in a sequestered spot on the banks of the banks of the Ayr, or rather on the banks of the Faile, perhaps, within the woods of Coilsfield. Their formal adieu here was performed in a striking and moving way. The lovers stood one on either side of a small brook; they held their hands in the stream, and holding a Bible between them, they pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. done, they parted, as it proved, never to meet again.

This

The spot where the farewell took place is still pointed out. The Bible on which they plighted their faith-long in the possession of a sister of Mary Campbell, and later held by a Scottish family in Canada-is now preserved in a case in the Burns Monument on the banks of the Doon. It is in two volumes. On the first is written, by the hand of the poet, "And ye shall not swear by My Name falsely; I am the Lord. Leviticus, chapter xix., verse 12." On the second volume, the same hand has written, "Thou shall not forswear thyself, but shall perform unto the Lord thine oaths. St. Matthew, chapter v., verse 33." On the blank leaf of both volumes is impressed the poet's mark as a Mason, with his signature, "Robert Burns, Mossgiel."

Assuring credentials these of a wonderfully romantic episode! Imagination can easily picture how the poet, on that "day of parting bliss." presented his lassie with the song, "Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary?":

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

And leave auld Scotia's shore? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, Across the Atlantic's roar?

And how, perhaps, the same evening, before he laid his fevered head on the pillow, he composed "Hy Highland Lassie, O":

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my Muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

Ac

SAVED FROM A BROKEN HEART. In all likelihood, these were the only songs dedicated to her at this time. cording to unvarying accounts, Mary went to Campbeltown, where she stayed with her parents during the summer. Returning as far as Greenock in the autumn (some say on the way to a new place of service in Glasgow), she found her brother sick of a malignant fever at the house of an aunt. Here the brave girl, disregarding the danger of contagion, stayed and devoted herself to nursing her brother. Soon she brought him to a state of safe convalescence too, but only to be herself stricken by the malady, from which in a day or two she died.

Poor Mary! Possibly the fever mercifully saved her from dying of a broken heart. For barely four weeks had elapsed after his ardent and solemn parting with her on the banks of the Faile, when, we find her plighted lover writing to his friend, David Brice, in respect of Jean Armour-"Never man loved, or rather adored, a woman more than I did her; and, to confess the truth between you and me, I do still love her to distraction."

By autumn the success of the Kilmarnock edition of his poems had determined Burns to stay in Scotland, and at Mossgiel tidings of Mary's death reached him. His brother relates that, when the letter was handed to him, he went to the winlow to read it. His face was observed to change suddenly, and he quickly went out without speaking. In the June of next year he made a solitary journey to the Highlands, apparently drawn by memory of Mary Campbell. And "if indeed," as Dr. Theodore Wolfe pointedly remarks, "he dropped a tear upon her neglected grave, and visited her humble Highland home, we may almost forgive him the

excesses of that tour-if not the renewed liason with Jean which immediately preceded, and the amorous correspondence with Clarinda which followed it."

Dr. Wolfe observes-and who disagree with him? "Whatever the quality or degree of his passion for Mary living, his grief for her dead was deep and tender, and expired only with his life. Cherished in his heart, it manifested itself now in some passage of a letter-like that to Mrs. Dunlop -now in some pathetic burst of song, like The Lament' and 'Highland Mary,' and again in some emotional act." He tells how it was related to him by Burns's own neice, that when the poet attended the wedding of Kirstie Kirkpatrick, a favorite of his, who sang his songs, after the wedded pair had retired a lass of the company being asked for a song began "Highland Mary." Its effect upon Burns was painful to witness. He started to his feet, said the narrator, prayed her in God's name to forbear, then hastened to the door of the marriage chamber and entreated the bride to come and quieten his mind with a verse or two of "Bonnie Doon."

THE POET'S PAINFUL MEMORIES.

It was Ellisland, in October, 1789, on the third anniversary of Mary's death

when he was living happy with his Jean -that, in a burst of painful recollection, Burns poured out his heart in that

most impassioned and most touchingly pathetic of all his reflective poems. "To Mary in Heaven." His wife noticed that towards evening the poet grew sad about something, and went into the barnyard, where he strode restlessly up and down for some time. Although repeatedly asked to come in, he refused, paying no heed to the call. When at last he returned to the house, long after midnight, he sat down and wrote "To Mary in Heaven"-

Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn,

To a later occasion-perhaps the fourth anniversary, for we have no trustworthy data-belongs his last song of Mary, which is not less deeply affecting than the above. When sending it to Thomson, in November, 1792, the bard expressed himself as pleased with it. "Although, after all," he adds, "tis the still growing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition."

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

In this writing I have preferred to take no notice, in the way of reply at least, to the view of Highland Mary's character, originally put in writing from unverified country gossip by Joseph Train, the antiquary, for Sir Walter Scott, and now in the University Library in Edinburgh. That view, since it was embraced in serious biography by George A. Aitken, has been so thor

But

oughly demolished by Dr. William Wallace that it is scarcely worthy of a passing thought. There will ever, perhaps,. be mystery about Mary Campbeli--or the Highland lassie, if you like. be what she might, or who she might, she was not, as Dr. Wallace has made clear, the Mary Campbell of loose character, who figured conspicuously in the Dundonald Parish Kirk Session records. Nay, she was but the mysterious "white rose," as the late Professor Nichol happily described her, that grew up and bloomed in the midst of the poet's passion flowers.

"God calied unto us out of the midst of the bush and said, "Moses, Moses." and he said, "Here am I." Moses received from God two special calls. The first to service, the second to reward. To both calls he promptly responded, "Here am I.” It may be truly said of every life, that God calls first to service, and second to to account. We may reject the first call, but we must answer the last. In the case of Moses, we find that his early training by a godly mother fitted him to respond, "Here am I," to the first call, and his faithfulness in service brought the reward.

The home influence has a two-fold power; it prepares for life and brings joy and comfort at death. These two powers were illustrated in the case of my beloved friend, William Kenny, He had a pious mother, who dedicated him to the Lord in his infancy, and who daily instructed him in the word of God, and prayer. At the age of fourteen, the boy united with the North Presbyterian Church, on confession of faith, the pastor asked him, "When did you become a Christian?" his answer was, "When I first knew the difference between right and wrong." Shortly after uniting with the church, he was asked what he would like to be, his reply was, "I would like to be a minister of the Gospel." This was his choice-but God closed the door, for poor health made study impossible. After rest and recuperation he secured a position in the New York Life Insurance Company, which he filled satisfactorily, but in a few months, was again obliged to stop on account of

ill health. This was a hard trial, but he endured it patiently. After a period of rest, he secured a promising position, but with many temptations. William soon proved to his employers that he was worthy of a position of trust, but just as he came to the border line of promise, God again took the human plans and set them aside.

We might well raise the question, "Why was he not permitted to be a minister?" He had many excellent qualities for that calling, but we must remember that there are two classes of

ministers: first, those who preach publicly; and, second, those called of God to preach by their lives in the home, and in the business circle.

He

The best sermon he could preach is the one we hear to-night in this house of mourning. Willie loved pleasure, but pleasure never came before God. loved society, but it never came before worship. He was always found among the worshippers. The prayer meeting was the place for strength, and feeling his need of this strength, he attended the prayer meeting. It was God's plan, that Willie should be a minister, but one who by his life would minister through the business circle, through the social circle, and in the home.

It was only a few weeks ago that Willie learned how sick he was, then for the first time, he realized that there were other things in store. Instead of being exercised, he was calm, instead of weeping, there was a smile, instead of pleading to be spared, there were words of comfort to those who would be made sad by his departure.