In smiles and tears, in sun and showers,
The minstrel and the heather,
The deathless singer and the flowers
He sang of live together.
Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns!
The moorland flower and peasant!
How, at their mention, memory turns
Her pages old and pleasant!
. . . . . . .
But who his human heart has laid
To Nature's bosom nearer?
Who sweetened toil like him, or paid
To love a tribute dearer?
THE notable event in the first month of this year was the celebration on January 25 of the centennial birthday of Robert Burns. Whether or no the Saturday Club were the movers, it is certain that many of the members were there, and brought tributes to Scotland's Poet of the People. Holmes, Lowell, Whittier had written poems, and Emerson spoke. He so warmed to this occasion that many of those who heard him believed that his words were given him on the moment of utterance. Yet he never trusted himself on important occasions in extempore speech, and the manuscript remains as evidence.1
Longfellow wrote to Fields: "I am very sorry not to be there. You will have a delightful supper, or dinner, whichever it is; and human breath enough expended to fill all the trumpets of Iskander for a month or more.2 Alas! . . . I shall not be there to applaud! All this you must do for me; and also eat my part of the____________________