IOO B urns id e. 



As we do so we are once more reminded of those giants 

 of Scottish song, who thoroughly appreciated the comfort of 

 such a resting place, and who taught us that as an indoor 

 luxury it need not be despised ; for does not Scott tell us 

 again 



" The stranger's bed 

 Was there of mountain heather spread ? " 



whilst the bonniest and cheeriest of them all, Burns, sings 

 of the feeling of comfort derived from sleeping 



" Upon a heather bed 

 Sae cosy and sae canty." 



We are cosy and canty enough here certainly, out of reach 

 of those terrible midges that, like mocking demons, haunt the 

 burn side this glorious afternoon. As we lie and ponder, we 

 recognise how little we really know, and, in the presence of 

 even so simple a flower as the heather, feel inclined to cry 

 out in our ignorance 



" Flower in the crannied wall, 

 I pluck you out of the crannies ! 

 Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 

 Little flower ; but if I could understand 

 What you are, root and all, and all in all, 

 I should know what God and man is." 



We lazily stretch our limbs again, and climbing down 

 the bank, find ourselves in a beautifully wooded dingle, with 

 here graceful birches, there a mountain ash, whilst yonder, 

 clinging to the rocks, where there seems scarcely sufficient 

 room to give it root-hold, is an aspen, its leaves quivering 

 in the faint and fitful breeze, and explaining fully the poet's 



simile 



" Varying as the changeful shade 

 By the light quivering aspen made." 



