power of exciting the most varied and discordant emotions with such rapid transitions. The farmers of Scotland are called after the names of their farms. Tom's real name we forget; the name of his farm was Shanter; so it is Tam of Shanter, the o' being a contraction for of. He was a drunken, or rather a jolly farmer, who lived in the neighborhood of Ayr. Returning late one market night from that city, "powerfully refreshed," he passed several " eerie" places, well described in the poem, till he approached Kirk Alloway, a ruined church on the Doon, but still in such a state of preservation that one can easily distinguish what it was, where he found a dance of witches, Satan furnishing them the music from a bagpipes in a window-seat. Within a few rods of this ruin, and also on the Doon, there is an elegant monument erected to Burns, and in the base of this monument are placed the statues of Tam o' Shanter and Shoemaker Johnny. This statuary is exceedingly true and life-like. A company of ladies and gentlemen visiting the place, sent a rustic lass somewhat in advance of them to discover what effect the statuary would have upon her unsophisticated mind. She turned round abashed, saying to the company, "Come awa! come awa! the folk's at their meat,"-that is, eating. In a niche in the base of this monument may also be seen the Bible which Burns received from Highland Mary when they pledged their mutual vows of eternal constancy and love. The Bible is open, and on its open page there is a lock of Mary's The hair, and but slightly tinged with gold. visitor of this classic spot feels that he has indeed lighted upon "a portion of heaven let down to earth." The poet died at the age of thirty-seven years and seven months. His wife was near her sixth confinement. He died-shame to Scotlandbegging; the burden of his petition being that if he did not die of disease he must perish of hunger. Burns! thou independent, noble, struggling, neglected soul, the jeweled hand of fortune never caressed thy manly brow, the sun of prosperity never rested on thy checkered path, yet thou art a glory to thy country and an ornament to thy race. The children of all countries are familiar with thy name. Princes build thy monuments, and nobles scatter flowers on thy grave. May the millions who trace thy history be warned by thy errors while they are improved by the example of thy virtues. FIRST LOVE. Turning over papers Dead-leaf drift of years In the midst a letter Stained and dim with tears. Face of any dead one Scarce had moved me so; There my First Love lying, Darling love of boyhood, What glad hours we knewTears so sweet in shedding, Vows that were so true. Dear face, round and dimpled, Voice of chirping bird, Hardly then, for heart-throb, Any word I heard. But to know she loved me, Know her kind as fair, Was in joy to revel, Was to walk on air. Happy, happy love-time, Over-budded spring, Never came the summer With its blossoming. MY LEGACY. Ah, Our little town of Gossipton was in a state of unusual commotion. Knots of people were standing at various corners, evidently discussing a subject of vast importance. The fact was this: The eccentric and somewhat miserly Jacob Braidwood, whose wealth was supposed to be fabulous, had died a few days ago, and this was the day of his funeral. "Well, what then? That, surely is nothing extraordinary." but after the funeral the will was to be opened and read, and public curiosity was excited to its highest pitch. A hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, four hundred thousand, half a million, each and all of these sums were positively reported to have been left, and the fortunate legatees as positively named; but, in truth, nothing really could be learned till after the funeral, which my little sister and I now watched passing the window. Then we equipped ourselves for an afternoon walk, and set out, passing in our route, several groups of people, and also several houses, the closed windows and carefully drawn blinds of which looked the personification of decorous woe. These houses be longed to various distant relatives of the deceased, who evidently expected a good share of the fortune. Letty and I walked on, wishing that we too, could look for a legacy; but as that was out of the question, we dismissed the subject, and enjoyed our walk. Returning home, we chose a road which would save our passing through so many streets; consequently we saw few people; but just as we had almost reached our home, we met Mr. Brown, the rich grain merchant, whose wife was a third cousin of the deceased, and to whom rumor had assigned a large legacy. As usual, we bowed politely, but, in return, received, only a distant nod, and a scowl directed to me. "How cross Mr. Brown looks at you, Nellie," said Letty. "What can be the matter with him? Oh, 'tis the will, Nellie," she suddenly added; "he has not got any money." "But that needn't make him scowl at me in that way," said I, still indignant at the frown. On entering our own parlor we found my father and mother in deep conversation, which they suddenly broke off on our entrance, looking at each other, and then at us in rather an embarrassed manner. Then my father said, appa rently with an effort, you." "Nellie, I have news for |