would be the author of all Scott's novels."

Here, then, is the point at which I give up my attempts, and admit my
stupidity to be incurable. I grant "J.B." his "Auld Lang Syne." I
grant the poignancy of--

"We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine:
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne."

I see poetry and deep feeling in this. I can see exquisite poetry and
deep feeling in "Mary Morison"--

"Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance ga'ed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yor the toast a' the town,
I sigh'd and said amang them a'
'Ye are na Mary Morison.'"

I see exquisite poetry and deep feeling in the Lament for the Earl of
Glencairn--

"The bridegroom may forget the bride
Was made his wedded wife yestreen;
The monarch may forget the crown
That on his head an hour has been;