"The Baron of Smaylhome rose with day,
He spurred his courser on,
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way
That leads to Brotherstone."

A rustic tea-table was spread for us, with scones and honey, not to be
neglected. But they _were_ neglected till we had learned how--

"The sable score of fingers four
Remains on that board impressed,
And for evermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist."

We did not know nor ask the poet's name. Children, probably, say very
little about what is in their minds; but that unhappy knight, Sir Richard
of Coldinghame, and the Priest, with his chamber in the east, and the
moody Baron, and the Lady, have dwelt in our mind ever since, and hardly
need to be revived by looking at "The Eve of St. John."

Soon after that we were told about Sir Walter, how great he was, how
good, how, like Napoleon, his evil destiny found him at last, and he wore
his heart away for honour's sake. And we were given the "Lay," and "The
Lady of the Lake." It was my father who first read "Tam o' Shanter" to
me, for which I confess I did not care at that time, preferring to take
witches and bogies with great seriousness. It seemed as if Burns were
trifling with a noble subject. But it was in a summer sunset, beside a
window looking out on Ettrick and the hill of the Three Brethren's Cairn,
that I first read, with the dearest of all friends, how--