touch hands in friendly scuffle for a fork, drink from the
same jug, recline at noon and eat lunch in the shade of a friendly stack,
and talk to heart's content, sweetening the labor of the long summer day.

Of course this joyousness of the haying-time is not wholly monopolized by
the Scotch. Haven't you seen the jolly haying parties in Southern Germany,
France, Switzerland and the Tyrol? How the bright costumes of the men and
the jaunty attire of the women gleam in the glad sunshine!

But the practise of pairing is carried to a degree of perfection in
Scotland that I have not noticed elsewhere. Surely it is a great economic
scheme! It is like that invention of a Connecticut man, which utilizes the
ebb and flow of the ocean-tides to turn a gristmill.

And it seems queer that no one has ever attempted to utilize the waste of
dynamic force involved in the maintenance of the Company Sofa.

In Ayrshire, I have started out with a haying party of twenty--ten men and
ten women--at six o'clock in the morning and worked until six at night. I
never worked so hard, nor did so much. All day long there was a fire of
jokes and jolly gibes, interspersed with song, while beneath all ran a
gentle hum of confidential interchange of thought. The man who owned the
field was there to direct our efforts and urge us on in well-doing by
merry raillery, threat, and joyous rivalry.

The point I make is this--we did the work. Take heed, ye Captains of
Industry, and note this truth, that where men and women work together
under right influences, much good is accomplished, and the work is
pleasurable. Of course there are vinegar-faced philosophers who say that
the Scotch custom of pairing young men and maidens in the hayfield is not
without its effect on esoterics, also on vital statistics; and I'm willing
to admit there may be danger in the scheme. But life is a dangerous
business anyway--few indeed get out of it alive!

* * * * *

Burns succeeded in his love-making and succeeded in poetry, but at
everything else he was a failure. He failed as a farmer, a father, a
friend, in society, as a husband, and in business.

From his twenty-third year his days were passed in sinning and repenting.

Poetry and love-making should be carried on with caution: they form a
terrific tax on life's forces. Most poets die young, not because the gods
especially love them, but because life is a bank-account, and to wipe out
your