onality is the rare exception, because
neither Church, State nor Society yet fully recognizes the fact that
spiritual comradeship and the marriage of the mind constitute the only
Divine mating. Doctor Blacklock once said that Robert Burns had eyes like
the Christ. Women who looked into those wide-open, generous orbs lost
their hearts in the liquid depths.

In the natures of Robert Burns and Francis Schlatter there was little in
common; but their experiences were alike in this: they were beloved by
women. Behind him Burns left a train of weeping women--a trail of broken
hearts. And I can never think of him except as a mere youth--"Bobby
Burns"--one who never came into man's estate. In all his love-making he
never seemed really to benefit any woman, nor did he avail himself of the
many mental and spiritual excellencies of woman's nature, absorbing them
into his own. He only played a devil's tattoo upon her emotions.

If Burns knew anything of the beauty and inspiration of a high and holy
friendship between a thinking man and a thinking woman, with mutual aims,
ideals and ambitions, he never disclosed it. The love of a man for a maid,
or a maid for a man, can never last, unless these two mutually love a
third something. Then, as they are traveling the same way, they may move
forward hand in hand, mutually sustained. The marriage of the mind is the
only compact that endures. I love you because you love the things that I
love. That man alone is great who utilizes the blessings that God
provides; and of these blessings no gift equals the gentle, trusting
companionship of a good woman.

So, having written thus far, I find that already I have reached the limit
of my allotted space.

In closing, it may not be amiss for me to state that Robert Burns was an
Irish poet whose parents happened to be Scotch. He was born in Ayrshire in
Seventeen Hundred Fifty-nine. He died in Seventeen Hundred Ninety-six, and
was buried at Dumfries by the "gentleman volunteers," in spite of his last
solemn words--"Don't let the Awkward Squad fire over my grave!"

His mother survived him thirty-eight years, passing out in Eighteen
Hundred Thirty-four. Burns left four sons, each of whom was often pointed
out as the son of his father--but none of them was.

This is all I think of, at present, concerning Robert Burns.

For further facts I must refer the Gentle Reader to the "Encyclopedia
Britannica," a compilation that I cheerfully recommend, it havi