ion of John Murdoch, an
itinerant teacher, who has left an interesting description of his pupil.

"Gilbert always appeared to me to possess a more lively imagination,"
says Murdoch, "and to be more of the wit, than Robert. I attempted to
teach them a little church-music. Here they were left far behind by all
the rest of the school. Robert's ear, in particular, was remarkably
dull, and his voice untunable. It was long before I could get them to
distinguish one tune from another. Robert's countenance was generally
grave and expressive of a serious, contemplative, and thoughtful mind.
Gilbert's face said, 'Mirth, with thee I mean to live;' and, certainly,
if any person who knew the two boys had been asked which of them was the
more likely to court the muses, he would never have guessed that Robert
had a propensity of that kind."

When Murdoch left the district, the father himself continued to instruct
the boys; but when Robert was about thirteen he and Gilbert were sent,
"week about, during a summer quarter," to the parish school of
Dalrymple. The good man could not pay two fees, or his two boys could
not be spared at the same time from the farm!

"We lived very poorly," says the poet. "I was a dexterous ploughman for
my age; and the next eldest to me was a brother [Gilbert], who could
drive the plough very well, and help me to thrash the corn. A
novel-writer might perhaps have viewed these scenes with some
satisfaction, but so did not I." Burns's person, inured to daily toil,
and continually exposed to every variety of weather, presented, before
the usual time, every characteristic of robust and vigorous manhood. He
says himself that he never feared a competitor in any species of rural
exertion; and Gilbert, a man of uncommon bodily strength, adds that
neither he, nor any labourer he ever saw at work, was equal to him,
either in the cornfield or on the thrashing-floor.

Before his sixteenth year Burns had read a large amount of literature.
But a collection of songs, he says significantly, "was my _vade mecum_.
I pored over them, driving my cart, or walking to labour, song by song,
verse by verse; carefully noticing the true, tender, or sublime from
affectation or fustian." It was about this date that he "first committed
the sin of rhyme." The subject was a "bewitching creature," a partner in
the harvest field, and the song was that beginning "Once I loved a
bonnie lass."

After this, though much occupied with labour