In the interior of the kitchen, a Scotchwoman showed to the party a recess where
“The bard peasant first drew breath.”
The simplicity of the place and its ennobling associations seemed to touch all except Tommy, who remarked to Frank Gray,—
“I was born in a better room than that myself.”
“But I fear you never will be called to sing the songs of a nation.”
“I fear I never shall,” said Tommy, meekly.
From the cottage, the party went to the Burns monument.
From the base of its columns, the beauties of Scottish scenery began to appear.
“It is the way in which one ends life that honors the place of one’s birth,” said Frank to Tommy.
“So I see,” said Tommy, as the sun came out and covered the beautiful monument, and illuminated the record of the poet’s fame.