��that the man was far more wonderful than his works.
If his talents were universal, his sympathy was not less so. His tenderness was no mere selfish tenderness for his own family, for he loved all mankind, except the cruel and base — nay, we may go further and say that he placed all crea- tion, especially the suffering and depressed part of it, under his protection. The oppressor in every shape, even in the comparatively innocent embodiment of the factor and the sportsman, he regarded with direct and personal hostility. But, above all, he saw the charm of the home. He recognized it as the basis of all society. He honored it in its humblest form, for he knew, as few know, hew sincerely the family in the cottage is welded by mutual love and esteem.
His verses, then, go straight to the heart of every home; they appeal to every father and mother; but that is only the beginning, per- haps the foundation, of his sympathy. There is something for everybody in Burns. He has a heart even for vermin; he has pity even for the arch-enemy of mankind. And his uni- versality makes his poems a treasure-house in which all may find what they want. Every way- farer in the journey of life may pluck strength and courage from it as he pauses. The sore, the weary, the wounded will all find something to heal and soothe. For this great master is the universal Samaritan. Where the priest and the