Happiest of all human homes, beautiful Craig-Hall! For so even now dost thou appear to be--in the rich, deep, mellow, green light of imagination trembling on tower and tree--art thou yet undilapidated and undecayed, in thy old manorial solemnity almost majestical, though even then thou hadst long been tenanted but by a humble farmer's family--people of low degree. The evening-festival of the First Day of the Books--nay, scoff not at such an anniversary--was still held in thy ample kitchen--of old the bower of brave lords and ladies bright--while the harper, as he sung his song of love or war, kept his eyes fixed on her who sat beneath the dais. The days of chivalry were gone--and the days had come of curds and cream, and, preferred by some people though not by us, of cream-cheese. Old men and old women, widowers and widows, yet all alike cheerful and chatty at a great age, for often as they near the dead, how more lifelike seem the living! Middle-aged men and middle-aged women, husbands and wives, those sedate, with hair combed straight on their foreheads, sunburnt faces, and horny hands established on their knees--these serene, with countenances many of them not unlovely--comely all--and with arms decently folded beneath their matronly bosoms--as they sat in their holiday dresses, feeling as if the season of youth had hardly yet flown by, or were, on such a merry meeting, for a blink restored! Boys and virgins--those bold even in their bashfulness--these blushing whenever eyes met eyes,--nor would they--nor could they--have spoken in the hush to save their souls; yet ere the evening star arose, many a pretty maiden had, down-looking and playing with the hem of her garment, sung linnet-like her ain favourite auld Scottish sang! and many a sweet sang even then delighted Scotia's spirit, though Robin Burns was but a youth--walking mute among the wildflowers on the moor--nor aware of the immortal melodies soon to breathe from his impassioned heart!