Robert Burns has been greatly vilified by a certain class of preachers. He and his songs have been held forth as a great curse to his countrymen; but when these Rev. Divines and their hot, but mistaken, zeal is forgotten, Robert Burns will shine forth, and in the long run will be found to be a greater blessing to his country than his accusers. For certainly no man ever did more to keep up the native language and the melodies of the Lowland Scotch than he has done. The same is equally true respecting our Highland bards. _Taing dhuit a Dhonnachaidh Bhain, agus do d' chomh-Bhaird airson nan oranan gasda, agus nam fuinn bhinn a dh'fhag sibh againn._ I am certain that the Scotch must return to the melodies in their native language. Sankey's melodies may do for a short time, but will never find a lasting lodgment in the Scottish heart like their own delicious melodies. There is as inseparable a connection between _their_ melodies and their native language, as there is between our Highland melodies and our native Gaelic. The Gaelic may easily take up their melodies, but the English never. Those tunes that are used in public worship have no melody to my soul like our native airs, and it is utterly impossible for me to feel otherwise. This assertion will find a testimony in the bosoms of men, although their prejudices may be opposed to it. Where is the man that would compose a song in praise of his fellow-creature, that would attempt to sing it to a psalm tune? Should he do so, all men would look upon him as a blockhead. And what is the great difference between praising a fellow-creature and praising the Redeemer? I can conceive none, except that the latter deserves a sweeter, and, if possible, a more delicious melody. I think it was Rowland Hill who wisely said that "he could not see why the devil should have all the finest tunes," and I quite agree with him.