CHAPTER III.
In days when gude king Robert rang,
His traw they cout but half-a-crown.
King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown.
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush o' gude blue hair.
Breeks! what a train of ideas is suggested to the contemplative by that one word, Breeks! Common minds see nothing particular in anything—to them
"A primrose by the river's side,
A yellow primrose is, and nothing more."
And the ordinary observer sees in Breeks,
A pair of Breeks and nothing more.
The theologian beholds in Breeks the symbol of man's degeneracy. While the mere historian by their means traces the onward march from barbarism to civilization.
The Philosopher sees in Breeks the sign of man's perogative, his right to the supreme rule in his own house. He cannot, however, shut his eyes to the fact that this right is more nominal
