Nothing is more characteristic of the class in
general, and William Burnes in particular, than the pains he
took to get proper schooling for his boys, and, when that was
no longer possible, the sense and resolution with which he
set himself to supply the deficiency by his own influence.
For many years he was their chief companion; he spoke with
them seriously on all subjects as if they had been grown men;
at night, when work was over, he taught them arithmetic; he
borrowed books for them on history, science, and theology;
and he felt it his duty to supplement this last - the trait
is laughably Scottish - by a dialogue of his own composition,
where his own private shade of orthodoxy was exactly
represented. He would go to his daughter as she stayed
afield herding cattle, to teach her the names of grasses and
wild flowers, or to sit by her side when it thundered.
Distance to strangers, deep family tenderness, love of
knowledge, a narrow, precise, and formal reading of theology
- everything we learn of him hangs well together, and builds
up a popular Scotch type. If I mention the name of Andrew
Fairservice, it is only as I might couple for an instant
Dugald Dalgetty with old Marshal Loudon, to help out the
reader's comprehension by a popular but unworthy instance of
a class. Such was the influence of this good and wise man
that his household became a school to itself, and neighbours
who came into the farm at meal-time would find the whole
family, father, brothers, and sisters, helping themselves
with one hand, and holding a book in the other.
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