WALKING in Leith one day, Burns met an old acquaintance, and he stopped to have a crack with him. A dandy friend who was along with the poet said, afterwards, that he was surprised he should stop to speak to such a shabby-looking fellow as that.
“What,” said the manly poet, “do you suppose it was the man’s clothes I was speaking to, his hat, his coat, his boots? No! it was the man within, and let me tell you, that man has more sense and worth in him than nine out of ten of my city friends.”
