ONE day when his friend Ainslie had returned from his office early, Burns called. Ainslie pointed to a bunker seat in the window, under which he kept some bottles of wine.
“No,” said Burns, “we must not sit dozing in the house on a fine afternoon as this is; and we don’t require wine to stimulate our wit. Let us ramble over Arthur’s Seat, and there feast our eyes on the beauties of nature.”
After a walk, the friends returned to a late tea, and Mr. Ainslie used to relate that he had never known the poet to be more instructive and entertaining than during the stroll and the sober repast which followed it.