While the storm was still raging, I made up a Scotch couplet, and then spoke up and said: "Very well, don't say any more.

I confess defeat.

I thought I knew, but I see my mistake.

I was deceived by one of your Scotch poets." "A Scotch poet! O come! Name him." "Robert Burns." It is wonderful the power of that name.

These men looked doubtful--but paralyzed, all the same.