“Mony a mickle maks a muckle.”–Robert Burns.
BOBBY” Burns is known to us not only as Scotland’s greatest poet but as one of the greatest teachers of thrift who ever lived. The thrift and frugality of the Scotch, while often made the subject of jest, stands none the less as an object lesson to the world. In Scotland, waste is looked upon as a cardinal sin, and in America our greatest and most besetting sin is waste.
It has been abundantly proved that the waste of each American family would keep another person well-fed, well-clothed and comfortably housed. If this be true then we are wasting nearly one-fourth of our material wealth as it is created.
Some of the economies preached by Bobby Burns were scoffed at, even in his own day and among his own people. When chided for saving little things which in our day would be a match, a pin, a button or a copper, he answered his critics with “Mony a mickle maks a muckle.”
Were Bobby Burns here today to witness our waste of food, of clothes, of materials of all kinds and of money itself, we believe he would be speechless with astonishment.
Banks, as we know them today, were quite uncommon in his day and particularly in his country but one of his namesakes lived in a later age and, in fact, he still lives right here among us. This “Bobby” Burns, named for the great Scot, and whose last name we will omit at his request, learned early in life to admire and appreciate the philosophy of the remarkable man whose name was handed down to him as a heritage.
On that April morning when his blue eyes opened on the world and when at the family consultation it was decided that he should bear the name Robert Burns, it is doubtful whether his parents realized the great effect that name was to have upon his life.
Early in his school days he began spending hours with the poems of his illustrious ancestor and the family soon began to marvel at the way he was accumulating worldly goods.
In that family there was the usual amount of casting aside and throwing away. Bobby found his first real lesson in the building of the fortune he now possesses in saving the blocks and short lengths of lumber left from the building of his father’s barn. Of this material, which otherwise would have found its way into the fireplace, he built eight substantial and attractive doghouses which he sold for $4 each. That is, he sold seven of them for $4 each and his father gave him $25 for the eighth one as a reward for his thrift and originality.
That $53, minus $3, which Bobby gave to his baby sister to put in her bank–that $50 opened an account in a bank in one of the New England states more than fifty years ago. Although Bobby has settled far away from New England, this original bank account has never been closed and his account in that bank is now the oldest account the institution possesses, with one exception.
Bobby’s bank at home was frequently a subject for merriment among his brothers and sisters, of which he had eight. It never was a joke to Bobby. When his brothers and sisters would laughingly drop coins in the little wooden doghouse bank which he had fashioned after the design of his original doghouses at the suggestion of his father, Bobby would look on and in all seriousness and sincerity thank each one for their assistance in the building of his future fortune.
Bobby was not yet nine years old when he took his first real job outside of school hours. This first job (brought about by a farmer crushing his finger) was running a half mile to a neighbor’s each morning and evening and milking six cows at five cents per cow. Practically all of this sixty cents per day found its way to Bobby’s doghouse bank and every month or two, when father went to town, the money was deposited where it would earn interest. Some of this was later withdrawn from the bank and invested in bonds of the water company of the little old New England town.
When the water company failed years later it was discovered that Bobby owned a majority of the bonds and, in the reorganization, Bobby became the owner of the water works–and he is the owner today; he owns a number of other water works and some electric light plants and his bond and stock-holdings in public service corporations are large enough to make him a power in many communities scattered all the way from New England to the Gulf of Mexico.
We have it on Bobby’s own statement and vouched for by his closest relatives and warmest friends that Bobby has never really done anything wonderful. His personal earning power was never great and he has never made any particularly for?tunate speculations. In his earliest investments he was guided, not by his own father, who was always unsuccessful, but by the President of the little bank in which he put that first $50. That bank is still affectionately referred to in that little old town as Bobby’s bank because it was through Bobby’s example that other boys and girls were led to start accounts and the percentage of successful men and women who have come from that little town of less than 800 population has been remarkable–so remarkable as to be almost unbelievable.
“To catch Dame Fortune’s golden smile, Assiduous, watt upon her;
And gather gear by ev’ry wile that’s justijy’d by honour;
Not for to hide it in a hedge, nor for a train attendant;
But for the glorious privilege of being independent.”–Robert Burns.