True to thyself-thyself at thy command, A brighter promised land may gloriously be won. Ah! then, the wealth of worlds will be but dross, Untasted by the upright and the just, May be neglected; spirit purified, Humility doth take the place of pride, And pride falls down, and fain its face would hide. Then comes the triumph of the virtuous poor, Praying for bread, and panting for his breath; Which leaves the selfish world in its eternal night. "Come," saith the spirit, "to the promised land,— Tremble, for now your subjects break their chains! On those who pray'd in vain to human power, And bore the scourge of pride in its triumphant hour. Come, slighted worth, come, humble poverty, Come, from the lost oppressor unto me, My promise is fulfill'd-my law shall stand And as I sit secure on God's right hand, I keep the word of truth: this is the promised land.” A DAY IN THE LAND OF BURNS. BY JOHN BOLTON ROGERSON. It was a lovely afternoon in May when I first gazed upon the river Ayr, spanned by the "Twa Brigs." My first thought, after alighting from the Railway carriage and looking around me, was of the wonderful power which is possessed by genius of imparting an indescribable charm to a spot which has before been insignificant and uninviting. The place of an author's birth, or the locality assigned by him to the beings whose existence has only been in his own imagination, is invested with a sort of magnetic power that draws towards it pilgrims from far-off lands, when he "who only asked for bread, Hath gotten a marble tomb instead." An obscure town or village becomes the abiding-place of some lowly individual, whom wealthy men scarce honour with a passing glance-he becomes known as a writer of verses he is considered a clever eccentric sort of fellow by those of his own class-a few chosen spirits only appreciate the splendid genius that is existing amongst them— he dies in poverty and neglect- some brief years elapse, and the world rings with the humble poet's name and fame-the land in which he lived, and the scenes which he had peopled with his fancy, are thenceforth hallowed ground. Such was the case with Burns; and similar things have happened, and will happen, to others who have lived to delight mankind with "thick-coming fancies," and struggle with the evils of an untoward destiny. As I passed over the New Bridge, the poem which immortalised the two structures came fresh upon my memory, and I recalled "that season, when a simple bard, left his bed, and took his wayward route to where he beheld and listened to the spirits of the "Twa Brigs.' After I and the friend who accompanied me (Mr. Joseph Woodcock, of Glossop) had secured beds for the night, we sallied forth and took a hasty glance at the town. Ayr has undergone much improvement of late, and has many handsome buildings. The erection which engrossed the greatest share of our attention was Wallace Tower, which stands in High Street. A statue of Wallace, the workmanship of Thom, the self-taught sculptor, occupies a niche in the front of the building. Another statue of Wallace, of clumsy and stunted proportions, is placed at the gable-end of a corner house at the east end of Newmarket Street. According to some accounts this house stands on the site of one which was formerly the court-house, and Wallace was imprisoned in a dungeon there, whilst other accounts state that Wallace sheltered from his enemies under that roof. Leaving the town we proceeded on our way towards Burns's Monument, which is situated between two and three miles from Ayr. Close to the road on the left, on passing through the toll bar, is Parkhouse, once the residence of Major Logan, of Camlarg, to whom Burns addressed his amusing epistle, commencing Hail, thairm inspiring, rattling Willie!" Major Logan's "Sentimental Sister Susie" also received, whilst residing at Parkhouse, those beautiful verses addressed "to Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems as a New Year's Gift," commencing, "Again the silent wheels of time, Their annual round have driven, 66 Descending the road we arrived at Slaphouse Bridge, about 150 yards from which, following the current of the stream, is the "ford" which Burns mentions as a point in the route of Tam o' Shanter homewards, "Whar in the snaw the chapman smoor'd." About 100 yards from the "ford," and about twenty from the road, near the hedge, is another point in Tam's journey - "The Meikle Stane, Whar drunken Charlie brack's neck-bane." When we had passed the second milestone, and rambled about a quarter of a mile further, we discovered, at the turn of the road, the cottage in which the ploughman-poet drew his first breath. A large sign-board is placed on the front, stating that Burns was born within those walls, on the 25th of January, 1759. We did not now go into the interior of the cottage, but continued our route towards the Monument. On the right of the road, in a field on the farm of Greenfield, marked by a solitary tree, is "the Cairn Whar hunters fan' the murder'd bairn." The position of the "cairn," and also the "ford," at a distance from the highway, is accounted for by the fact that the old road from Ayr, by which Tam o'Shanter is supposed to have approached Alloway Kirk, was west of the present line. The next object which attracted our attention was a small roofless ruin, and we had some difficulty in persuading ourselves that we beheld Kirk Alloway, the building was so much more diminutive than we had pictured it. Such, however, was the fact, and we entered the churchyard. Near the gate, on the left hand, is the grave of Burns's father, marked by a tombstone, bearing this inscription, "Sacred to the Memory of William Burns, Farmer in Lochlie, who died on the 13th of February, 1784, in the 63rd year of his age, and of Agnes Brown, his spouse, who died on the 14th of January, 1820, in the 88th year of her age. She was interred in Bolton churchyard, East Lothian." The following epitaph is also engraved upon the tombstone, from the pen of the Poet: "O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The dauntless heart that feared no human pride, For e'en his failings leant to virtue's side."" Were it not for the superstitious interest which Burns has thrown around Kirk Alloway, it would receive but a small share of the traveller's notice. As it is, you peep within the old walls, and again conjure up "Warlocks and witches in a dance," and fancy you behold, seated on the "winnock-bunker in the east," that black and grim musician, "auld Nick, in shape o' beast.' The "winnock-bunker" is a small window divided by a thick mullion, and is still preserved, as is also the bell, though several attempts have been made to remove the latter. The old oaken rafters of the kirk were mostly entire until within the last few years, but they are now quite gone, having been taken away to form into snuff-boxes and other memorials. The inner part of the kirk is now divided by a partition wall, and the late Lord Alloway is interred in one of the portions. When the father of Burns died at Lochlie, his family, knowing his attachment to the place when living, conveyed his remains a distance of nine miles to Kirk Alloway. It was Burns's wish that he should be interred beside his father, and, at his death, two residents of Ayr went to Dumfries for the purpose of carrying his desire into effect, but they were informed by the poet's brother that preparations had been made for interring him in St. Michael's churchyard, and that it would be imprudent to disappoint the inhabitants for the sake of the interests of the surviving family. design was, therefore, abandoned. The churchyard contains several old and very humble monuments, and it has also a many modern ones, erected to the memory of various parties whose remains have been brought from a distance. It is said that the grave levels all distinctions, but here it is not so: those who would have scorned or cared not for a living poet, thought it an honour that their bones should rest in a place which a dead bard had consecrated. The At a little distance from Kirk Alloway stands Burns's Monument, a beautiful structure of the Composite order, blending the finest models of Grecian and Roman architecture. It was designed by Mr. Hamilton, and it is stated that it was meant by him to be in some measure a revival of the celebrated monument of Lysicrates åt Athens; and it also bears some resemblance to the church of San Pietro, in Mantoris, at Rome. The edifice consists of a triangular basement (representative of the three divisions of Ayrshire, Carrick, Kyle, and Cunningham) upon which rises a circular peristyle, supporting a cupola. The peristyle consists of nine pillars, representative of the number of the Muses, thirty feet in height, and of the Corinthian order. They were designed from the three remaining columns of the Comitium in the Forum at Rome. Above the cupola. rises a gilt tripod, supported by three inverted dolphins,-fishes sacred to Apollo, and hence selected as ornaments proper to the monument of a poet. The whole building, the cost of which was about £2000, is sixty feet in height from the platform within the peristyle. The foundation stone was laid on the 25th January, 1820, by the late Sir Alexander Boswell (then Mr. Boswell,) and his address upon the occasion was beautifully appropriate. I have said that it was a lovely afternoon in May when I visited the Land of Burns, and the Monument appeared to be fixed in the very heart of one of the most verdantly luxuriant scenes it ever was my lot to look upon. The prospect was no longer bleak as when the first stone of the Monument was laid; the wood, the hawthorn, and the "birken shaw were prodigal of leaves, and the air was ringing with the songs of birds. The place looked as if God himself had designed it for the birth-place of a poet-earth appeared to grow poetry, and the warbling of the feathered minstrels seemed imbued with a spirit of melody which I never remember to have heard elsewhere. Whether it was the associations that were connected with the place, or whether it was the surpassing beauty of the scenery, or both combined, I know not, but certainly I felt as though it were impossible for the most unimaginative to look on the scene without having his heart filled with the essence of song, though it might not find vent in words. We approached the gate which leads to the grounds surrounding the Monument, and enquired of an elderly gentleman, who was examining some timber, how we should gain admittance. He said he believed the gardener was engaged on the grounds, and if we would ring the bell, would conduct us to the Monument. This gentleman, we afterwards ascertained, was Mr. Auld, chief patron of Thom the sculptor, and one to whom the admirers of Burns are on many accounts greatly indebted. We did as he directed us, and the gardener then made his appearance. The first place to which he called our notice was a circular apartment of the Monument on the ground floor, lighted by a cupola of stained glass, 16 feet in height and 18 feet in diameter. A table stands in the centre, on which are placed various relics, and several editions of Burns's works. The Bible given by the poet to Highland Mary is amongst the relics. It is bound in two volumes, which are enclosed in a neat oaken box, with a glass lid. On the fly-leaf of the first volume is the following text in the handwriting of the Bard. "And ye shall not swear by my name falsely; I am the Lord. Levit. XIX. 12." In the second, "Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths. V. 33." And in both volumes is written "Robert Burns, Mossgiel," with his Mason's mark appended, partly obliterated; in one of them is preserved a lock of Highland Mary's hair. There are also several other articles appropriate to the place-a copy by Stevens of Naismith's portrait of Burns-a snuff box made from the wood-work of Kirk Alloway-eight chairs manufactured from the beam which supported the bell in the old steeple of Ayr (the bell of "the Dungeon Clock")—and several sketches, illustrating the poetry of Burns, are painted on the panelling of the doors. Mat. When we left the interior of the Monument we ascended a flight of stairs, to reach the base of the columns. It is here that a view which is most magnificent and indescribable bursts upon the sight. Far abler pens than mine have failed in pourtraying it, and I shall not be so presumptuous as to attempt a description. The original statues of Tam o' Shanter and Souter Johnnie, by Thom, are in a small cottage at the south side of the enclosed ground, and place the sculptor in an almost equal rank with the poet. They are most exquisitely graphic and life-like. A remark of the gardener who acted as our cicerone appeared to me exceedingly quaint. I observed that I had found Kirk Alloway much smaller than I expected, and he replied that "the Kirk certainly was small, but there were not so many people in the world when it was built as now.' " From the Monument we bent our steps to the "Auld Brig" of Doon. In Burns's day this Bridge was, and long had been, the principal communication between the districts of Kyle and Carrick. It is conjectured that it is of great antiquity. Since the erection of a new bridge the old one has fallen into disuse, but it is still kept in repair on account of its poetical associations. It is an old-fashioned looking bridge with one arch, and commands a picturesque view of the thickly wooded banks and winding river. For the visiter it has more attractive charms, and there are few but will seek the key-stane," as we did, and call to mind these lines from Tam o' Shanter: 6 "Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And flew at Tam wi' furions ettle; Near to the end of the New Bridge is the "Burns' Arms Inn," which is neatly fitted up, and commands from each window of its principal apartment a most delightful prospect. It was in this room that, full of the pleasure and gratification we had experienced, my companion rose and proposed the "Immortal Memory of Robert Burns;" and with uncovered heads we reverently drank the toast in the Bard's own favourite liquor, whisky-punch. On our return we paid a visit to the Cottage of the poet's birth. For many years it was in the occupation of Mr. and Mrs. Goudie, as an Ale-house or Inn, and at the time of our visit it was tenanted by their son-in-law and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Hast * I was informed that the sexton who dug Mary Campbell's grave was still living at Greenock, aged 104. 66 ings. We were informed by the hostess that their lease would be out at Martinmas, and though they now paid a rent of £45, it was to be let to another tenant for £62 per annum. The tenement was built by Burns's father, and was originally a Clay Bigging" consisting of Kitchen and Spence, or Sitting-room. It was in the kitchen or inferior apartment of the clay cottage, that Robert Burns saw the light, and we were shown a recess in this room, which formerly contained the bed in which the poet was born. The wooden bedstead was of the fashion still used in Scottish cottages, and when the furniture of the Inn was on one occasion sold by roup, it was purchased for a trifle by the stable-boy, who was afterwards fortunate enough to dispose of it for twenty guineas. It is now at Brownhill Inn, near Thornhill, Dumfries-shire. It is related that, when the mother of the poet felt her time approaching, the father took horse, and set out, through the darkness of a stormy January night, for Ayr, in order to bring the necessary female attendant. When he approached a rivulet which crosses the road, and which was not then provided with a bridge, he found it so deep in flood, that a wayfaring female sat on the other side, unable to make her way across on foot. Notwithstanding his haste, he listened to the prayer of this poor woman, and conveyed her through the stream on his horse. When he returned with the woman of skill from Ayr, he found that the gipsy, as she proved to be, had made good her quarters beside his cottage fireside, where she was waiting anxiously for the happy hour of Agnes Brown. It is said that, on the child being placed in her lap, she inspected his palm, after the manner of her profession, and made the predictions which the poet himself has embodied in a whimsical song, not printed in most collections of his works: "The gossip keekit in his loof, Quo scho, wha lives will see the proof, This waly boy will be nae coof; I think we'll ca' him Robin. He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', But aye a heart aboon them a'; He'll be a credit till us a' We'll a' be proud o' Robin. But sure as three times three mak nine, I see by ilka score and line, This chap will dearly like our kin', So leeze me on thee, Robin." Dr. Currie had heard a report that the poet was born in the midst of a storm, which blew down a part of the house, and, hinting at this rumour in a letter to Gilbert Burns, he received an answer of which the following is a part:-"When my father built his 'clay biggin,' he put in two stone-jambs, as they are called, and a lintel, carrying up a chimney in his clay-gable. The consequence was, that as the gable subsided, the jambs, remaining firm, threw it off its centre; and one very stormy morning, when my brother was nine or ten days old, a little before day-light, a part of the gable fell out, and the rest appeared so shattered, that my mother, with the young poet, had to be carried through the storm to a neighbour's house, where they remained a week till their own dwelling was adjusted."* At the time I visited the cottage the furniture was covered with the initials of visiters, and to gratify those who wished to leave some trace behind them, books had been kept, in which are inscribed the names of some thousands of individuals of all ranks. When the Lease expired, a few months ago, the furniture was sold by auction, and purchased by a gentleman who intended to apply it for the purpose of forming a Burns's room. It is to be regretted that arrangements were not made to allow the goods to remain in the cottage, and the incoming tenant will most likely find that the building has lost some of its attraction. The universal opinion is that this cottage was the scene of "The Cottar's Saturday Night," and the following verses doubtless pourtray the poet's father: |