ment of "the glorious privilege of being independent," even although he had amassed a little money and had become famous by dint of his giant intellect. As a means of subsistence he endeavoured to procure a situation in the Excise, but ultimately abandoned the idea for that of returning to his original occupation of farming. After some deliberation, he entered into negotiations with his patron, Mr Patrick Miller of Dalswinton, respecting the farm of Ellisland, and having procured it on favourable terms, set about preparing a home for his young wife on the banks of the Nith. Thither, reader, we will follew him, and while tracing his footsteps in Dumfriesshire, it is to be hoped that my gleaning will prove at once instructive and entertaining. On the afternoon of a bonnie summer day, I availed myself of a short respite from business, and left Kilmarnock by rail with the intention of wandering at leisure amid the scenery of Nithsdale, and visiting places celebrated by the residence or muse of Robert Burns. As the train glided on the everchanging scenery had a peculiar charm for me, not only on account of the fact that it was from it the bard drew inspiration, but because its every rood is hallowed by brave men who fought and bled for freedom and Scotland, when might was considered right, and liberty of conscience and action the property of those in power. A short stoppage occurred at Mauchline, and another at the quaint village of Auchinleck, near to which is Auchinleck House, the residence of Lady Boswell. Dr Samuel Johnson made a grumbling, discontented stay at it in the month of November, 1773. The Lugar was then unsung, and the “moors and mosses many" had not been celebrated by the bard of Coila, for he was but in his fifteenth year, and had concluded a grand session of three weeks at the grammar school of Ayr to return to Mount Oliphant to swing the "weary flingin'-tree" in the old barn. The doctor and his biographer have now a very small share of the affection and gratitude of mankind, but the name of the poor boy Robert Burns, who worked hard and fared hard, and received his education by snatches, fame has wafted over the whole world, and his immortal verses are the solace and delight of his countrymen in every land where their lot is cast. The illiterate, the learned, the rich, and the poor admire them, and speak of the poet as of one with whom they were intimate in fact, the birch-fringed, amber-flooded streams he has sung appear to murmur more sweetly and rush more proudly to the notes of his lyre "Nor skill'd one flame alone to fan ; His country's high-soul'd peasantry Grow beautiful beneath his touch." Auchinleck House was also the residence of that enthusiastic admirer of Burns, Sir Alexander Boswell, to whose energy the erection of the monument on the banks of the Doon is due. He was a poet of great merit, and it is no small honour to his muse that several of his songs have been mistakenly ascribed to Burns, and have found a place in London editions of his works. A branch line leads from Auchinleck to Muirkirk, a village famous in Covenanting annals. John Lapraik, author of the song, "When I upon thy bosom lean," resided there when in receipt of poetical epistles from Burns. The poet first heard the song at a rocking held in the kitchen of Mossgiel on Fasten e'en, 1785, and was so taken with it that he addressed the author in verse, and in flattering terms solicited his friendship. Lapraik speedily replied, and sent the letter by the hands of his son, who, upon arriving at Mossgiel, found the poet in a field engaged in sowing. "I'm no sure if I ken the hand," said Burns as he took the letter; but no sooner had he glanced at its contents than unconsciously letting go the sheet containing the grain, it was not until he had finished reading that he discovered the loss he had sustained.* Ever afterwards Burns and Lapraik became fast friends, and had frequent and familiar intercourse. Lapraik was born in 1727. He published a volume of poetry at Kilmarnock in 1788, and died in the eightieth year of his age, on the 7th May, 1807. Robert Chalmers some what rashly states in his edition of Burns that he must have stolen the ideas and nearly all the diction of his song from a poem in Ruddiman's Weekly Magazine, October, 1773. That Lapraik's song, and the poem referred to, have more than a suspicious similarity is not to be disputed, but whether Lap "Contemporaries of Burns,” p. 26 raik or the anonymous contributor to that periodical be the plagiarist has yet to be proved. As the train rushes from the sweet village of Auchinleck it crosses a lofty viaduct which spans the Lugar, a stream celebrated in "My Nannie o'"- -a song which is, and ever will be, an universal favourite-and in a short time passes the town of Old Cumnock, beautifully embosomed among the hills. Peden, of Covenanting memory, is buried in its churchyard; and in Breezyhill Cottage-a snug residence in its vicinityresides Mr Adam B. Todd, author of "Poems, Lectures, and Miscellanies," and other meritorious literary productions. Like Burns he was bred to farm work, and like him also he cultivated literature under many difficulties. The following extract is from one of his tributes to the memory of the ploughman bard : "A chequered lot was thine, O Burns, to bear, Though short thy course, thy struggles were severe ; Thy name shall rank among the honoured dead." Beyond New Cumnock-a modest village extending on both sides of the line-the country, if possible, becomes more fascinating. In the distance is Glen Afton and the green swelling braes by which it is enclosed, and also the infant Nith coursing along. It issues from the Black Loch, as a dark sheet of water in the upper part of New Cumnock parish is termed, and traverses twelve miles of Ayrshire soil before entering the county of Dumfries. This loch is also the source of the Glaisnock, and in reference to this fact the writer of the Statistical Account of the parish of Old Cumnock points out the possibility of a trout crossing the mainland. Were it, he supposes, to enter the Ayr at Ayr harbour it might pass into the Lugar at Barskimming, and from thence into the Glaisnock at Old Cumnock, by which it could reach the Black Loch and issue therefrom into the Nith, and eventually drop into the Solway Firth. The Nith has many tributaries in Ayrshire, but the most important is the Afton-a rapid and beautiful stream which traverses Glen Afton and joins it on the east side of the village of New Cumnock. The reader need not be reminded that this stream is celebrated by Burns in the song beginning "Flow gently sweet Afton amang thy green brȧes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise." For a long distance beyond New Cumnock the railway skirts the Nith, and as the train dashes along, many a bosky scene, and many a green hillside, which cannot fail to impart pleasure, catches the eye. I just caught a glimpse of Kirkconnel as the train rushed past. It is a nice little village, and likely to be notable in future years as the birth-place of Alexander Anderson, author of "Songs of Labour;""The Two Angels, and other Poems;" &c. Mr Anderson, although a surfaceman or 66 common navvy" on the line, has found leisure not only to educate himself and become conversant with the French, German, and Italian languages, but to woo the muses with such success that he is within a stride of being classed in the front rank of Scottish poets. The following homely verses from his pen will be read with interest : 66 CUDDLE DOON. "The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, O try and sleep ye waukrife rogues, They never heed a word I speak ; But aye I hap them up and cry, "Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid— He aye sleeps next the wa'- I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, Then draw the blankets up and cry, "But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, "At length they hear their faither's fit, "The bairnies, John, are in their beds, "An' just afore we bed oursel's, Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck, I lift wee Jamie up the bed, An' as I straik each croon, "The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht But sune the big warl's cark and care Yet, come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon, Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, Beyond Kirkconnell the scenery wears a moorland aspect, but the train speedily tears through it, and in an amazingly short space of time reaches Sanquhar—a compact, neatly built town with which Burns was familiar when journeying between Dumfries and Mauchline. We have an account of one of his visits in a letter to Dr Moore. "In January last, on my road to Ayrshire," says he, "I had to put up at Bailie Wigham's in Sanquhar, the only tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the grim evening and howling wind were ushering in the night of snow and drift. My horse and I were both much fatigued with the labours of the day, and just as my friend, the Bailie, and I were bidding defiance to the storm over a smoking bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the late great Mrs Oswald; and poor I am forced to brave all the horrors of a tempestuous night, and jade my horse, my favourite horse, whom I had just christened |