with the poet, which will be noticed in its proper place. Another lady of culture, whose society was enjoyed by Burns at Friars' Carse, was a Miss Deborah Davis, a relative of Glenriddle, and the heroine of two of the poet's songs. She was of short stature, and from this circumstance was made the subject of the following epigram, which the bard uttered on being asked by a friend why God made her so little and the lady beside her so large

"Ask why God made the gem so small,

And why so huge the granite ?

Because God meant mankind should set
The higher value on it.”

66

A rather romantic incident in the life of this lady deserves notice. At an early age she fell in love with a Captain Delany, who, to all appearance, reciprocated the passion. "He made himself acceptable to her by sympathising in her pursuits and writing verses on her, calling her his Stella, an ominous name, which might have brought the memory of Swift's unhappy mistress to her mind." Says Allan Cunningham :—“ An offer of marriage was made and accepted, but Delany's circumstances were urged as an obstacle; delays ensued; a coldness on the lover's part followed; his regiment was called abroad: he went with it; she heard from him once and no more, and was left to mourn the change of affection—to droop and die. He perished in battle or by a foreign climate soon after the death of the young lady, of whose love he was so unworthy. The following verses on this unfortunate attachment form part of a poem found among her papers at her death. She takes Delany's portrait from her bosom, presses it to her lips, and says—

I once had thought I should have been
A tender, happy wife,

And passed my future days serene

With thee, my James, through life.""

Beside these and other friendships, the mansion-house of Friars' Carse is celebrated on account of a bacchanalian contest which took place in one of its rooms on the 16th October, 1789. The prize was a little ebony whistle which a Danish champion of Bacchus in the train of Annie of Denmark brought to this country. There was many a contest for its possession, for it appears that he was in the habit of laying it on the table at the commencement of a drinking bout, and whoever outdrank his companions and blew it when they were all under the table carried it off as a trophy. After proving victor on many occasions, this champion of the bottle encountered Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxweltown, and was defeated by him after three days and three nights' hard drinking. The whistle afterwards came into the possession of Captain Riddle, who decided upon having a friendly contest for it at Friars' Carse. For that purpose he challenged Mr. Ferguson of Craigdarroch, and Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, and invited Burns to witness the fray. The following affidavit graphically describes the proceedings :

:

"Closeburn Hall, Dec. 2, 1841.

“I, Wm. Hunter, blacksmith, in Lake-head, parish of Closeburn, was, for three years and a half previous to my being apprenticed to John Kilpatrick, blacksmith in Burnland, parish of Dunscore, servant to Capt. Robt. Riddle, of Friars' Carse, in Dumfriesshire. I remember well the night when the Whistle was drunk for at Friars' Carse by the three gentlemen-Sir Robert Lawrie, Mr. Ferguson of Craigdarroch, and Captain Riddle. Burns the poet was present on the occasion. Mrs. Riddle and Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch dined with the above gentlemen. As soon as the cloth was removed the two ladies retired. When the ladies had left the room, Burns withdrew from the dining table, and sat down in the window looking down the river Nith; a small table was before him. During the evening Burns nearly emptied two bottles of spirits-the one of brandy, the other of rum-mixing them in tumblers with warm water, which I often brought to him hot. He had paper, pen, and ink before him and continued the whole evening to write upon the paper. He seemed, while I was in the room, to have little conversation with the three gentlemen at their wine. I think from what I could observe he was composing the Whistle' as he sat with his back to the gentlemen, but he occasionally turned towards them. The corks of the

wine were all drawn by me, and it was claret the three gentlemen drank. As far as I can recollect, I did not draw more than fifteen bottles of claret. It was about sunrise when the two gentlemen were carried to bed. Craigdarroch never during the course of the night fell from his chair. The other two gentlemen often fell, and had to be helped, with the assistance of Burns and myself, on to their chairs. After Burns, myself, and the other servants now dead, had carried upstairs Sir Robert Lawrie and Captain Riddle, Craigdarroch walked himself upstairs without any help. Craigdarroch then went into one bedroom where Sir Robert Lawrie was and blew stoutly the whistle; next he entered Captain Riddle's bedroom and blew the whistle as stoutly there-Burns being present. Burns, after he had seen and assisted the two above-named gentlemen to bed, walked home to his own farm-house of Ellisland, about a mile from Friars' Carse. He seemed a little the worse of drink, but was quite able to walk and manage himself. Burns often afterwards talked to me of the evening that was passed at Friars' Carse when the whistle was drank for, and he told me again and again that he wrote the whole poem of the 'Whistle' that evening at Friars' Carse. Indeed, he filled that evening, I well recollect, four sheets of paper larger than the present one (large post) with writing, all of which he took home with him. As I was apprentice to Kilpatrick, the blacksmith, who always shod Burns' horses when he was at Ellisland, I often saw Burns while I was shoeing his horses. All the above particulars I am willing to verify on oath.

"December 2nd, 1841."

(Signed)

"WILLIAM HUNTER.

It seems strange at this date that "three jolly good fellows " -one an elder of a church and another an M.P.-could indulge to such excess, but then it was considered no breach of decorum to be "as drunk's a gentleman," or to fall from one's chair overpowered by liquor at the festive board; and there is no apology required for Burns being present at such an orgie.

I would have had a peep at the room in which the contest took place and in which "The Whistle " was composed, but upon learning that the family were from home, I contented myself with a stroll through the grounds, and a right enjoyable one it was.

Accosting a man engaged in mowing grass, I enquired for the Hermitage. Being told that its situation was on the verge of a neighbouring wood, I acted on his advice, and sought out the head gardener. He proved of a cheerful disposition, and so extremely obliging that he proffered to accompany me to the spot and give what information he could regarding it.

After climbing a steep ascent we entered the wood in question,
but as we threaded a narrow path among the trees, a colony
of crows in the branches over our heads began to caw! caw!
caw! and raise a clamour as if indignant at the intrusion of
their privacy. I rather liked their din, and stopped now and
again to watch their circuitous flight far above our heads,
guessing the cause of their alarm to be that some cruelly-
disposed person had been making them objects of his
murderous aim, for here and there among the grass lay
numerous stiffened sable members of the fraternity. Poor
things! many had the appearance of having died in great
agony, and lay crouched and cramped as they were when
mercifully relieved from suffering by death. I lifted a live
but disabled one, but not before it seized my finger with its bill,
being accustomed to look upon man as a common enemy.
did my utmost to assure it of the kindness of my intentions,
but it was no use, and as I could not do anything for it I laid
it down saying-

"Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wanted rest,
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom pressed.'

I

Crows are certainly thieves, and, despite their black attire and gravity of mien, are not so just and upright as farmers desire, but if the safety of crops demand their partial destruction it should be gone about in a humane and efficient manner.

The Hermitage is situated in an obscure corner of the wood, and looks as sombre as if it had not been visited for months. It is a small modern-looking building of one storey with an inscription over its doorway stating that it was restored in 1874. Previous to its restoration it was in ruins, and it says much for the present proprietor of Friars' Carse that it is in the present tidy condition. The original building measured ten and a-half feet by eight, and was erected by Captain Riddle. When Burns came to Ellisland he delighted to wander by the Nith and through the grounds and woods of Friars' Carse, a circumstance which probably induced the Captain to provide him with a key for the Hermitage, so that he could go in and out when he felt it convenient to do so. He often retired to this retreat, and in its solitude under the

character of a bedesman, composed "Verses in Friar's Carse Hermitage." He inscribed the first six lines on the window pane, but this-Robert Chambers informs us- -"was removed on a change of proprietors, and being brought to sale at the death of an old lady in 1835 was purchased for five guineas."

When the gate of the railed enclosure of the present retreat is thrown open, the first thing that attracts attention is the rigid form of a monk, with shaven crown, chipped nose, and folded hands, lying on its back at the entrance. Possibly it is a remnant of the "auld nick-nackets" which belonged to honest Glenriddle, and commemorates some holy friar whose name and qualifications are alike forgotten. The little building contains a chair and small table, and is supplied with two windows and a fireplace. The glass of one window bears the following in fac-simile of the poet's handwriting :

"To Riddle, much lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear;

Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.

The glass of the other is inscribed in like manner, and bears the following lines :

"Thou whom chance may hither lead,

Be thou clad in russet weed,

Be thou decked in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.

Life is but a day at most,

Sprung from night, in darkness lost;

Hope not sunshine every hour,

Fear not clouds will always lower.

Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide,
Quod the bedesman of Nithside."

Ellisland is a couple of fields distant from the Hermitage, and the instant I took leave of my obliging guide, I hastened towards it by way of the river bank, for it is close by, and accessible by scaling a low stone wall which appears to be as old as the wood it encloses. The Nith winds along its shallow pebbly shore, and the wide swelling verdant uplands which rise from its brink looked so fresh that they appeared like a portion of a newly-created world. Despite a sense of loneliness I felt happy-happy as the bird in the brake, and