Morning journal and courier., 1890-08-16
No. 1914.

the people of Nithsdale, was a source of the greatest delight. The companionship resulted in a return invitation to visit my new-found friends family on the same evening of the EIlisland journey On pre- senting myself at his door was admitted by a young lady, whose face and presence startled me as completely as though Rob ert Burns had himself greeted me at the threshold of that welcoming habitation- There stood fair young woman, in whose face was repeated every hneament of the poets. Her hair was raven black; her brows were broad and high; the eyes like flaming orbs; the nose perfectly chiseled; the mouth large. impassioned, tender; and the chin full rounded and dimpled- It was indeed Burns face chastened and soft ened by the pure soul of a woman looking through it.
 Completely overcome by the extraordi- nary likeness and situation, could scarce ly use my tongue, but at last faltered,
 Isis this the residence of MT. Thomas Brown, with whom an American gentle man has an engagement for the evening|
 '1t is;" the young lady smilingly an swered. Father and mother are expect ing you"
 "And you aresn-
 ''Their daughter, Jean Armour Burns Brown.'
 It was to the home of hegranddaughter and great-granddaughter of Robert Burns I had come. The cheery, handsome, white haired hostess of the evening. Mrs. Thomas Brown, a lady sixty years of age, who sang for us, .1Of a the airts the wind can blaw,m with extreme pathos and feel ing, is the surviving daughter of Robert Burns, jr., the poets oldest son, who died here in Dumfries in 1857, at the age of seventy years. His early education was chiefly the charge of Burns himself, and with him, hand in hand, he wandered again and again in every loved haunt of Nithsdale from Criffel on the Solway to Friar's Carse, above Ellisland- A page of this paper could be delightfully."- filled with the experiences of that evening and of later hours, in this plain and pleasant home-in itself a museum and shrine of Burns memorial. relic and sentiment. But aside from these and the marvellous reproduction of figure, face and radiant speech of eyes and look of the poetin his great-granddaughter, Jean Armour Burns Brown, two things came to me, with con- viction which cannot be shaken, and which would set down to remain, with earnest and solemn emphasis.
 The first is that Robert Burns, jr., was a man of extraordinary intellect, attain ments and character. He was an attache
 
 thirty years, during which period, and to the day of his death, as I have evidence, he was one of the profoundest thinkers and scholars of his time. A no more learned scholar lived; and Carlyle himself was not his superior in depth of philo- sophical research United with these were qualities of heart and character which were grandly pure and sweet; while hidden and restrained by loyalty to his fathers name and fame, to discern which gives one glimpse of what true heroism means, was, as also have evidence, gift of the loftiest poetic power. With this new light upon father and son, l cannot contemplate the one's extreme attachment to the other without feeling that bond, perhaps unconscious but still mighty. aside from the sacred flial tie, held the matured, and budding, intellect so tender ly together.
 The other thing would say from con viction is this: Jean Armour was a wo- man of loftier soul than has ever yet been depicted Burns genius was illimitAbly too great to require unworthy contrast to render it more surprisingly transcendent- Carlyle's definition of the function of wo- ! man-s'to wed a man she can love and es- teem. and to lead noiselessly under his protection. with all the wisdom, grace and heroism that is in her, the life prescribed | in consequence, was illustrated supremely in the life of Jean Armour, the wife of Robert Burns: and her unaffected tribute to his kingship of affection in the poverty scourged home they both loved, in her own words. He ne'er spoke misbehadden word to me in q his life," is as royal a tri- bute to his manly, if erring. nature, not | withstanding all other evidences of men | and pen, as the world can ever bring to brighten the memory of his immortal po- etic genius. EDGAR l.. WAKENAN.