The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-10-08

no more poetry ia him than kali-yart
. wall, but with broad acres ana plenty Of
. "sillor," Alexander Ferguson, laird OF
. Cmigdarroch, Glencairn parish, Dunn
. iricsshlrc.
The whole region roundabout the
scene of this romantic episode between
Annie aurie and Douglas. and 0f The lat
ter IS poem IS eXquisitely bcautllu, and is
| wOudrouslv rife with poetic ami historic
. interest. Much of its poetic glauor is Of
course due TO the personality and pen Of
/ Burns. Every object NOu look upon from
/ Dumfrics 10 Craigdarroch has given al
/ most diyiduality. life. and certainly I'M
| dying in terest from his personal associa-
/ tiou or the use of the magic Of his muse.
! From the ancient observatory IN the
/ MaXwelltown. opposite Dumtrics, which
must be kept distinct IN the mind from
| Annie Iaurie's village birthplace of Max
/ welltOwn few miles distant, one can see
and feel the tenderness Of complete iden-
/ LITIGATION. The eve ranges 10 the east
| over and beyond fair Annandale; across
! Kirkcud brightshire TO the west to the
! noble hills, skirting Ayrshire; to the
north up dreamland Nithsdale TO the far,
/ dim turrets Of Drumlanrig Castle and
to the south TO the vast eXpanse Of Sol
way Firth, where, TO the right of Niths-
mouth, looms gray-browed Crifel; while
to it's left is caught a CLEAN Of the sands
Il Il
late struggled to save his life. Thus al
most at a glance not only does the be
witching cyclorama give the behOlder the
entire field of the everyday scenes of the
poets life during his last eight memOra-
bic years. but at the same instant com
prehension of the three most impressive
epochs in his career of which we can have
memory-the home-heayen of Ellisland
farm life, the wretched fight against pow
erty in the gray old border town beneath
US, and that last unavailing struggle at
Brow Well by SOlway's shifting sands;
all made inexpressibly more impressive
by the lofty dome of the silent mausOleum,
over there in that shadowy kirkyard,
looming before US wherever we may look
for the recognition of his Old-time pres
ence within the fair region roundabout
There, too, in Bank street is the Wee
Venneln in whose upper three little
rooms the bard and his family lived when
Burns was driven from the Ellisland farm
by ruinous crops to the more ruinous life
of exciseman; the Globe Tavern, " Just as
il stood in Burns time, in which, I'M
happy as is the fact for contemplation,
one seems now almost to hear his thrilling
voice, mingled with the laughter of Syme,
Maxwell Landlord Hyslop and his wife
Meg and their siren barmaid "Anna ofthe
gowden locks" the little closet behind
the "howf' or tavern, where poor Burns,
brain beclouded and bewildered that bit
ter January night Of 1897, upon the straw
and refuse, Just at the edge of Shakespeare
street, and insensible until the morn, re
ceived the chill of death that never left
him, though he fingered conscious of his
just back of this sad spot
on Burns street, in the poets
time, Mill street. is the veritable cottage
where he lived and died. Every square
yard of Dumfries town is aglow with some
touching reminder of Burns. And were
this not enough to hold heart and mind to
the locality, what vivid reminders of
Scottish history are here What kingly
cavalcades have passed and repassed, in
despair or triumph, the ancient bridge of
Deyout Devorgilla, built in the middle of
the thirteenth century, and still staunch
as the rock-beds out of which its stones
were hewnl And there near where rises
the lofty spire of Greyfriars church, once
stood the monastery of Greyfriar in which
the avenging hand of Bruce struck the
blow which set in march the mighty
events leading to Scotland's most glorious
greatness and power.
Pilgriming from Dumfries a distance of
but twelve miles to Craigdarroch, the
home of Annie Laurie from the time of
her marriage to Alexander Ferguson in
100, until her death in 1861, at the age of
79 years, you cross the new Brig to the
west, and are at once among the braes of
the Dumfries MaXwelltown. The shore
side of this ancient hamlet remind you of
scores of other sleepy "auld clachans of
Scotland, - but the streets upon the gentle
heights are full of tree-embowered villas,
and have a sleepy, sunshiny look of com
fort and content. Once out upon the
highway-the ancient cOach-road between
Dumfries and Glasgow-iU winds over
brae and hill, through dale and dingle,
over beck and burn, through shadowy
avenues and patches and sunshine past
deserted clachans and now silent
of streams and birds ever in your
ears, long and winsome way.
When past the outlying village habita-
tions, you will see down there to the
right the picturesque ruins of Lincluden
Abbey, but few moments walk from
the highway, as beautifully situated as
those of Dryburgh on the Tweed, where
repose the remains of Sir Walter Scott
Beneath the shadows of its majestic
walls. lies Margaret, daughter of King
Robert III. of Scotland. The fine old
bridge near by at which YOU tarry-fOr
there is a pretty scene of strengthening
going on beneath the shade of the will
lows just aboVe-CrOSscs the river Cludcn.
a small and tuneful stream. IL bounds
lutIIlAN dtODB through COpSe ana between
emerald haughs below, sweeps around the
ancient abbey walls, and entering the
NTH, broadens into a deep pool or linn
Hence linn -Cluden "the Cluden pool. "
and the names of the grand old monastic
pile, Lincluden Abbey, which towers at
its edge above.
II you proceeded five miles further on
this highway you would reach kllisland.
on the west bank of the NTH, for many
years the farm-home of Burns; but turn
ing to the left you enter lovely region
and in half an hours walk come to Iron
gray Church beside Cairn water Here
you will tarry for a little, for within its
grass grown church-yard you win find
the grave of "Jeanie Deans. immortal
lied in the Heart of Midlothian" and
the inscription on the table tombstone
was written by Scott himself II is now
but a short and sunny distance to the
real MaXweiltown of Douglas verse. to
AlOniavie and Craigdarroch, q collection
of country seats and hamlets. most inter
esting from their age, beauty and environ
ment and absence from all the modern
fashionings which the railways have
brought to many other equally ancient
Scottish towns. On your way at moss
grown old Dunscore, you come upon an
other reminder Of the bloody days in the
tomb of Sir Robert Grierson, whose mem
DRY is lOathed like 'poperyn by every de-
scendant of the COvenanters
Midway between DunscOre and Mon
iavie is still more ancient Glencairn, for