The record-union., 1893-09-09

pilgrims come; ana mere, at Ln6 ull1Osl
source of the bonnie Doom, with misting
eyes you look over into NTH vale past old
Dumfries town to the roaring Solway
tides and seem to know, as of love one
gone, the deeper and tenderer mysteries
of his environment and life. The period
covers the ten years preceding his death,
from his 9th to his 31th year of age, Pc
rlod into which was crowded more per-
sonal hope and disappointment joy and
suffering, remorse for impulsive wrong
doing, heaven of purast domestic bliss,
temptation and victory, agonized despair
and triumph, than fall to the lot of most
great men IN their entire lives. There
were first The dlsoWnment and desertiOn
by Jean Armour, the betrothal to High
land Mary, with the sad parting and her
tragic death; the publication of the now
priceless though then humble kilmar-
mock edition of his poems; the prepara
ton for flight to Jamaica; the triumphant
visit to Edinburgh; the generous caring
for the mother and brother; the glad re-
union with his Jean, and the home build
ing az Ellisland over there by the songful
NTH.
Then came the brief, bright days. The
proceeds OF settlement with Creech,
his Edinburgh publisher, netted him the
then munifIcent sum o. about $500. Mag
unanimously generous always, much Of
this sum, the first and last material good
fortune Burns ever know, went to jeans S
parents, and to assist his brother, Gilbert
Burns, in averting disaster in the latter S
farm-lite efforts. Ills lucky meeting
with the ingenious and kindly Patrick
Miller Of Dalswinton Hall, had occurred.
1t had been settled that the poet. who
hated the city with a royal hatred, should
roturn to the plow. The nobility Of the
day never quite forgaYe this plebian
longing and love, the source of his grand
est inspirations. The beautiful farm OF
Ellisland, five miles above Dulnfries, was
taken at a rental Of E5O per year. Burns,
unaIded, began his farm labors the first
Monday after WhiJsunday, l7SS. He
tOiled mantully until the autumn of that
year, meantime singing many lusty
song to his absent vile, and built the
lovely cottage which stands emboWered
III roses to this day.
And then was celebrated the simple but
glorious homecoming, when, with rustic
rites, and his bonnie Jean upon his arm,
preceded by a peasant girl carrying the
family Bible and bowl Of salt,'' he
marched proudly into his little home
heaven beside the winding Nth. All
evidence agree that in the brief period
of tritle over two years, between Whit
Sunday, l5So, and Martinmas, 1871, Buns
and his good Jean experienced an Eden
of labor and love despite their final en-
forced departure. 1t was also the period
OF Burns best and greatest poetic accom-
pliShmeut. But more children came to
them. These must be supported. The
crops failed. and inevitable ruin was
approaching. 1t was then, with nowhere
else on earth TO turn, with no one on
earth to defend him from the wretched
influences OF such environment, that to
save his wife and children from actual
want, he was forced to accept the Govern
,
carly pittauce OF $50 per year. The i've
remaining years OF his life, after the poet,
his Jean and their three children, Robert,
Francis Wallace and William NicOl, re-
moved to the humble lodgings, and then
their cottage home, in DumIries, check
cred, sad, pathetic beyond comprehen-
sion, are known TO all.
1t is because you see along the witching
valleys ways the Burns Of reality-man-
ly, sturdy, weak as you or 1 i'll like
plights, generous, magnanimous, pitiful,
great, that you I1nger and still linger here.
y on can see him singing at his toll by
day, or by the ingle-neuk with Jean and
the BARNS at night or still, by the little
south window, working at the tiny deal
table when the inspiration came. You
see him guest OF lairds or companion of
cottagers, and beloved of all. There is
not in all this fair domain castle, gem
tleman's seat, It cabin, or an old roadside
inn, that existed in Burns time, which
does not preserve some relic of the poetic,
or some revered memory of his one-time
presence. The eyes of your conscious
ness may know, all through Dumfries-
shire and irkcudbrightshire, at this
farmhouse of some unrecOrded kindness;
at the next OF some pleasant incident; at
another, of an odd adventure; now of.
perhaps, a forgivable registering; then, OF
some blessed help in time OF need; again.
Of festivity of which he was the life, and
again of prayer. Prayer from Burns?
\ es, prayer with the living and at the
couch of the dead, among those so Iowly
that somehow those spiritual excise
men, who delighted to league the poet
exciseman with "Auld Hornie" had 10
time from their higher" parocihal duties
to minister there. To&I see him riding
about the country on his two horses,
Pegasus" and peg Nicholson" j" not as
eXciseman rapaciOus with the scourging
instruments OF law, but keen with friend
ly warnings instead, ever leaning to the
side of mercy, saving, not running, the
ignorant and lowly. You see him. as the
bitter days come on, with a curse in your
heart on the curse which cursed his life,
when the hand of poverty crushed him,
and there was no helping one to save.
You see him at Brow Well with the con-
sciousness of death, still the most lovable
OF men, and alone with his Bible there.
You see him carried back to the little
cottage to die, and you hear then from
the lips Of loyal Jean the mighty disproot
of all slanderous tongues in the one sent
ence, ever giorifyIng the husband and
man, He never spoke misbehadden
word to me in a. his life!" And YOU
know that tender husband and loyal
wife rest together beside the songtul
NTH.
Two tiny streams, hardly more than
brooks at some seasons of the year, and
having their sources in respective lochs
like little mountain tarns, are the real
source of the Doom. These little lochs lie
at the eastern and northern edges of Mer-
rick Mountain. They have the curious
appella-ion Of Eagton Lane and GalIow,
or Gala, Lane. They tloN north and
empty into a greater loch called Loeb
Doom, an eXpanse of water, perhaps,
seven miles Ill length and nearly a mile
| in width.
The scenery about Loeb Doom is wild
and picturesque. It's northern horizon is
| q lofty mountain fringe of healthy nights
! broken here and there by rugged, rocky
| escarpments OF purple and puce. From
/ this IOch, Tor distance of about twenty
| miles, the Doom winds prettily enough
| between the Ayrshire hills through valley
reaches and past quaint old villages, but
! without that exquisite variety OF bank
and brae for which the pen of Burns has
/ made it famous. At PaJna. or still fur.
ther at Hollybush, begin its tortuous
windings. From here to the sea there is
/ an ever-varylng succession of the most
/ idyllic riverside pictures to be found in
all Britain. These were distinctively the
| boyhood haunts OF the poet. After Hol.
| lybush comes Dalrymple, perhaps the
/ lovAliest village in the loyeliest vale in
! Scotland. II seems in an endless slum.
/ Der IN its nest-like vale, hushed by the
murmurOns lullabYs of the Doom. A