Contributor.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 28, 7 October 1893, Page 4

Contributor.

VISIT.TO SCOTLAND

(By Mr W. H. Mathieson.)

I left Birmingham on July Ist by the 11 o’clock express for Scotland. The country en route was very much like that described in a recent letter. A few miles out we passed a very large brewery, with empty casks piled up outside 20ft. high and covering several acres, proving unmistakably thatthe poor man loves his beer.” As the train approached the border the country got decidedly hilly. The rivers Esk and Annan were seen away down the valleys, fringed with lovely trees, while far up the glen glimpses of old moss-covered ruined castles were obtained which, if they could only speak, would tell tales that would stir'the warm blood of our sons—now flowing so peacefully in these humdrum times. Just on the border we passed the famous Gretna Green which has been responsible for joining so many couples impatient of parental control, and who determined to take each other for better or for worse—let us charitably hope for the better. Till about 25 years ago the law of marriage in Scotland only required that the parties immediately interested should declare themselves man and wife, but in England, on the contrary, it was necessary to obtain the consent of parents, publish banns, and have the ceremony performed by a clergyman, which involved publicity and delay. All these difficulties could be avoided by a trip to Gretna. There, in the presence of the blacksmith, whose smithy doox~ was always open, runaway pairs exchanged vows and became wedded in the bonds of matrimony. The blacksmith kept a record of these runaway matches, and it came in time to be a large and important volume. It was often referred to in legal disputes, and settled the claims of heirs to considerable properties. It is said that the blacksmith’s descendants still make money out of it. The train crosses the Esk where its current begins to be checked by the sea. Young Lochinvar must have crossed about this spot, as in this retreat, with his lassie behind him, “ He swam the Esk river where ford there was none.” We soon reached the famous town of Dumfries. This ancient Scottish burgh, from its name (“ Drum,” or “ Dum,” a fortified height and “ fries,” furze) was probably, says the historian, a hill fort of the early Britons and may have existed in the time of the Homans. Dumfries has had a stirring history—as the poet sings—- ■“ For loyal feats and trophies won, Dumfries shall live till time be done.” Bonnie Prince Charlie stayed here for a time, but its greatest distinction lies in the fact that it was the home for some years of Scotland’s immortal bard, Robert Burns, who wrote many famous songs during his residence in the town, in which he died. He lived in a house within a gunshot of the Nith, and the music of its waters rushing over the dam-dyke must have often lulled the poet to slumber. Dumfries bas always been noted for its staunchness to the Convenanters, and many of her sons sacri. heed their lives in the struggle for their religious rights and liberties. The cemetery (St. Michael’s) is crowded with memorials of the departed, including some of the martyred Covenanters, but that which attracts all strangers, is the mausoleum of Burns. It stands at the east corner of the churchyard—it is in the form of a Grecian temple, with a rounded cupola. On the wall of the interior opposite the entrance is a sculpture of the genuis of Coila casting her inspiring mantle over the poet at the plough. is carved in marble by an Italian artist. “ Flourish Dumfries! may heaven increase thy store. Till Criffel sink, and Nith shall run no more! ” And so says every true Scotsman. I cannot leave Dumfries without

telling a , sto^y-re] siring to one of, my ancestors which is characteristic of the poet. It was published in the Dumfries Standard, and is headed “ An unpublished epitaph by Burns.” It was received many years ago by an -•Id man in Maxwelltown from a shepherd, who had been intimate with the poet, and who was present when the lines were written. The story runs that while Burns was on the farm of Ellisland, he was in the habit of meeting a blacksmith known fromhisresidenceasHodes. (His real name was William Hunter—l have often heard my father tell the story). Burns Rodes, and Ned (as the shepherd was called) were having a friendly crack over a howl of toddy, when the smith challenged the poet to write an epitaph on himself. Burns, nothing loth, immediately dashed off the following : “ Reneath these sods lies drunken R jdes, Wha ne’er was kenned to drink ca uld water; “Like clack o’ mill, the whisky gill Inspires his tongue wi’ endless clatter.” While in this locality I was exceptionally fortunate in being- the guest of Mr Dohie, of Drumcork, Thornhill, a well-known and much-respected farmer, and a brother of Mr Dohie, of Lewis and Co., Invercargill. He proved a perfect encyclopedia of knowledge of the families and genealogy of the people of the district, and if I could only reproduce many of his stories, told in the quaint old Scottish style (which has not died out yet), I would be a worthy rival of the late Mr Kennedy. My host and his charming daughter drove me all over the country-side, looking up my relattions, and I obtained more genuine pleasure in the few short days I spent at his home than I got in all my visit to England and Scotland put together. “ Adown winding Nith did I wander, To mark the sweet flowers of the spring— Adown winding Nith did I wander, Of Phyllis to muse and to sing.” So wrote the poet, and no doubt he often travelled up and down the valley of the Nith in his excise work. On the east side of the railway is the heather-clad Closebui-n Hills, amid which is the fine waterfall of Crichope Linn. It is 100 ft. hig-h, and the approach to it is singularly picturesque. Near the linn is a cave which was used as a place of refug-e by Covenanters in the olden times. Sir Walter Scott mentions it as having been the hiding-place of Balfour of Burley in ■ t Old Mortality.” On the last day of my stay I visited the .new parish church at Closeburn, and was shown through the building- by the Rev. Ogilvie Ramsay, a brother or Mr Keith Ramsay, of Dunedin. In comparison with the elaborate styles now in vogue this church is very plainly built as the mini ster said, “You make mis take about the purpose for which it was intended. It has a very nicelybalanced organ, which is richly decorated, and serves to relieve the severe simplicity of the interior. The church will sear 300 people, and from its situation is a conspicuous object for miles round. While strolling through the churchyard I was shown an old gravestone which had been lying face downwards for a great many years. When this stone was turned over and cleaned, it jmoved to be that of one of my ancestors, who, so it recorded, had been banished to foreign lands for adhering- to the worship of the Covenanters. This was in the sixteenth century. Mr Ramsay told me that there was a very pathetic and unpublished story connected with the above, which I will giveHn his own words : “ At the time that he was banished for his religious opinions his wife had seven children, but a fewmonths after he was taken away another little boy came on the scene. His mother was never tired or telling him about how his father looked. Some 14 years had elapsed, and the poor woman had struggled on in the farm with her children doing the work as best she could. She had long given her husband up for dead (there was no penny post in those days) when a ragged tramp came to the door just as she was getting the dinner ready to take to her children,

who were harvesting' in one of the fields some distance from the house. With the proverbial hospitality of the Scotch, she invited him to take some of their humble fair. When he finished he did not show any signs of leaving, and she told him pretty sharply that it was time for him to be going, as she must take her children’s food down. Her asked 'leave to assist her, which she was not willing to grant, but he accompanied her to the field and sat down near them. The youngest, moved by childish curiosity, had a look at the old man several times, and at last went up to his mother and said, — “ Mother, if that is not father, I don’t know who it is ; and so it proved. I will draw a veil over the scene that followed. (To be Continued.)