tion of the Kilmarnock edition of his poems, and when some "ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at his heels." The great merit of the volume, and the elegant praise of the verses which he composed on the family, induced Dr. Lawrie to speak of Burns and his merits to the blind bard, Blacklock, whose high commendations induced the Poet to stop his chest, then on the way to Greenock, turn his face from the West Indies to "Edina, Scotia's darling seat," and resolve that his farewell, beginning thus— 66 "The gloomy night is gathering fast," should not be the last strain poured from his harp in the land of Caledonia. The world is sometimes disinclined to sanction the commendations of the tasteful and critical; but the event justified Blacklock's counsel, and the Poet's resolution. Burns was a child of impulse, the impulse this time was right; the voice that called was one from heaven. 'Many instances," says Blacklock to Lawrie, "I have seen of nature's force or beneficence, exerted under numerous and formidable disadvantages, but none equal to that with which you have been kind enough to present me. There is a pathos and delicacy in his serious poems, a vein of wit and humor in those of a more festive turn, which cannot be too much admired, or too warmly approved; and I think I shall never open the book without feeling my astonishment renewed and increased. It were much to be wished, for the sake of the young man, that a second edition, more numerous than the former, should immediately be printed; as it appears certain that its intrinsic merit, and the exertions of the author's friends, might give it a more universal circulation than anything of the kind which has been pub lished in my memory." The poem in which Burns records the worth of the house of Lawrie, is in the form of a prayer: each verse contains a fine picture of the pious sire, the tender mother, the dutiful son, and the beauteous daughters, and closes with raising them from earth, and placing them "A Family in Heaven." GLOBE CLOSE, DUMFRIES, (THE HOWFF Of burns.) "Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na ; THE Tabard Inn, where Chaucer caroused with the Canterbury pilgrims; the Boar's Head, where some of the heroes of Shakspeare, in new satin, discussed old sack; the Mermaid Tavern, made famous by the learning and wit of Ben Jonson; Wills's, which Dryden frequented, and where Pope, when a boy, went to look at him; Button's, made eminent by the socialities of the classic Addison; and Ambrose's, distinguished in our day by the poetic sallies of the chief wits of the North; are all places rendered immortal by the Muse; nor can we say. less of Poosy Nansie's, Auld Nanse Tinnock's, and The Howff, endeared to all lovers of sociality and song by the genius of Burns. Places which in themselves would pass unheeded, and which have no pretence to beauty, or claims on the picturesque, become both, the moment they are allied to an imperishable name; all the places we have mentioned are without any interest, save what association bestows. The Tabard Inn is very old, and not very neat; but the name Chaucer hangs its walls with tapestry. The Howff is in a dark street; its walls are dusky, and its ceilings low; but the voice of the Poet calls down light from above upon it: and all who love his memory pass with reverence its sanded threshold, rest themselves in the little parlor, where he indulged in his humors, and call for a glass of that pure liquor which its inspired occupant relished. The Globe Tavern is situated in the Globe Close, nearly opposite the George Inn, and a little below the King's Arms, in the high, or principal street of Dumfries. It was once a place of note, and regarded as the secondbest tavern in the town, and was occupied by the young and beautiful Countess of Airlie, when, in 1745, Dumfries fell into the hands of the Highland chiefs. Nor is it without a legend of those times. A certain squire of the north of England, of the ancient name of Vane, who held rank in the rebel host, saw that the adventure was sure to end tragically, and became desirous to escape. This was, however, no safe experiment; he communicated his wishes to the landlord of The Howff, who, at great personal jeopardy, concealed him, till the pipes of the clans summoned the army to depart, and then helped him to a disguise, in which he made his escape into England, and finally to France, where, it is said, he afterwards found one of the sons of his benefactor in prison, and released, and clothed, and sent him back wealthy to Dumfries. The more serious portion of the people of the town persist in calling this tavern The Globe; but all who have a liking to the memory or the poetry of Burns, call it "The Howff," in imitation of the bard of Coila. "This," he says, in a letter to Thomson, "will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyslop, landlady of the Globe Tavern, here; which, for these many years, has been my Howff, and where our friend Clarke and I have had many a merry squeeze." In The Howff, the liquor was abundant and good, and the attendant maidens of the hostess handsome and biddable; there Burns was in the practice of taking strangers, who desired an evening hour of his company; there he often sat with two or three social companions, talking of the miseries of dependence; there he loved to give "an hour's discharge to care," over a pint of wine, and talk to Anna of the gowden locks, who was related to the mistress of the house. It was there, too, that he recited his election lampoons to Professor Walker; and as the noise and fun grew fast and furious, seemed reluctant to leave the empty bowl; and it was there, too, that he indulged, one frosty night, in prolonged socialities; and, falling asleep on his way home, increased that "slow consuming illness," which carried him to an untimely grave. The Howff still bears evidence of the presence of Burns. "I visited it," says an admirer of the poet, "in the summer of 1834, and found it a decent inn, with fair accommodation, good liquor, and good onehorse chaises. The favorite corner where the Poet loved to sit, was pointed out; and I was directed to the windows, on which many diamond pencils had tried to imitate the bold, manly hand of the bard. Some of these scribblings were lines from his songs, and some of them were the names of dames whom his too complaisant Muse had honored. Though I saw nothing which I could receive as the offspring of his own hand, the place is well worth a visit; the lane, or close, as it is called, is picturesque though narrow; the windows are all, I think, on one side; and the light, which even on a sunny day they admit to the rooms, is dim and insufficient. But when lighted up on a market-night, The Howff is in its glory; its rooms are crowded with lads and lasses, jocund and joyous with grave matrons and douce men, |