66 In Shenstone's Man and Manners there occurs, in contiguity, two lines: “When thou are from me every place is desert.” These lines from Otway's "Tragedy of the Unhappy Marriage" might be got by Burns from Otway's poem direct, but there is also the possibility of the two lines in Shenstone's essay suggesting the line: "That desert were a Paradise if thou wert there." If one felt inclined to give further points of similarity, many more quotations could be found. To show the influence of Shenstone on Burns enough has possibly been said. These three articles have been a labour of love and a source of information to the writer. He is surprised to find that a certain critic, and a well-known student of Burns, objected strongly to them because they might detract from Burns's reputation. The writer, speaking for himself, has not found his admiration for the Poet or the man diminished in the slightest as the result of a research which has proved delightful as a literary exercise. Rather the contrary, and he would no more think of accusing Burns of pilfering than he would of accusing Shakespeare of stealing the play of Hamlet from "The Historia Danica of Saxo 66 Grammaticus.” A. J. CRAIG. THE END OF AN OLD SONG. "An honest man was Duncan Dow; his native place was Glendaruel, A wee bit hallan in the west, some miles ayont the hills o' Cowal; But whaur he's frae it mak's nae odds, be it Mull or Skye or be it Cary, Some auchty years hae slipped awa' since he dug the grave o' Highland Mary. Then, if e'er ye gang tae Greenock toon, and hae a half-an-hoor tae tarry, Gang wast intae the auld kirkyard and see the grave o' Highland T Mary." HOSE simple lines, popular in the early 'seventies The song is out The Old West of date, and a revised version called for. Kirkyard no longer contains the resting-place of Highland Mary. On the forenoon of Monday, 8th November, 1920, the grave dug by honest Duncan Dow away back in the eighteenth century was again opened, this time not to be filled in again. That which had formed its contents was, with reverent care, transferred to Greenock Cemetery, for interment in a new place of sepulture prepared for its reception. The work of transference was carried out under the personal direction of Mr Robert Sheridan, Superintendent of Cemetery and Parks, his staff including Messrs Hugh Campbell, Robert Chalmers, William Elliot, Robert Alcorn, and Patrick Boyle. There were also present :-Ex-Bailie William Hillhouse Carmichael, Convener of Cemetery and Parks Committee; and Mr James Christie, Chief Constable, Greenock Corporation; Mr Ninian M'Whannel, F.R.I., B.A., Burns Federation; Messrs Duncan M'Callum, Junior Vice-President; Arch. MacPhail, Director; Thomas Graham, Musical Director; George B. Grieve, O.B.E., Honorary Secretary, Greenock Burns Club; and Mr Charles daruel, Cowal: or be it grave c' -an-hoor [ighland venties is out 1 West ghland 1920, in the to be Is was metery, for its er the endent Hugh Alcorn, -Bailie Vand stable. FRI Junior homas D.B.E Charles 66 G. Macara-fourteen persons all told. The surface of the ground had been removed as the first of the Burns contingent arrived, and already several small bones found. The excavation took two hours, four men relieving each other in turns. Four large boxes were provided for the earth, and a small box to hold any bones or remains. The proceedings were carried through decently and in order. The grave was only four feet deep, stopping at the gravel and clay. Three skulls were unearthed, as well as a number of thigh and smaller bones, and part of a jaw bone with four teeth in a good state of preservation, also some human remains which were black and quite hard. One got a better idea of the number of interments from the considerable quantity of wood unearthed. At the foot of the grave the bottom of an infant's coffin was found. This to appearance had been interred at a later period, the wood being quite sound. The unusual experience was suggestive of the well-known scene in Hamlet," as the grave-diggers from time to time paused in their discovery of now an arm or thigh bone, again a jawbone, and anon a skull. Standing by the opened grave, glancing backwards over the dim past, there may be discerned the shadowy forms of pilgrims from many lands, near and far, directing their steps to this spot; generation following generation, led by Burns's guiding star to the place hallowed by his genius. Here until recently stood the memorial stone erected by loving hearts to mark, for ever as they fondly imagined, the shrine of Highland Mary. But changes great have taken place in Greenock town since then, and no more shall the pilgrims come hither to muse on the Poet's inspired words : "O Mary! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?" The place that knew them shall know them no more. To what uses this spot of earth may be put we know not, but "Forward though we canna see, we guess and fear." It may be an entrance through which in times of prosperity shall pass thousands of eager, bustling workers to the great industrial hive within to ply their various crafts, or to which, when "times are bad," may come bands of unhappy pilgrims, weary and dejected because no man hireth them, begging "a brother of the earth to give them leave to toil," exemplifying Burns's conception of Life's saddest sight, a man seeking for work. At this place where once might be carved in stone Burns's undying lines, "To Mary in Heaven," perchance may be erected a dismal study in black and white paint, "To workmen in search of employment." What a fall was there, my countrymen! The men stooping over their spades, the solitary aspect, and the church spire showing distant in the grey haze, impart a touch of Millet's "Angelus" to the scene. The hour of noon is at hand, and, in imagination, the bell in the old tower may almost be heard, faint and low, calling from worldly thoughts to meditation in paths of pleasantness and peace, and to blissful forgetfulness of life's toil and strife. But only for a moment. The spell is quickly broken, and the dreamers rudely recalled to reality by a loud blast from a giant trombone close by. It is the sound of the dinner horn proclaiming a brief respite to the builders of ships. Its nearness also acts as a rough reminder to gravedigger and looker-on alike, that they are almost trespassers on territory dedicated and devoted to the service of a strange new order. They are but a few paces from the borderland of a mysterious region in which an army of alchemists is at work, transmuting coal and iron and lives into gold, directed, controlled, and dominated by an all-conquering force designated The Spirit of Modern Commercialism. To this spirit the words "love" and "friendship are meaningless sounds. It impatiently sweeps sentiment aside. It scoffs and laughs alike at the Psalms of David and the songs of Burns. It is the destroying angel at whose |