those clever but certainly over-severe and wicked verses. Mr Hamilton's writing-room had then a back door leading to the church. By this way Burns entered, and finding Mrs Hamilton writing a note at her husband's businessdesk, requested a pen, and, sitting down on the other side, scribbled in a few minutes one of the most bitter jeux d'esprits he ever penned. This room is farther remarkable as the one in which the poet was married, that ceremony being rather of a legal than of a religious complexion. From the session-record, it would appear that the ceremony took place on the 3d of August 1788, and that Mr Burns, being informed that in irregular marriages it was customary for the bridegroom to pay a small fine to the poor of the parish, gave a guinea for this purpose.

Mossgiel, or Mossgavel, as already mentioned, is about a mile from Mauchline. It is a very plain farm-steading, of the kind described in Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd

A snug thack house, before the door a green; Hens on the midden, ducks in dubs are seen ; On this side stands a barn, on that a byre; A peat-stalk joins, and forms a rural squareexcept that the buildings are not thatched. Being situated at the height of the country between the vales of Ayr and Irvine, it has a peculiarly bleak and exposed appearance, which is but imperfectly obviated by a very tall hedge and some well-grown trees, which gather around it, and beneath one of which the poet is said to have loved to recline. The domestic accommodations consist of little more than a butt and a ben-that is, a kitchen and a small room. The latter, though in every respect most humble, and partly occupied by fixed beds, does not appear uncomfortable. Every consideration, however, in the mind of the visitor, sinks beneath the one intense feeling that here, within these four walls, warmed at this little fireplace, and lighted by this little window, lived one of the most extraordinary men that ever breathed-here wrote some of the most celebrated poems of modern times. The place has

that it was the

one touching recollection above all others
scene described in the opening of his beautiful

There lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and eyed the spewing reek.

*

All in this mottie misty clime
I backward mused on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,
And done nae-thing,

But stringing blathers up in rhyme,
For fools to sing-&c.

The house is in every respect exactly in the same condition as when the poet lived in it. It was occupied by his brother Gilbert down to the year 1800, and since then has had but one tenant, the individual who now occupies it. It may be mentioned that a part of the farm bears the title of Knockhaspie's Lands, which, it will be recollected, he alludes to in one of his songs

I wad gi'e a' Knockhaspie's lands

For Highland Harry back again.

We must now take a glance at the romantic scenery of the Ayr, to which allusion has so frequently been made. The beautiful grounds around Barskimming House are the first in order after Coilsfield; this, in Burns's time, was the seat of Lord Justice Clerk Miller, and now of his son Lord Glenlee. It is alluded to by the poet in the Vision—

Through many a wild romantic grove,
Near many a hermit-fancied cove,
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,
In musing mood),

An aged judge, I saw him rove,

Dispensing good.

The river passes through this lovely park by a chasm in general upwards of a hundred feet deep, and the sides of which are almost every where as steep as the walls of a house. Here and there is seen a profound section of rock, perforated in some places by what Burns aptly terms her

mit-fancied coves, and in all cases whiskered by the most luxuriant foliage. There is a bridge near the house, where the scenery is enjoyed in high perfection. Both upwards and downwards, nothing is to be seen but tremendous banks of wood, or great scalped rocks, beneath which the river passes moodily onward, dark as Cocytus, except where mottled with the foam of a recent conflict with some rude opposing crag.

Farther up the river is Kinzeancleuch, now a place of no note, but which will not be passed by any one interested in the history of our national church, without some pleasing and respectful reminiscences. Campbell of Kinzeancleuch was one of the first of the Scottish barons who espoused the Reformation-was the steady friend and protector of Knox-and was present at his death. The Reformer himself was oftener than once sheltered at Kinzeancleuch House. It is remarkable that Burns appears to have either been acquainted with no part of Scottish history except that of Wallace and Bruce, or to have had no sympathies for any other portion of it. At Mauchline there is a martyr's stone, to which he has never made the least allusion.

Immediately above Kinzeancleuch, commence the Braes of Ballochmyle, which he has commemorated in one of the most glowing of all his amatory songs. Ballochmyle was formerly the property of Sir John Whiteford, representative of the gentleman whose story supplied the groundwork of the novel of Waverley, but in Burns's time was purchased by a mercantile family named Alexander, connected with Glasgow. The scenery is much the same as that of Barskimming, except that the banks of the river are softer, and break into fine dens and glades, which are comparatively unknown farther down the stream. Amidst these romantic groves, Burns was wandering on a summer evening, when he passed a young lady, daughter to the new proprietor, with whose charms he was greatly struck. The result was his beautiful song, entitled "The Bonny

Lass of Ballochmyle," which he sent to her, enclosed in a very respectful letter. To his great mortification, no notice was taken of the communication. The young lady in all probability felt more resentment at the freedom, than pleasure from the compliment. However this may be, it is certain that, in subsequent years, when the fame of the bard overspread many lands, Miss Alexander began to appreciate the poem more than she had done. In some revolutions of the family household, when she was about to remove to Glasgow, it became a question whether the original of that document belonged to the family, and should remain at Ballochmyle. That," said she emphatically, “is with me a settled point: wherever I go, the poem shall go with me." She permitted a copy, however, to be taken by the apograph of a neighbouring artist, on wood; which is fixed into the back of a moss-house amidst the braes of Ballochmyle. The lady is still alive, and unmarried.

66

TOP BOOTS.

TOP BOOTS, as every body must have remarked, are now nearly altogether out of fashion. Their race is all but extinct. An occasional pair may indeed still be seen encasing the brawny legs of a stout elderly country gentleman, on a market day, or on the occasion of a flying visit to the metropolis; but with this exception, and with probably that of some hale obstinate bachelor octogenarian, who, in

This artist is Mr Andrew Smith, of W. and A. Smith, Mauchline; one of those ingenious individuals who are sometimes found in the most retired and rustic situations. Mr Smith is the inventor of the instrument above alluded to, one calculated to be eminently useful in taking fac-similes of any piece of writing, or other work consisting of lines, and that in any degree of amplification or reduction. In company with his brother, he conducts a manufactory of wooden snuff-boxes, upon a considerable scale, about sixty people being employed; and the quantity of ingenious machinery which he has brought to bear upon this humble but curious and even elegant manufacture, is such as would impress any stranger with surprise.

full recollection of the impression which his top boots had made on the public mind some fifty years since, still persists in thrusting his shrivelled shanks into the boots of his youth-we say, with the first positive, and the last probable exception, this highly respectable-looking and somewhat flashy article of dress has entirely disappeared.

Time was, however, and we recollect it well, when matters stood far otherwise with top boots. We have a distinct vision of numberless pairs flitting before our eyes, through the mazes of the various thoroughfares of the city; but, alas! they have evanished, one after another, like stars before the light of approaching day. Rest to their soles, they are now gathered to their fathers, their brightness is extinguished, their glory is gone. The Conqueror of Waterloo hath conquered them also: the top boots have fallen before the Wellingtons.

We have said, that we recollect when it was otherwise with top boots, and so we do. We recollect when a pair of top boots was a great object of ambition with the young, whose worldly prosperity was all yet to come, whose means of indulging in such little vanities of the flesh were yet to be acquired. To them a pair of top boots was a sort of landmark in the voyage of life; a palpable, prominent, and desirable object to be attained; a sort of Cape Horn to be doubled. Nor were they less objects of ambition at the time we speak of say about forty years since-to the more advanced, whose circumstances required a long previous hint to prepare for such an event as the purchase of a pair of top boots. In short, top boots were the rage of the day. The apprentice, the moment he got out of his time, got into his top boots. The first thing the young grocer did was to get a pair of top boots. No lover then went to woo his mistress but in top boots, or at least if he did, the chance was, that he would go to very little purpose. The buckishly-inclined mechanic, too, hoarded his superfluous earnings until they reached the height of a pair of top boots, in which to entomb his lower limbs. Al