Shaw, London, for the two natural daughters of the Poet, and with this money she rented and furnished a house, to which she welcomed her husband when he retired from the Militia in 1814. John Thomson resumed the handloom weaving, which had been interrupted by his military service, and the remainder of his long life was passed in Pollokshaws and Langside.* The kindness of Mrs Burns to her husband's child THE THOMSON LAIR IN POLLOKSHAWS VENNEL, THE BURYING-PLACE OF "BETTY BURNS." did not end with Betty's marriage. Until the year of her death she sent frequent enquiries regarding Mrs Thomson's welfare, accompanied by little presents for her numerous family of sons and daughters. But it does 66 All a not appear that she ever visited Pollokshaws. daughter's love was bestowed by Mrs Thomson on Jean Armour, to whom she referred as a woman whose memory I will ever cherish with fond remembrance for her many good qualities, but more especially for the prudent and *"One of Burns's Daughters "-article in The Pollokshaws News, 24th and 31st January, 1890. motherly manner she always conducted herself towards me. The longer I live I admire her character the more. The older residenters in Pollokshaws remember Betty Burns. A few treasure her photograph, which confirms the pen portrait of her by Hugh M'Donald, who called upon her when he visited Pollokshaws in the course of his rambles round Glasgow in the summer and autumn of 1851. What M'Donald wrote may be quoted in full :"In features and complexion Mrs Thomson admittedly bears a more striking resemblance to her father than any of his other children. We have had the pleasure of meeting with two of the Poet's sons, on both of whom the paternal stamp was obvious; but we were more forcibly reminded of the family lineaments, as represented in the best portraits, on being introduced to Mrs Thomson than we were on that occasion. She is now pretty well advanced in years, being rather over sixty; her features are consequently somewhat shrunk from their original proportions, but still the likeness is sufficiently marked to indicate, at a glance, her relationship to the departed Bard." M'Donald added-" She has some faint recollections of her father, who was wont occasionally to take her on his knee and fondle her affectionately; and she remembers vividly the imposing ceremonials attendant on his death and funeral."† John Thomson died in 1869, at the age of eighty-five. His wife did not long survive him. She died at Crossmyloof in 1873, in her eighty-second year. They were buried in the Vennel, an old burgher churchyard in the centre of Pollokshaws, now overlooked by high tenements and other buildings where the wheels of industry are heard all day long. Their tomb is marked by a long, low, wellpreserved stone, which bears the following lines, composed by Robert Burns Thomson, their second son : * Letter from Mrs Thomson to Hugh M‘Donald, 1st February, 1853. See Rambles Round Glasgow, 1910 Edition. † Rambles Round Glasgow. "Worn and weary, home at last, Nor care, nor pain, nor want's chill blast Can ever more come near thee Sweetly tranquil be thy rest, Light the turf lean on thy breast, From grief to glory bear thee." Robert Burns Thomson, who was thirty-three years of age in 1851, is thus described in the pages of M‘Donald :— "He is a living fac simile in physical appearance of what Burns must have been in the prime of manhood. Nor A degree more slender in person, or a shade more fair in complexion, from the nature of his employment, he possibly may be; but this we feel confident is the extent of difference. is the resemblance only physical. He has in a considerable measure the same vigorous intellect, and pithy if not rude humour, combined with a manly sense of independence, and a taste for poetry and music, in both of which arts he is indeed no mean proficient." The poetic accomplishments of Robert Burns Thomson brought him more than local fame. His song, "My Daddy's Awa' at the War," attained great popularity during the struggle in the Crimea, which was the occasion of its production. He thus related the incident which inspired the lines:-"I had been singing at an evening sermon in Crossmyloof. It would be about ten o'clock at night, a beautiful night. The moon was up in all her glory, and large, black clouds were rushing over her in all the hurry of the wintry blast. While standing admiring the wild grandeur of the hour, I thought I heard the voice of a child mingling with that of the wind. the middle of the street to listen, when I heard the sound of feet. They turned out to be that of a woman with a child in her arms, who came and passed me, and just as she did so the child said something which I could not interpret, till the woman said-‘Ay, ay, daddy's awa' at the war.' The hour, the scene, and the words set me I stepped into a-thinking. I did not sleep much that night. Next day I was equally troubled and moody. I went about my work, haunted by such visions of suffering as kept my eyes half-filled with tears the whole of the day, and I could not get rid of the feeling for some days after I had thrown it together in the following form: Oh, cauld comes the blast ower the deep wavin' woods, An' fast flees the moon 'mang the dark drivin' clouds, Yet the birds safely sleep in the laigh-bendin' trees, That nicht ere we left oor wee hoose in the glen, I heard the deep sabs o' her puir breakin' heart, I grat sair mysel', for she spak' in her dreams O' a cap wi' a croon an' a staur, An' her breath cam' sae short that I thocht she wad dee, An' my daddy awa' at the war. Oh! greet nae mair mither, for sune he'll come hame, An' he'll tak' us again on his knee, An' close to his he'rt he will haud us at e'en, As he tells o' his toils o'er the sea. An' yon gentle folk that we ca'd on yestreen, Spak' sae saft when they drew the door baur, Oh! I'm sure they'll be kind to wee wanderers like me Wha hae daddies awa' at the war. ""* Robert Burns Thomson was proud of his descent, as witness the following extract from one of his earliest efforts at poetry : "But ah! he's gone, that heart lies cold and dead, *Modern Scottish Poets, D. H. Edwards. But he made no claim to notice on account of the distinction of his grandfather, and he resisted the temptation, which must have been held out to him by his friends, to issue his poems in book form, in the hope that his ancestry, as well as their merit, would ensure a favourable reception. Examples of his work are, however, to be found in several publications, and a perusal of these justifies one in giving him an honoured place among the singers of his native land. That he could make effective use of the stanza so frequently employed by his grandfather is proved by the following lines, which are extracted from an "Elegy on an old military musician, who is represented, after having passed unhurt through manifold dangers by flood and field, as having been at last killed while attempting some thrawn bars that wadna spell 6 "Ye wakerife lav'rocks, pride of Spring, Lament till mountain echoes ring And ye wha haunt the leafy spray, Or lull the closing ear of day Sound each your waest minor key Mourn ye, wha lift the daily shillin', For Jock, when but a hauflins collan, And ower the stormy seas gaed sailin' In dark Toulouse he met the Franks, Were rudely shorn; There bauldly first he cheered the flanks |