THE

ATLANTIC MONTHLY.

A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.

* * * * *

VOL. VI.--OCTOBER, 1860.--NO. XXXVI.

* * * * *


SOME OF THE HAUNTS OF BURNS.

BY A TOURIST WITHOUT IMAGINATION OR ENTHUSIASM.

We left Carlisle at a little past eleven, and within the half-hour
were at Gretna Green. Thence we rushed onward into Scotland through a
flat and dreary tract of country, consisting mainly of desert and bog,
where probably the moss-troopers were accustomed to take refuge after
their raids into England. Anon, however, the hills hove themselves up
to view, occasionally attaining a height which might almost be called
mountainous. In about two hours we reached Dumfries, and alighted at
the station there.

Chill as the Scottish summer is reputed to be, we found it an awfully
hot day, not a whit less so than the day before; but we sturdily
adventured through the burning sunshine up into the town, inquiring
our way to the residence of Burns. The street leading from the station