He was, accordingly, present, if not at the dinner, at the compotation which followed; and the whole affair has been by him chronicled in the most glowing phraseology in his poem.

I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth,
I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North,

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish

king,

And long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring.

Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal,
The god of the bottle sends down from his

hall:

"This whistle's your challenge-to Scotland get o'er,

And drink them to hell, sir! or ne'er see me more!"

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, What champions ventured, what champions fell; The son of great Loda was conqueror still, And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill;

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Skarr,2

Unmatched at the bottle, unconquered in war,

2 The Cairn, a stream in Glencairn parish, on which Max

He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea — No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gained, Which now in his house has for ages remained; Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, The jovial contest again have renewed.

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw:

Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law; And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins; And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil,

Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil;

Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, And once more, in claret, try which was the

66

man.

By the gods of the ancients!" Glenriddel re

plies,

"Before I surrender so glorious a prize,

I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,1 And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er."

welton House is situated; the Skarr, a similar mountain-rill, in the parish of Penpont; both being affluents of the Nith. 1 See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. - B.

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, But he ne'er turned his back on his foe

his friend;

or

Said, Toss down the whistle, the prize of the

field,

And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield.

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care;
But for wine and for welcome not more known
to fame

Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame.

A bard was selected to witness the fray,
And tell future ages the feats of the day;
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen,
And wished that Parnassus a vineyard had

been.

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, And every new cork is a new spring of joy; In the bands of old friendship and kindred so

set,

And the bands grew the tighter the more they

were wet.

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er; Bright Phoebus ne'er witnessed so joyous a

core,

And vowed that to leave them he was quite

forlorn,

Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn.

Six bottles apiece had well wore out the night, When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, Turned o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did.

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage,
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage;
A high ruling-elder to wallow in wine!1
He left the foul business to folks less divine.

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end; But who can with fate and quart-bumpers contend?

Though fate said a hero shall perish in light; So up rose bright Phoebus

knight.

Next up rose

and down fell the

our bard, like a prophet in

drink:

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Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall

sink;

1 The elder of the Scottish church is called a ruling-elder when sent to represent a burgh in the General Assembly. Glenriddel represented the burgh of Dumfries in several successive assemblies.

But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, Come one bottle more and have at the sublime!

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Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce,

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce:

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!" 1

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

The grave had closed over Mary Campbell, as far as our facts and arguments will allow us to assign a date, in the latter part of October, 1786. A day came at the end of harvest, in 1789,2 when the death of Mary three years before was recalled to the poet. According to Mr. Lockhart, reporting the statement of Mrs. Burns to her friend Mr. M'Diarmid, Burns "spent that day, though laboring under cold, in the usual work of

1 The whistle remained in the possession of the late Mr. R. C. Fergusson of Craigdarroch, M. P. for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, son of the victor.

2 Mr. Lockhart assigns this incident to September, Chambers to October. The arguments for the latter date are given in the Appendix to Chambers's third volume.