ted Melrose, will be interested to learn that
even one more stone has fallen from the ruin.

It is intended, in the following pages, to review the present condition,
and state the recent changes in the 'Lions of Scotland,' and
particularly in the localities with which the memories of Burns and
Scott--memories so dear, both to the untravelled and travelled
American--are most closely associated. Of the thousands of visitors who
yearly flock to do mental homage at the tomb of Shakespeare, one out of
every ten is from the United States; and so a large minority of the
tourists in Scotland, and particularly of those most deeply interested
in Scotland's greatest bards, hail from the New World. The conclusion of
the war will probably be the signal for an unusual hegira from America
to Europe; and these notes of the actual condition, in A.D. 1863, of
Scotland's famed shrines, may serve to whet the increasing appetite for
foreign travel.

'Bobby Burns' is buried at Dumfries, a rather dull town, which,
fortunately for the tourist, has no notable church or ruin to be visited
_nolens volens_. The place has, however, a Continental air, caused
principally by the very curious clock tower in the market place; a
quaint spire, in the background, adding to the effect of the
architectural picture.

At one end of the town is St. Michael's church--a huge, square box,
pierced by windows, and guarded by a big sentinel of a bell tower,
surmounted by another quaint spire. The graveyard is one of the oddest
in the kingdom, presenting long rows of huge tombstones, twelve or
fifteen feet high, usually painted of a muddy cream color, each one
serving for an entire family, and recording the trades or professions as
well as the names and ages of the deceased. One of these enormous stones
is in commemoration of the victims of the cholera in 1832.

In one corner of the cemetery is the tasteless mausoleum of Burns--a
circular Grecian temple, the spaces between the pillars glazed, and a
low dome, shaped like an inverted washbowl, clapped on top. The interior
is occupied by Turnerelli's fine marble group of Burns at the plough,
interrupted by the Muse of Poetry. At the foot of this group, and
covering the poet's remains, is the freshly painted slab, bearing these
inscriptions:

IN MEMORY OF
ROBERT BURNS,
WHO DIED THE 21ST OF JULY, 1796,
IN THE 37TH YEAR OF HIS AGE:

AND

MAXWELL BURNS,
WHO DIED THE 25TH APRIL, 1799,
AGED 2 YEARS