Read Ebook: Cursory Observations on the Poems Attributed to Thomas Rowley (1782) by Malone Edmond Kuist James M Commentator

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I often recall the apparel of the dim past. You could see well-to-do farmers' wives come to church, wearing a lilac or print gown in the summer, and in the winter it was replaced by a "linzewince," with a plaid or kind of woollen cloth or shawl. This was two yards long and two yards wide, and was folded to hang three-cornerwise down the back from the shoulders. And then the boys and the girls. I remember well seeing quite big boys with petticoats and pinafores when 6 or 7 years old. I do not mean the "kilt." It was just the same as that the girls wore. Of course the mother could make things like that when she could not do the needlework of tweed. There never was a time previously when dress was so becoming for all as it is at present. Think of the old grandfathers with knee-breeches and long stockings. I only saw my grandfather once, and that is how he was dressed.

To say that I was always happy and had an easy life would not be true. I was often in tears and in disgrace. I would break some thing, or put things where they could not be found. I felt as if I belonged to nobody, and would have a cry to myself. Still, I must confess that I received kindly appreciation from all. The only daughter was about to be married, and I knew that neither myself nor my sister would be old enough to do the work when that time came. A healthy body makes a healthy mind whether happy or not, so I began to think of going home after Miss Isabel was married. What I had seen of my father did not comfort me. My heart cried out for someone to show me how to write. Miss Isabel was giving me lessons on a slate. From all I remember of our home life in looking back into the past, after all these years, I know that I did my best to gain instruction. I tried my hardest to find out for myself the way to do things.

The months passed by, bringing the New Year. Christmas time was not much spoken of then. My master noticed how earnest I was, and must have thought that I should learn the baking. I could see that Miss Isabel could work in the bakehouse like the men. I got to like going there, too. What a time we had getting cakes ready for the new year. I remember that one bedroom had the carpet taken up and all the furniture removed and the floor cleaned, while the cakes were put in, and built on some framework nearly to the ceiling.

It was the custom to give to the customers at New Year's time a fruit cake. They called it a currant bun, but sometimes it weighed from 2 to 4 lb. There were all sorts of fruit in them, with boxes and boxes full of raisins, candied peel, currants, and all sorts of spices. All of these were prepared in the kitchen, and I used to help often till late at night. I know that they were not iced like the Christmas cakes we see here. But those bakers could do some lovely work with sugar. What I saw then has been valuable and important to me all through my life to this date, which proves that a special interest in the usefulness of cooking may become a part of a young girl's training, as much as reading or writing. I have been teacher of cookery for many years now, and I teach without a textbook. Instead of giving pupils recipes, I teach that which I have tried and proved by experience.

But I must keep to the bygone days. It was customary when there was a funeral in the neighborhood, and the people were not too poor, for them to send an order for a special kind of sponge biscuits, which had to be made at once. Sometimes such a large quantity was wanted that all hands had to help. If there were frost and snow about it was hard to whip up the eggs, so they used to get a good-sized cask, half fill it with hot water, and stand the mixing basin on that. The steam from the water helped in the whisking of the eggs. If there were no heat the eggs would be frozen while whisking. It was always my duty to whip the eggs. Then some skilled hand would come and put in some of the sugar, and keep on putting in more sugar time after time till the specific weight was used. Then the flour was added. At last I got so experienced that I could add the sugar myself by the appearance of the eggs, and, eventually, I could add the flour and take the basin of mixture to the bakehouse all ready to drop into the desired shape. I make sponge cakes in the same way yet, only here we require no hot water.

I RETURN HOME.

I may burn this some day, but still I will put down the story, or, at least, those parts that are most essential. I have no literary attainments fitting me to write a long book, though my memory would furnish me with plenty of material. I was in comfort and luxury in my first place, yet I longed to go back to my humble home and to my wee brother, who had not got into "pants" yet.

Miss Isabel got married before I left, and as I continue my story I will have to tell some more about her. I got to like her so much that I would do anything she asked me. I knew she liked to see things look bright and clean, so I felt happy to be able to shine anything that I could. They gave me some wages, and the time came when I was to leave. I had on my best things, with the rest of my clothes tied up in a parcel, which was not very heavy. So I walked from Denny to Falkirk to spend my first money. It was not the only time I had been to that town. I used to visit it with father when he bought things for us, so I bought something for everyone at home, and my dear brother in particular.

I can remember my thoughts yet. I was a good deal worried about my prospects. If I only had an oven I could make Scotch mutton pies to sell in the village. The face that I made some subsequently serves to show that knowledge and perception can be stamped on the mind of youth.

And so I found myself at home. My sister went to a place close by at a farm. She had to help with cows and work in the field.

I remember I used to go and see her. They had all sorts of things growing. Corn, wheat, and flax, which I liked to see. They pulled it up by the root and let it stand tied up in bundles. When it was dry it was thrown into a pond of water, formed by an inlet from the stream, and left there till it got soft and pulpy. Then it was drawn out and left on the bank to dry. The Scotch named the flax lint, and when the water in the lint hole was drained off the smell was something awful. I think I can smell it yet. What excited my imagination was that they told me that the beautiful fine white linen was made from flax, or otherwise "lint." It was taken in to the barn or hay house and thrashed by means of a "flail," an instrument used then for thrashing corn or wheat. There was no machinery for that purpose, at least in that district. This "flail" looked like two broom-handles, and was as long with a hinge in the middle. I never saw a woman doing the thrashing. It was always done by a strong man, but the women did a lot of work from the first. Quite young girls, from 12 years old upwards, were employed in pulling up the "lint." They got 4d. or 6d. a day. It seemed hard work. I never tried it, but I used to look on. Then, after it was thrashed, both old and young women would be employed tousing or pulling it out. After this "flailing" it was no longer a plant nor lint, but was called "tow." Then it had to be carded. I helped with the carding, which is slow work. Then I saw them spinning this tow into threads. It was no uncommon sight to see several women carry their spinning-wheels to a neighbor's house in the long winter evenings, and spin and laugh.

I never got the length of trying to spin. I did love to sit and watch those that spun. There was the nice humming of the wheel, with no noise to distract the reason or the nerve. When I think of it I see the women sitting upright. It looked so easy, the wheel being very light, and made of wood for the most part. There was no bending over. I have compared the attitude since then with the attractive way a lady sits at the harp. It is so graceful, and just like the spinning-wheel.

I may add here that a river in Scotland is always known as a "burn." The water is not hard, and the people did not have water taps in their wee houses, so we had to go to the burn for water. That would do for odd things and washing. Just think of it. This lint water went into the burn! Nobody wanted to wash clothes till that rolled off to the sea.

In the summertime the housewives would bring their washing to the burnside and make a fire, and that was quite a picture. They would have a big tub, and they washed the blankets in this way. They had the water hot with soap melted in it. Then they put in the blankets, and a woman would take off her shoes and stockings , and go in and tramp on the blankets. Young children were there as well as their elders, as the mothers could look after them, or they could be otherwise protected. We were not afraid of anybody with a camera taking snapshots, as such a machine was then unknown. I have also washed in that fashion.

I would not have anyone think that the burn was the only water we had. Close by there were more than one beautiful well of spring water, but we had to carry it. Those who lived near the wells were best off. We had a yoke with a wooden frame shaped to rest on the shoulders. A portion of rope hung from each end with an iron hook to hold the vessel for water. The rope could be adjusted so as to make it suitable for a tall or short person. I have seen Chinamen carrying their wares as we once carried the water. It was the same in all the country places. But as if to make up for the water carrying we had no wood to chop, the coal being so plentiful and cheap. There were numerous coalpits all round and ironstone. We had not long lived there.

I could just remember the nice home we had when my mother lived. Everything seemed so changed. The little house we lived in was at the end of a long row of houses all of the same size. The railway going through from Glasgow to Edinburgh passed close by. How I used to look out for the train, and particularly if the Queen was expected to pass. I only saw her once with Prince Albert. That was at the inauguration of the Loch Katrine water supply. Previously Glasgow had obtained its water from the River Clyde.

ON THE COAL MINES.

My father! How can I write of him. He descended from being a house-carpenter and having men working for him to the doing of rough carpenter's work about those awful-looking coal pits. I used to go there sometimes with his dinner if he did not come home. And then to see the men coming up and going down into the pits! Some of them were hundreds of fathoms deep. They descended in what they called a hutch, and the coals came up in it. It had wheels. When it reached the top someone pushed it off and wheeled it to where its contents were tipped out on a great heap of coals. There was an engine working all the time pumping water night and day. If it had stopped the works underground would have been flooded. No one could go down and no one could live underneath if the engine were not working all the time. I remember how I stared at the men entering the trucks in which the coals were brought up. How queerly they were dressed! On their heads they had a close-fitting cap made of leather, with a place in front to hold a small lamp that would hold half a gill of oil. It had a narrow projection at the side for a wick. Each man had to have his own lamp.

I must say something about the manner in which those men and lads were dressed. Some were laddies from eight to nine years of age. Ah, and some were old men! In fact, there was nothing else for them to do, and they came from all parts of the country to work in the pits. They did not seem to mind it, but I had never seen pits before, and, while waiting for my father, in fear and alarm I watched them going up and down. They were the colliers, and rows of houses were built on purpose for them. Wherever you saw a coal pit there also were the houses, built on the same plan. Now about the clothing. I have mentioned the cap. Their shirts were of a dark, thick, woollen material, while their trousers and coat were of a warm material without any shape. They wore a leather belt round the waist, to which was attached a flagon of oil to fill up their lamps. If they had good, kind wives they would have on long knitted stockings and strong shoes with big nails in them. It looked horrible even to see them going down dry, but when they came up drenched with water or perspiration and all so black and grimy it was worse still. If there were frost and snow their clothes would be frozen on them ere they got to home. Frost and snow lasted many months in the winter in Slamannan. Each one had his own pick to take down with him and he had to bring it back again to get it made sharp for the next day. Some had more than one. They also took with them some food tied up in a handkerchief. When they were washed and clean I did not know them to be the same men and lads that previously I thought did not belong to the human race.

The impression made on my mind then is as distinctly there now, even at this distance of time. I got the idea that they were different from ordinary men. Yet the children of the colliers took no notice of the things that filled me with fright. All the pits were not so deep as the particular one to which I had to go.

There was a heartrending scene one day when a rumor spread that the "New Pit" was on fire. Thank heaven, all the men and boys had been drawn to the top. It was no uncommon thing to hear of a pit catching fire, through foul air or gas, which, if the miners were not careful, ignited and rushed through all the spaces whence the coals had been taken. Some of those pits had been working for years. But I never knew where coal came from till we came to Slamannan. There were many old pits all about that had been worked out. They were fenced around for protection. It made a lot of work to fill the long train of waggons every day with coal and ironstone, to be taken away to Glasgow and Edinburgh by rail. There were many other men and boys employed about the works beside the colliers. All the waggons and hutches for bringing up the coals were made there, and that gave work to rough carpenters. Then blacksmiths, engineers, clerks, timekeepers, and other men, many of whom never went down into the pits at all, were on the mines. I learned also that there were gangs of men who, under contract, cleared away the ironstone in the nighttime, after the colliers had left the pit. The stone had to be blasted out of its place with powder. It was as well, perhaps, that I did not know at that time, although I often wondered what was in some little barrels I saw stacked in the carpenters' shop. Years afterwards, when I was in South Australia, I had a newspaper sent to me containing an account of an awful explosion which happened in a carpenters' shop at Benny Hill, near Slamannan. Many lives were lost, including those of children who had come with their fathers' picks to get them sharpened. I knew the place so well, and I felt thankful that I was not there.

How little do the people think as they sit at a bright fire what a risk to life and limb is needed in order to get this coal when it is so far down in the earth. I saw some very old women, who remembered when they were young having worked in the pits. I saw a young man that was born down in the pit.

When the dear Queen Victoria came to the throne it was made illegal for women to work in coal pits. Here and there through Scotland a mine was found where they could dig in from a hillside and find coal, and get horse-power to haul the coal out, but never in such quantity as was produced when they dug hundreds of fathoms under ground.

I am always grateful when I think how kind some of those colliers' wives were to us two "mitherless bairns," as they called my wee brother and me. In almost every house you would find a wood frame, on which the women did work called tamboring on muslin, in window-curtain lengths, or a hanging cloth for a bed. The pattern being stamped on, they tambored it over with a needle, very like a crotchet-needle. They also used a cotton made for the purpose. These women used to go to Ardria, a town eight miles away. They could go by train for a very few pence, but, to save that, I have known some of the dear creatures to walk there and back. You will say that they would wear out as much in shoe leather as they saved in money. But shall I tell you in a whisper that they would take off their shoes and stockings and walk bare-footed till they came near the town. They did the same on the way back. When the tamboring was finished anyone could take it back and get the money. Some would send their wee lassie on those messages. While I think of this long-ago time and the wives of the colliers, the memory of them is always dear to me. I found much kindness beneath what would appear a harsh surface.

As a rule both men and women married very young. It was no uncommon thing to see a young girl of 16 or 17 with a cap, or what was known as a "mutch." When married, this strange-looking headdress was donned. It did not matter how beautiful the hair was, you could not see it for this mutch. It was made of muslin, white, of course, and with two and sometimes three rows of goffered frills all around, with long strings to tie under the chin. The old women wore them too, but not with so many frills. They were more plain, with a black band of ribbon around.

Every now and then a strike would occur. It always involved a severe struggle between master and men, for a little more wages or some alteration in the work, but it was always about the pay. These strikes brought the workers to the lowest ebb. They never made complaints, but it was sad to see a battalion of over 500 or 600 men, young and old, marching about. They often suffered from hunger, for sometimes the strike would last for many weeks, so that they were reduced to an awful plight. On three different times a strike broke out while I was in that place. I am sure that no negro for whose liberty America was then in conflict was more miserable even in his bonds than those white slaves in the thrall of some of the uncharitable coal masters, who lived away in a grand place in great style in luxury. More than one of these poor women, with hungry children and a hungry husband, has said to me, "See, Annie, this is our last handful of oatmeal." There was some aid or relief organised from a fund that other miners would send, for if they were on strike their comrades in work would help to sustain them. There seemed to be a league with a kind of "help one another club," a kind of freemasonry. They would know if any were in distress, even so far away as England. So few of them knew how to write, but yet they were so kind to each other, were those colliers.

All round the people were paid once a fortnight. How we dreaded the pay-day. Sometimes we would not see my father for two or three days after he was paid. He would go away with a lot of young fellows on what they said was a "spree." He would come back, but all his money gone. Sometimes with some more he would come into the house and bring a jar full of whisky. Then my brother and I had to run to some kind neighbor and stay there till they had drunk the whisky and got sober again. We dreaded my father when he took whisky, but he was nice to us when not in drink, and we loved him, and hoped he would soon get away from the coal pits. He did not drink when mother was alive, so I know now it was not habitual with him. I used to say then, and I have faithfully kept my word, that if I ever grew up to be a woman I would not have any whisky in my house. This was a strange, wild place. I wondered what brought my father to "Benny Hill." I was there only a little while before I went to Denny, and lost hold of the past. Almost a year had gone since the terrible experience of my mother's death, which had an effect on me as though I had been awakened from a dream. Some say that childhood's grief is short-lived, but what I suffered then will till the hour of death continue in my memory.

Things got gradually worse. My father had a little place fitted up, where he did some carpentering work in the evenings, and people would come for odd jobs. All about there seemed so many who had "fiddles" and played, and many of them would get father to make a bridge for their fiddle. Then they would play cards and send for drink, and to get rid of the smell of whisky and tobacco we would drag the bedclothes over our heads and try to sleep.

At last one night there was a fearful quarrel. We heard the things getting smashed, including all the crockery and furniture. I looked in and saw a man with his face bleeding.. I ran and picked up my little brother, and carried him to the house of a woman who had been a good Samaritan to us before. She made a shakedown for us in front of the fire, and that was my last night in Benny Hill for some years.

I GO TO GLASGOW.

I made up my mind that I would go to Glasgow to find Miss Miller, of Denny, so I watched till I saw my father go away in the morning. Then I went into the little place, which was awful to look at. Everything was thrown about, and my hat had been knocked off from behind the door and trodden on. So I had no hat. I knew where there were two shillings on a shelf. I took the shillings, and as I knew that when my father was all right he would look after my brother, I did not say anything to the kind woman, but went off to the railway-station and got a ticket for Glasgow, which cost one shilling and eightpence. When I landed in Glasgow I had not the slightest idea of how large a city it was. I only had the lady's address in my memory. Her husband was a wine and spirit merchant, Mr. George Stirling. I made enquiries, and found the street, but was mystified by the length of it. After wandering up and down for some time looking for Mr. Stirling's house he saw me, and, happily for me, he knew me as the little maid at the baker's. He said, "Little Susie, where are you going?" I told him I was looking for Miss Isabel. He stared at me, and asked me to come inside, while, sobbing, I told him all my trouble. While he came to the house at Denny he always called me Susie, and I did not mind. He said now, "Well, Susie, you cannot see Mrs. Stirling; she is very ill, and you must not call her Miss Isabel now, but I will see what can be done for you till my wife is better."

So he sent some food for me, and wrote a note, and got a boy to take me to a friend of his in Argyle-street. This was a large place, known as the "Steak and Chop House." The proprietress was Mrs. Wilson, a widow with three daughters. In the note she was requested to find something for me to do till Mrs. Stirling could decide what was to happen to me. I was sent amongst the cooks downstairs, and I helped to do the vegetables and other things. This was in a very busy street, and it was a busy house. There seemed such a lot of people employed, both men and women. Everything was different to me, and the whole world was changed, and I did not care whether I was called Susie or Annie.

I had to work underground in a room always lighted with gas. I did not see real daylight again for a long time. Through thick glass in the pavement some light entered a room where another girl and I slept. All night I could hear the people passing, and at first I could not sleep for the noise. I had a lot to do, and I did not like my surroundings. For instance, all the meat and similar food was brought direct from the slaughterhouse. A man cut it up in the different portions allotted for different purposes. He had the ox feet and the tripe for his perquisites. This was all done where I attended to the vegetables.

How often I wished I were back again amongst the bakers. I liked that better. In my anguish I often gave vent to my feeling in sobs and moans when nobody could see. I could not write, but could only make symbols that had no meaning to me. They were only strokes and crooks. I saw nobody from Slamannan, and no one there knew where I was for the first six months. I got no wages, but the mistress obtained for me some little changes of garment, for which I was thankful. I did not see the mistress very often. She kept a woman as manager, and I thought she was the most awful woman I had ever seen. She used to take snuff. I never went to see Mrs. Stirling, being afraid of the thronged streets, but I learned that she was a little better, and had gone away for some months. So I thought the best thing I could do was to stop where I was till someone came whom I knew. There were always such a lot of people coming in and out, for although there was a framed card in the large window, stating that it was a "steak-house," there were all sorts of soups and roasts, with pies, and frequently gentlemen would order large suppers for their friends, sometimes on the premises, and at others to be sent to their flats or rooms, as the case might be.

On a busy day I got to be helpful, and went into the rooms to assist the waiters. The day that Sir Colin Campbell was made Lord Clyde was the first time that I helped inside. That was a day never to be forgotten. We all tried to see him in an open carriage as he was driven to the Town Hall to receive the freedom of the city. I saw him going and coming back. The streets were something to remember. It was stated that many were carried out of their way, and did not get their feet to the ground for ever so far.

I had been at this place for a year and some months when one day I was sent a message, I heard someone say, "That is Anna McDonald." To my joy, I saw two young men from Slamannan. I knew them at once. One was James Simson, and the other William Robinson. I could only ask them to come in and tell me if my father, sister, and brother were alive. They told me that I had been given up as lost or dead, and that all the old pit-shafts had been searched for my body. Still, through my disappearance and the shock it gave him, my father had become a sober man, and had entirely given up the drink. They never thought I had found my way to Glasgow.

The young men went back to Slamannan that night and told my father where I was, and a little while after my sister left, my father and my dear little brother arrived. That was the first time I saw my brother in pants. My father looked so different and so young-looking and well. I had no wish to go to Slamannan to live, so that was settled. I was still hoping to go and live with Mrs. Stirling when I would be a little bigger and stronger.

I was very troubled about my throat, for I could hardly speak without an effort, it being very painful.

I CHANGE MY OCCUPATION.

A change came that I did not expect. One day a lady came in for some refreshments, and I was in attendance. She knew us, and she saw that I was not looking as well as my sister. She asked if I would come with her and help her with her children. Her husband was a contractor, and undertook railway works. With his partners he had a contract to build a railroad from Maybole to Wilmington, in Ayrshire. Wilmingtonn was close to "the banks and braes of bonny Doon." As some nice houses were on the route of the line, and would have to be pulled down, he lived at different places till the five and twenty miles of line was finished. I thought it would be nice to see once again the green fields and flowers, so I promised to go to Mrs. Scott. She had been a servant lass herself once, but she had a good husband and they were comfortable. She was then on her way to one of the houses near Maybole, which had to be pulled down.

I had two more months of my time to serve, as I had agreed to stop for six months with Mrs. Wilson, and they did not like to part with me, but I would not agree to stop on after the term. I was to get as wages 30/ for the six months. We could not give a week's notice and leave.

To give some idea of how this kind of business paid, I may say that Mrs. Wilson had a summer-house in a place at the seaside, "doon the water," as it was termed. The name of the place was "Killmunn." Another girl and myself were sent there to get some of the rooms in order, the youngest daughter, Miss Jane, being ill, and the doctor having recommended that she should be sent to the seaside. It was a good distance from Glasgow. We went in the steamboat "Iona," and saw Balmoral Castle as we passed. Mrs. Wilson's house had 40 rooms altogether. It was a beautiful place and very interesting with its house-boat and other conveniences. There was some lovely furniture, but it was all covered up with holland, and all the carpets had been taken up and carefully put away. The mistress and the young lady came two days after us, and they said that I would be able to do all that they would require for a week or two, so the other girl went back to Glasgow. Life was then brighter than it had been since I left Benny Hill. It was a new experience to me to see the ships passing. Many persons had their summer-houses there, and were beginning to arrive. I was sent up to Glasgow with some message all by myself, but it was pleasant, and I was not a bit afraid. A man and his wife acted as caretakers during the winter months. They were very old, but still useful. I used to go out with Miss Jane to carry her books and other things, and I watched the excursions or pleasure trips up and down to Killmunn. There were villas and what were called "self-contained" houses, let whole or in part, with sometimes "a but and a ben," which were filled to overflowing. All faced the sea and were close to the very water's edge, and so were nicely suited for summer visitors. What with the yachts and skiffs and the glad voices of the mothers and their children on the beach the place was very merry. There was nice shade from the trees. I did not think the five weeks we stayed there a long time. We returned to Glasgow a week or so before the end of my term.

I saw Mrs. Scott again, and she told me that if I would stay with them till the railway was finished that they were going back to Slamannan, and I could go with them. So she gave me the address to put on my box and the money to pay my fare to Maybole. I went through to Slamannan to tell where I was going, and with whom. I had hoped when Mr. and Mrs. Scott came back that my father would have a house, and that I would live at home. He was still in lodgings, but I knew that I could stop there for a few days. It seemed like "auld lang syne" to me. And those dear kind women, how pleased they were to see me, and to tell me how I had grown! How different their speech, too, to the dialect of Glasgow! They said it was a long journey to Ayrshire, and tried to persuade me not to go. However, I liked the appearance of Mrs. Scott. She looked so motherly and kind. I was all excitement; I would have to go to Glasgow again, but I knew that I could get a train from the station at Glasgow right through to Kilmarnock, and change for Maybole, where they would be waiting for me. I went and saw my sister, who was still at the same place. I thought whatever I had to do I would never be a farm servant. It was rough and hard feeding and milking cows, attending fowls and horses and other animals. Sometimes she would harness a horse and go harrowing in the field after the men had ploughed it.

I took my departure from Benny Hill, caught the train in the early morning, but had to wait till the afternoon, as I missed the train in the forenoon. I got a third-class ticket for 3/3 for 35 miles. I had a whole compartment to myself for the last part of the way, and went to sleep and did not hear them calling out to change at Kilmarnock for Maybole. I woke up and came out at the next station and asked where I was, when a guard told me I was in a train on its way to London. Then I cried, and asked for my box, and the man looked in the van, but there was no box of mine. He asked if it was addressed, and I said it was. He then remembered that it had been sent on to Maybole, and he said I should have had an address put on me too, as then I should be comfortably in my bed. It was then midnight. Some more men gathered round, and they were sorry, for me. They did not often see such a young girl so far away from home. They took me into the station, where a nice fire was burning, and obtained some rugs and brought me a cup of coffee and some bread and butter. Then they told me to go to sleep, as a train would be coming from London in the morning, and they would wake me up. I did not sleep, but cried all the time, for I thought I had lost all my clothes and my box. It was the first box I ever had, and I was so pleased with it. I did not look at the name of the station I had reached, as it was dark, but it must have been a long way, as I did not get to Maybole till about 8 o'clock in the morning. I found my box was there, and the people were anxious as to where I was. Mr. Scott made enquiries, and the railway men said that they saw a little girl asleep, but they thought I was with someone who was travelling by the train. They never thought of me as a lone passenger.

I felt quite at home with Mrs. Scott and the dear children. It was my first experience amongst children, and I was delighted. We got into the trucks that were used on the line, and got pushed along as far as the line was made. Mr. Scott and Mrs. Scott also came sometimes. It was great fun. We nearly lived out of doors all the time. It was a grand house, but had to be pulled down, so there was not much trouble taken over it. I was very happy at changing from work by stifling gaslight to the light of day. A daily governess came a few hours to teach the children, and I also had lessons with them. It was a new life for me.

I never heard Maybole called either a village or a town. It was only "Maybole." It was close to the house; it must have been very old. The buildings looked so gloomy and dark. There were no bright gardens or flowers, and, oh, the people were so poor! The only industry I saw was that of the weavers. The people all had looms in their houses--big, clumsy wooden structures. Men, women, and children all worked at the looms in such small places, and they lived and slept there. To me it seemed as bad as the collieries. There came a depression in the weaving trade, but I never knew the cause of it. It might have been that machinery was constructed to do away with hand-weaving. At any rate, I had once again the awful dread of seeing people perish with hunger. They broke out and took everything they could obtain in the way of eatables, while they tore off the palings and fencing, and armed themselves with sticks. They came to our place, and we could only stand and look at them divide the flour. I remember we had what was known as the American flour. It came in large barrels from the United States. Mr. Scott was up the line when they came, and they took everything in the way of food, but nothing else. They broke into the bakers' shops, and the grocery shops, and butchers', so we were told, and cleared away with all they could lay their hands on.

I did not see much of Maybole, being afraid to go there. There were no tall chimneys to the mills or factories, or we could have seen them from the house. I saw the castle from which Sir James Fergusson brought his wife, Lady Edith Fergusson, who died in Adelaide, whence her body was taken back to the vault at the castle, near "Maybole." Meanwhile we tried to be ignorant of the excitement stirred up, as we knew we would not be long there, but the touch of melancholy was felt by all.

THE COUNTRY OF BURNS.

This was the land of Burns, and the district of Ayrshire. It seemed to be a large, plain, open country. The town of Ayr had a castle once, and the walks about Ayr were pleasant. I did like to go there. There were some old buildings, which people come from all parts to see. Churches are still preserved there as ruins traditionally famous.

There was no smoke and dust in Ayr, as at Glasgow, and visitors could get easily to any of the places of attraction, either by train or steamboat. Ayr was nine miles from Maybole. Mrs. Scott was most ardent in every object about Burns, and she took us with her wherever she went. On one occasion, when at Ayr, we had luncheon at a tavern, the name of which I forget, but we were shown three such queer-looking old chairs, with high backs, and in the back of each were portraits. In the middle was Robert Burns, and on either side was Tam o' Shanter and Suter Johnnie. The chairs were only for show. They told us that those three jolly men used to meet in that room, and sit in the chairs. Girl-like, I did not pay much attention then, but in after years, as I grew older, it gave me joy to think I had seen them. The influences of those times entered into my being, and have grown up with me. For myself, I made it a rule to visit all the objects of interest, and I would go round and round them till I was tired. We all went another day to see Burns' monument. I gathered a few pebbles from the foot of the monument and had them for years. They are lost, but the journey lives in my recollection as if it was only yesterday. I saw a very old lady walking about and talking to the people. She had on what was known as a sow-backed mutch. Mrs. Scott told us that was the youngest sister of Robert Burns. Her name was Mrs. Back. I read the account of her death in the paper some years afterwards. Then we went to see the Burns' cottage. And, again, on my own account I visited it, and took all the children with me, from where they were building the railway.

We were in the waggon with Mr. Scott and some other gentlemen. I heard them say, "That is Burns' cottage over there," and when they were not looking I started off for the cottage. It must have been quite three miles, and I had to carry the youngest child on my back all the way to and from the place. Mr. Scott was cross, and gave me a severe talking to, and told me if ever I did such a thing again I would not be allowed to come out in the waggon. It was cold weather. Little maids were dressed then in a print dress with short sleeves, low at the neck, and opened at the back. I was cold, and so were the children, and we kept them waiting so that they could not go back in the waggon without us. The gentlemen were either engineers or directors, for they had on tall hats. At least they were in position over Mr. Scott. They came from Glasgow to look at the new line.

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