On a panel, let into the wall in a corner of the room, is a portrait of Burns, copied from the original picture by Nasmyth.  The floor of this apartment is of boards, which are probably a recent substitute for the ordinary flag-stones of a peasant’s cottage.  There is but one other room pertaining to the genuine birthplace of Robert Burns:  it is the kitchen, into which we now went.  It has a floor of flag-stones, even ruder than those of Shakspeare’s house,—­though, perhaps, not so strangely cracked and broken as the latter, over which the hoof of Satan himself might seem to have been trampling.  A new window has been opened through the wall, towards the road; but on the opposite side is the little original window, of only four small panes, through which came the first daylight that shone upon the Scottish poet.  At the side of the room, opposite the fireplace, is a recess, containing a bed, which can be hidden by curtains.  In that humble nook, of all places in the world, Providence was pleased to deposit the germ of the richest human life which mankind then had within its circumference.

These two rooms, as I have said, make up the whole sum and substance of Burns’s birthplace:  for there were no chambers, nor even attics; and the thatched roof formed the only ceiling of kitchen and sitting-room, the height of which was that of the whole house.  The cottage, however, is attached to another edifice of the same size and description, as these little habitations often are; and, moreover, a splendid addition has been made to it, since the poet’s renown began to draw visitors to the way-side ale-house.  The old woman of the house led us through an entry, and showed a vaulted hall, of no vast dimensions, to be sure, but marvellously large and splendid as compared with what might be anticipated from the outward aspect of the cottage.  It contained a bust of Burns, and was hung round with pictures and engravings, principally illustrative of his life and poems.  In this part of the house, too, there is a parlor, fragrant with tobacco-smoke; and, no doubt, many a noggin of whiskey is here quaffed to the memory of the bard, who professed to draw so much of his inspiration from that potent liquor.

We bought some engravings of Kirk Alloway, the Bridge of Doon, and the Monument, and gave the old woman a fee besides, and took our leave.  A very short drive farther brought us within sight of the monument, and to the hotel, situated close by the entrance of the ornamental grounds within which the former is inclosed.  We rang the bell at the gate of the inclosure, but were forced to wait a considerable time; because the old man, the regular superintendent of the spot, had gone to assist at the laying of the corner-stone of a new kirk.  He appeared anon, and admitted us, but immediately hurried away to be present at the concluding ceremonies, leaving us locked up with Burns.