From Water Color by Stewart.]

We had been attracted to Dumfries chiefly because of its association with Robert Burns, who spent the last years of his life in the town or in its immediate vicinity.  Our first pilgrimage was to the poet’s tomb, in St. Michael’s churchyard.  A splendid memorial marks the place, but a visit to the small dingy house a few yards distant, in which he died, painfully reminded us of his last years of distress and absolute want.  Within easy reach of Dumfries lie many points of interest, but as our time permitted us to visit only one of these, we selected Caerlaverock Castle, the Ellangowan of Scott’s “Guy Mannering,” lying about ten miles to the south.  In location and style of construction it is one of the most remarkable of the Scotch ruins.  It stands in an almost level country near the coast and must have depended for defense on its enormously thick walls and the great double moat which surrounded it, rather than the strength of its position.  The castle is built of dark-brown stone, and the walls, rising directly from the waters of the moat and covered with masses of ivy, are picturesque, though in a sad state of disrepair.  Bits of artistic carving and beautiful windows showed that it was a palace as well as a fortress, though it seems strange that the builder should select such a site.  In common with most British castles, it was finally destroyed by Cromwell, and the custodian showed us a pile of cannon balls which he had gathered in the vicinity.  On one of the stones of the inner wall were the initials, “R.B.,” and the date, “1776,” which our guide assured us were cut by Robert Burns; and there are certain peculiarities about the monogram which leave little doubt that it was the work of the poet.  From the battlements of the castle the old man pointed to a distant hill, where, he told us, the home of the Carlyles had been for many years and where Thomas Carlyle, who was born at Ecclefechan, lies buried.  Within a few miles of Dumfries is Ellisland Farm, where Robert Burns was a tenant for several years, and many of his most famous poems were written during that period.  And besides, there were old abbeys and castles galore within easy reach; and glad indeed we should have been had we been able to make the Station Hotel our headquarters for a week and devote our time to exploring.  But we were already behind schedule and the afternoon found us on the road to Ayr.

A little more than half the distance from Dumfries to Ayr the road runs through the Nith Valley, with river and forest scenery so charming as to remind us of the Wye.  The highway is a splendid one, with fine surface and easy grades.  It passes through an historic country, and the journey would consume a long time if one should pause at every point that might well repay a visit.  A mile on the way is Lincluden Abbey, in whose seclusion Burns wrote many of his poems, the most famous of which, “The Vision of Liberty,” begins with a reference to the ruin: