Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)

Is there a man whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs himself life's mad career Wild as the wave?-- Here let him pause, and through a tear Survey this grave. The poor Inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know And keenly felt the friendly glow And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name. The churchyard is full of grave-stones and expensive monuments in all sorts of fantastic shapes--obelisk-wise, pillar-wise, etc. In speaking of Gretna Green, I forgot to mention that we visited the churchyard. The church is like a huge house; indeed, so are all the churches, with a steeple, not a square tower or spire,--a sort of thing more like a glass-house chimney than a Church of England steeple; grave-stones in abundance, few verses, yet there were some--no texts. Over the graves of married women the maiden name instead of that of the husband, "spouse" instead of "wife," and the place of abode preceded by "in" instead of "of." When our guide had left us, we turned again to Burns's house. Mrs. Burns was gone to spend some time by the sea-shore with her children. We spoke to the servant-maid at the door, who invited us forward, and we sate down in the parlour. The walls were coloured with a blue wash; on one side of the fire was a mahogany desk, opposite to the window a clock, and over the desk a print from the Cotter's Saturday Night, which Burns mentions in one of his letters having received as a present. The house was cleanly and neat in the inside, the stairs of stone, scoured white, the kitchen on the right side of the passage, the parlour on the left. In the room above the parlour the poet died, and his son after him in the same room. The servant told us she had lived five years with Mrs. Burns, who was now in great sorrow for the death of "Wallace." She said that Mrs. Burns's youngest son was at Christ's Hospital.