In the afternoon of our final day in Glasgow, we go to St. Enoch's Station, one of the largest in the kingdom, and secure compartments in the train which will carry us to Ayr. As we ride swiftly southward, we skirt the shores of the Firth of Clyde. At some of the busy little seaport towns which we pass, we see freight trains and boats loaded with coal. At others, we see thousands of bushels of early potatoes. In still others, we notice boxes of shoes or bales of woolen goods or packages of lace. We notice, too, that large quantities of Kilmarnock cheese are being shipped. All these are the products of Ayrshire, one of the richest and most beautiful of the counties of Scotland. We have seen, also, since our train entered the county, great engine shops. We are told, in response to our queries, that iron, as well as coal, is found in large quantities among the hills that form almost a semicircle around the fertile plain through which we are riding. After a journey of two hours we are in Ayr, a city of thirty thousand. When we alight from our train, we are at once aware that we are in the land of Burns, because in front of the station we behold an imposing statue of the poet himself. We spend the night at a typical Scotch hotel, where "scones" and porridge are served for breakfast. Soon we are riding to the cottage in which Burns was born. The place is only two miles away. In a brief time we arrive at the low, thatch-roofed, one-story building. Even in its best days, the cottage must have been very "humble." We each pay a "tuppence" and enter. We examine the few relics of the poet that are exhibited. We are more impressed by the statement of the keeper, that in the preceding week ten thousand people came to see the THE LAND OF BURNS 205 birthplace of Burns, than we are by the few articles, once owned by the poet, that are shown us. After we depart from the cottage we ride for a time in the country roundabout. From the tops of the hills we can see the farms and the little villages, the fair region which was the scene of the life of this poet of the lowly. He sang the songs of the peasant, and he made us all see ROBERT BURNS' BIRTHPLACE the beauty that is to be found in quiet and familiar tasks. Later we go to the park, where we find another monument to Burns, which almost makes us forget the impressions we have previously received. This monument is designed after an old Greek temple. In the niches we see statues of Souter Johnnie, Tam O'Shanter, and other characters Burns made famous. We hardly know what to say as we silently stand before the strange structure. Finally, one of our boys exclaims, "Fancy Souter Johnnie peering around the corner of an old Greek temple! Wearing coat tails pinned to an Eton jacket would be just as fitting!" The rain is falling and the wind is blowing, when, later in the afternoon, we enter a train which will carry us southward to Stranraer. There we expect to embark on a steamer which will take us to the Emerald Isle by the shortest of all the crossings between Great Britain and Ireland. An hour later we leave the cars and board the boat which is awaiting our arrival. In a brief time we are moving up Loch Ryan toward the open waters of the North Channel or Irish Sea. We overhear one of the sailors remark that it is "a dirty night." We know that the crossing is very rough at times, but we are not afraid, although we have noticed that many passengers already have gone to their state rooms. Our boys and girls secure sheltered seats on deck, and enjoy the experience. One of the boys relates a conversation he had with a man who was in the same compartment of the car. "He said his home was in Ayr, and that he had traveled in many lands. He had been in America, India, China, Japan, and a good many other countries. But he never had been in Ireland, — only thirty miles from his home. Some mornings he could see, across the Channel, the outlines of the Irish hills. And yet he had never been on the island! 66 "A good many are like him," responds another boy. They go thousands of miles away, but never see the sights near home. I know a man who has lived years in New York who has never crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.' The conversation is abruptly ended. The swift steamer is pitching and rolling heavily, and we flee to our staterooms. Indeed, most of the passengers are seasick. Two hours later we land at Larne, where we enter a train near the dock. "I want to send a telegram to London as soon as we arrive in Belfast," remarks one of the girls. "You know it will be sent from the post office," says her brother. "I will attend to it for you, if you wish. It will cost only a sixpence, but you will have to count in the address and the signature, too." A ride of an hour brings us to Belfast. By this time we have all recovered from the discomforts of our crossing. Storms and cross-tides are forgotten in our enthusiasm over our arrival at last in the Emerald Isle. QUESTIONS What is the extreme north of Scotland? How far from Land's End? Where is Ben Nevis? What is a loch? Why are there so many lochs in Scotland? What and where is the Caledonian Canal? Where is Fort William? Fingal's Cave? The Trossachs? Ellen's Isle? Bannockburn? For what is each best known? For what is Dumbarton famous ? Ayr? Compare Glasgow with Edinburgh. What is the relation of the location of Glasgow to four of its leading industries? Mention the industries. Why is the Clyde important? Mention four characteristics of the Scottish people. In what part of Scotland is "the land of Burns?" Why was the name given? Compare the East of Scotland with the West. The North with the South. Locate four important rivers and describe the course of each. SUGGESTIONS FOR WRITTEN WORK A visit to a shipyard at Glasgow. Tell the story related in some poem of Robert Burns. CHAPTER XIII IN THE EMERALD ISLE - Downpatrick - St. Patrick Belfast Flax - Linen Mills - Shipyards Irish Lace - Jaunting Cars - Brian Boru - Ulster - Giant's Causeway - Story of the Irish Giant - Londonderry - Villages of Fishermen - Hills and Valleys River Shannon - Drogheda Battle of the Boyne. THE following morning is as misty as any we saw in Glasgow. Clouds of smoke are hanging over the city. We are not to be detained by weather, however, and soon board a tram car for the station. One of our boys is eager to go to Downpatrick, where St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, began his labors in the island, and where he was buried. We yield to the lad's urgent request, even before we have seen the interesting places in Belfast, the largest and busiest city of Ireland, containing four hundred thousand people. As we pass through many streets on our way to the station, the people we see appear quite like Americans. In their conversation, we detect the Scotch as well as the Irish "burr." We are reminded by the fact that the North of Ireland has more Scotch and English in its population than has any other part of the island. A ride of twenty-six miles southward by train brings us to Downpatrick. We walk from the station to the imposing cathedral that bears the name of St. Patrick. We admire the beautiful east window, which is all that remains of the original church of the saint. The long nave, the artistic furnishings, the massive buttressed tower, are all wonderful; but we are most impressed by the fact that here are the shrine and the final restingplace of Ireland's patron saint.' Naturally we are inter I 1 Some Irish historians maintain that St. Patrick was buried elsewhere. |