The duchess was much sung by the poets of her day, among them Prior, who is now so little read that we may recall a few of his once well-known verses: "Shall I thumb holy books, confined With Abigails forsaken? Kitty's for other things designed, Or I am much mistaken. Must Lady Jenny frisk about, And visit with her cousins? At balls must she make all the rout, And bring home hearts by dozens? "What has she better, pray, than I? What hidden charms to boast, That all mankind for her should die, Whilst I am scarce a toast? Dearest mamma, for once let me, Unchained, my fortune try: I'll have my earl as well as she, Or know the reason why. "I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score, Make all her lovers fall: They'll grieve I was not loosed before-- She, I was loosed at all." Fondness prevailed, mamma gave way: Kitty, at heart's desire, Obtained the chariot for a day, And set the world on fire! On the death of Duke Charles, Queensberry House came into the possession of his cousin, the earl of March, a singular man-about-town in London, known as "Old Q.:" he stripped it of all its ornaments, without and within, and sold it to the government for a barracks. It is now used as a house of refuge. On its gate are the following notices: "White-seam sewing neatly executed." "Applications for admission by the destitute any lawful day from 10 to 12." "Bread and soup supplied from 1 to 3, afternoon. Porridge supplied from 8 to 9, morning, 6 to 7, evening." "Night Refuge open at 7 P.M. No admission on Sundays." "No person allowed more than three nights' shelter in one month." Such are the mottoes that now adorn the house which sheltered Prior's Kitty. A striking object in the same vicinity is the Canongate Tolbooth, with pepper-box turrets and a clock projecting from the front on iron brackets, which have taken the place of the original curiously-carved oaken beams. Executions sometimes took place in front of this building, which led wags to find a grim joke in its motto: "Sic.Itvr.Ad.Astra." A more frequent place of execution was the Girth Cross, near the foot of the Canongate, which marked the limit of the right of sanctuary belonging to the abbey of Holyrood. At the Girth Cross, Lady Warriston was executed for the murder of her husband, which has been made the subject of many ballads: My mother was an ill woman: In fifteen years she married me. I hadna wit to guide a man: Alas! ill counsel guided me. O Warriston! O Warriston! I wish that ye may sink fire in: I was but bare fifteen years auld When first I entered your gates within. I hadna been a month married, Till my gude lord went to the sea: I bare a bairn ere he came hame, And set it on the nourice knee.