The reader is aware that Alloway's kirk, the Burns monument, the cottage where the poet was born, the elaborate temple, erected to his memory, and Tam O'Shanter's brig, are all within a few rods of each other, at about two miles' distance from Ayr. The view of the temple, kirk, and 'brig,' from the opposite side of the stream, is worthy of Arcadia. The temple is familiar from engravings; but the bridge, with its graceful arch, draped by low-hanging ivy, is far more beautiful. Yet this exquisite scene is identified with one of Burns's coarsest efforts--one which, with all its vividness and humor, cannot be read aloud in the family circle. Fortunately, however, for the poet, his fame by no means rests on this unequal mixture of the humorous, the beautiful, and the vulgar; and instead of admiring Tam O'Shanter's bridge itself, it is much more pleasant to stand upon it, and gaze therefrom at the river which laves the 'banks and braes o' bonnie Doon'--at the fields besprinkled with the 'wee, crimsoned-tipped flower'--at the cottages where once lived the 'auld acquaintance' of 'lang syne,' and where occurred the scenes of 'The Cotter's Saturday Night.' 'Highland Mary' has crossed this bridge, and this sanctifies it far more than the imaginary terrors of Tam O'Shanter. An hour's railway ride takes the tourist from the land of Burns to the scenes rendered sacred by the genius of Scott. Abbotsford, the favorite home, of course is still open to visitors, who are hurried though it with the most disgusting celerity, by the guide engaged by the family to 'do'--at a shilling a head--the hospitalities of the place. The home of Scott retains all the characteristics it did when he died; but is shown in such a heartless, museum-like manner, that the visitor need not expect much gratification from the inspection. A few miles farther up the Tweed is Ashetiel, the former home of Walter Scott, a place seldom seen by tourists, though here he wrote his finest poems. Some time ago I was invited to spend a night with a farmer who resides on the estate. Those who have read Washington Irving's graphic description of his visit to Abbotsford, will remember Mr. Laidlaw, of whom he thus writes: