Ballantrae', July 10. [Postmark, Glasgow, 14 July 1818]. Ah! ken ye what I met the day Out oure the Mountains A coming down by craggi[e]s grey An mossie fountains Ah goud hair'd Marie yeve I pray As I stood where a rocky brig A torrent crosses I spied upon a misty rig A troup o' Horses And as they trotted down the glen To see if I might know the Men To stop and greet them. First Willie on his sleek mare came At canting gallop His long hair rustled like a flame On board a shallop. Then came his brother Rab and then Young Peggy's Mither And Peggy too-adown the glen They went togither I saw her wrappit in her hood 1 Keats wrote Belantree. Her cheek was flush wi' timid blood Twixt growth and waning— For there her Brithers Came riding with her Bridegroom soft Young Tam came up an' eyed me quick With reddened cheek— Braw Tam was daffed like a chick He coud na speak Ah Marie they are all gane hame An' light as feather. Ah! Marie they are all gone hame Fra happy wedding, Whilst I-Ah is it not a shame? Sad tears am shedding. My dear Tom, The reason for my writing these lines was that Brown wanted to impose a Galloway song upon Dilke-but it won't do. The subject I got from meeting a wedding just as we came down into this place where I am afraid we shall be imprisoned awhile by the weather. Yesterday we came 27 Miles from Stranraer-entered Ayrshire a little beyond Cairn, and had our path through a delightful Country. I shall endeavour that you may follow our steps in this walk—it would be uninteresting in a Book of Travels-it can not be interesting but by my having gone through it. When we left Cairn our Road lay half way up the sides of a green mountainous shore, full of clefts of verdure and eternally varyingsometimes up sometimes down, and over little Bridges going across green chasms of moss, rock and trees winding about every where. After two or three Miles of this we turned suddenly into a magnificent glen finely wooded in Parts-seven Miles long-with a Mountain stream winding down the Midst-full of cottages in the most happy situations-the sides of the Hills covered with sheep the effect of cattle lowing I never had so finely. At the end we had a gradual ascent and got among the tops of the Mountains whence in a little time I descried in the Sea Ailsa Rock 940 feet high-it was 15 Miles distant and seemed close upon us. The effect of Ailsa with the peculiar perspective of the Sea in connection with the ground we stood on, and the misty rain then falling gave me a complete Idea of a deluge. Ailsa struck me very suddenly-really I was a little alarmed. Thus far had I written before we set out this morning. Now we are at Girvan 13 Miles north of Ballantrae. Our Walk has been along a more grand shore to-day than yesterday Ailsa beside us all the way. From the heights we could see quite at home Cantire and the large Mountains of Annan, one of the Hebrides. We are in comfortable Quarters. The Rain we feared held up bravely and it has been "fu fine this day."-Tomorrow we shall be at Ayr. TO AILSA ROCK. Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid ! Give answer from thy voice, the sea-fowls' screams! When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams? When, from the sun, was thy broad forehead hid? How long is't since the mighty power bid Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams? Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid. Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep; Thy life is but two dead eternities— The last in air, the former in the deep; First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies— Drown'd wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep, Another cannot wake thy giant size. This is the only Sonnet of any worth I have of late written-I hope you will like it. [11 July 1818.] 'Tis now the 11th of July and we have come 8 Miles to Breakfast to Kirkoswald. I hope the next Kirk will be Kirk Alloway. I have nothing of consequence to say now concerning our journey-so I will speak as far as I can judge on the Irish and Scotch-I know nothing of the higher Classes—yet I have a persuasion that there the Irish are victorious. As to the "Profanum vulgus " I must incline to the Scotch. They never laugh-but they are always comparatively neat and clean. Their constitutions are not so remote and puzzling as the Irish. The Scotchman will never give a decision on any point --he will never commit himself in a sentence which may be referred to as a meridian in his notion of thingsso that you do not know him-and yet you may come in nigher neighbourhood to him than to the Irishman who commits himself in so many places that it dazes your head. A Scotchman's motive is more easily discovered than an Irishman's. A Scotchman will go wisely about to deceive you, an Irishman cunningly. An Irishman would bluster out of any discovery to his disadvantage. A Scotchman would retire perhaps without much desire for revenge. An Irishman likes to be thought a gallous fellow. A Scotchman is contented. with himself. It seems to me they are both sensible of the Character they hold in England and act accordingly to Englishmen. Thus the Scotchman will become over grave and over decent and the Irishman over-impetuous. I like a Scotchman best because he is less of a bore-I like the Irishman best because he ought to be more comfortable.-The Scotchman has made up his Mind within himself in a sort of snail shell wisdom. The Irishman is full of strongheaded instinct. The Scotchman is farther in Humanity than the Irishman-there he will stick perhaps when the Irishman will be refined beyond him-for the former thinks he cannot be improved -the latter would grasp at it for ever, place but the good plain before him. Maybole. Since breakfast we have come only four Miles to dinner, not merely, for we have examined in the way t[wo] Ruins, one of them very fine, called Crossraguel Abbey-there is a winding Staircase to the top of a little Watch Tower. July 13 [1818]. Kingswells. I have been writing to Reynolds therefore any particulars since Kirkoswald have escaped me—from said Kirk we went to Maybole to dinner-then we set forward to Burness' town Ayrthe approach to it is extremely fine-quite outwent my expectations-richly meadowed, wooded, heathed and rivuleted—with a grand Sea view terminated by the black Mountains of the isle of Annan. As soon as I saw them so nearly I said to myself "How is it they did not beckon Burns to some grand attempt at Epic." The bonny Doon is the sweetest river I ever saw— overhung with fine trees as far as we could see-We stood some time on the Brig across it, over which Tam o' Shanter fled-we took a pinch of snuff on the Key stone-then we proceeded to the “auld Kirk Alloway.” As we were looking at it a Farmer pointed the spots where Mungo's Mither hang'd hersel' and “drunken Charlie brake's neck's bane." Then we proceeded to |