,W A day's BOTAXY in noSUN AND IIAWTHORNDEK, 



what may be done in one day^ and that by no means a laborious one^ in the 

 neighbourhood of Auld Eeekie. Well, the summer had passed away, and the 

 autumn was preparing to follow it; indeed it was the first day of October, a 

 month of sunshine and shower, even in merry England, and in Scotland 

 presenting generally more of the latter than agreeable; when, accompanied by 

 two non-botanical friends, I took my way per coach to the village of Loanhead, 

 about six miles from Edinburgh, and from thence by a delightful walk to 

 the gate of the old Hermitage of Hawthornden, the ancient seat of the 

 Poet Drummond, the contemporary and friend of Ben Jonson. In the narrow 

 lane on our way, beneath the shade of Lime and Elm trees, now almost 

 entirely bare, we found a few mosses, as Hypnum 7'utdbulum, H. cwpressiforme, 

 H. squarrosum, Bryum ligulatum, B. pundatum, B. homum; the common 

 Tortulas and Jungermmmia hicuspidata, and J. Tamarisci. Then there were 

 the common hedge plants, though few and far between. From an old stump 

 grew a beautiful tuft of Agaricus fascicularis, with its pretty yellow cap and 

 olive-coloured stem; while the A. tener peered fearfully above the grass, now 

 nearly hidden by the mass of fallen leaves, covered with minute fungi; those 

 of the Acer pseudo-platamts being literally pied with the black blotches of 

 the Xyloma acerina. 



Arrived at the Hermitage, and through the viewable sights thereof, we passed 

 into the wood, among everything calculated to make us feel anything but city men. 

 Before catering the wood, we halted a few minutes to admire the tree under 

 which the two men whose names shed a literary halo round the spot first 

 exchanged salutations. It is a fine old Sycamore, or Plane-tree, as we term 

 it, though in reality neither, being the Acer before alluded to. It is told 

 that Drummond, meeting his southern friend on the lawn, cried out, 



"Welcome! welcome, noble Ben!" 



To which the other answered as jocosely, 



"Thank ye, Thank ye, Hawthornden." 



The tree, under which they so often sat in converse, is still in good health, 

 and now measures thirty-six feet in circumference near the base. The old 

 square box-like cave, in which the Poet used to write, is hewn in the face 

 of a perpendicular rock; and in place of Poet's bays, was crowned, on the 

 occasion of our visit, with a profusion of the fresh green leaves of Luzula 

 sylvatica and the Vaccinium myrtillus. Another cave of interest is that in 

 which Robert Bruce hid himself in the days of Scotland's trouble; and in it 

 is shewn the huge two-bladed sword, said to have been borne by the royal 

 hero in defence of his country. This cave is more spacious, containing in its 

 stony breast, a library, bed-room, and parlour, and, like the retreat of the 

 Poet, is difficult of entrance, being hewn in the face of a rock, and commands 

 a fine view of the closely-wooded dell, or valley. Close by Bruce's cave we 

 found Asplenium adiantum nigrum and Polypodium vulgare. 



