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SINCERELY DEDICATED TO MY AFFECTIONATE BROTHER 



JOHN ARMSTRONG, IN COMMEMORATION OF OUR VARIED 



WANDERINGS TOGETHER ON THE HILLS AND BY 



THE STREAMS OF OUR NATIVE LAND. 



The wild hills of Wannys, of which the following 

 song is descriptive, and on whose heathery crests I first 

 strung my rude harp, are situated between the head of 

 the Wansbeck water and river Reed. Viewing the sur- 

 rounding hills and glens from the peak of the crags, a 

 scene of wild and majestic grandeur meets the enrap- 

 tured eye, hills rising above bills on every side Otter- 

 caps, Hareshaw, Darna, Peaden, Simonside and Darden ; 

 on whose sides are reared Northumbrians peerless 

 daughters and stalwart sons, and round whose base run 

 sparkling streams, including Reed, Wansbeck, North 

 Tyne, and Coquet, abounding with golden-spangled 

 trout ; and away to the north are the rugged crests of 

 the Cheviots towering to the clouds and overlooking the 

 battle fields of yore Flodden, Chevy Chase, and Otter- 

 burn, sacred to the shades of Percy, Douglas, and Scot- 

 land's King, as also many warriors' whose deeds of valour 

 are yet recorded on the glowing scroll of fame. 



Near to Wannys Crags stands Aid Crag, where the 

 author resided for six years. It was from here, during 

 the summer, the writer and his brothers often started 

 with kindred spirits to run and wrestle with the 

 shepherd lads on the heath-clad hills of Wannys, or to 

 go a fishing excursion in the surrounding streams. And 

 in winter, the ground all clad with snow, Sweethope 

 Loch and adjacent rivers frozen over, we would track 

 the otter and fox to their rocky den. It was at Dewlaw 

 Mill, however, where I wrote the song of Wannys, in 

 heartfelt devotion to the dear old spot. 



