THE AULD GRAY BRIG 



" Whoe'er has travelPd life's dull round, 

 Where'er his stages may have been, 

 May sigh to think he still has found 

 The warmest welcome at an inn." 



LONELY moorland 

 roa d winds across the 



s ^ ent h^ s - ^ ts g rass y 



pavements know not 

 the sensations of traffic, 

 save when flocks of 

 sheep are being driven 

 to and from the upland 

 walks, or when, in late summer, loads 

 of hay and fragrant rushes upon rough 

 wooden sleighs vehicular traffic being 

 impossible on such a track are being 

 dragged to the farmyards lower down 

 the hillsides. Stony paths, washed and 

 bleached by rain and sun, intersect the 

 closely nibbled turf, and the stonechat 

 and mountain blackbird make their 

 homes in the holes which gape in the 

 tottering, unplastered walls. Of wild 

 flowers there are plenty, but choicest of 



