386 A Mid' Lothian Burn. [Sess. 



Corston, the basaltic rocks around us speak of a time when 

 the giant forces of upheaval did their work. To-day we reck 

 not of that, but have one feeling in common as we rest on 

 the hillside at the source of our burn — a feeling of deep 

 satisfaction. It is good to be here, unfettered and free, with 

 a great expanse of hill, dale, and sky spread out before 

 us. Who would not eagerly join us as we breathe the 

 exhilarating atmosphere, and enjoy to the full the sweet 

 aroma of the hills ? For the present, the city and its 

 bustling life is far from us, and in our thoughts it is still 

 farther away. Who thinks of that grinding life when sur- 

 rounded by nature in lavish mood ? We see the shepherd 

 coming over the crest with long swinging stride as he en- 

 gages in his lonely work. All around the sheep move slowly, 

 as if they would not, and crows have sat longer on yon perch 

 than we care to note. Sitting there amid a silence broken 

 only by the bleating of sheep, and the wild insistent cry 

 of the pee - weep as it circles on restless wings overhead, 

 we are filled with strange content. Claverhouse and his 

 Dragoons and the bloody " killing time " are brought to mind, 

 as we recall the old Galloway nickname of " The Murder 

 Bird," given to the bird screaming now, even as it did 

 then. 



Away to our right, past the sparse fields of the upland 

 farms and over the moors, where are seen the Craigs of 

 Dalmahoy breaking the sky - line, lie the rich grain - laden 

 fields of Wester Mid-Lothian. To the north and north-west 

 the landscape is dotted with homesteads whence, even at this 

 distance, is heard the faint lowing of cattle, and we can see 

 them, in single file, making for the gate as they hear the 

 well - known voice calling them. Still farther beyond, a 

 kindly haze softens and tones down the belching smoke 

 and unshapely bings of the coal - pits and shale - mines of 

 West Lothian, and of more distant Lanarkshire. 



The winged songsters are in merry mood, and each gives 

 its contribution of melody. High up in the blue, sounds over 

 all the trilling of the lark: while near at hand a subdued 

 conversation between two feathered mates leads to a dis- 

 covery of the blackbirds' nest in the whins. 



It is with great satisfaction, then, that we stand at the 



