August 21.—­Wrought out my task, though much bothered with a cold in my head and face, how caught I know not.  Mrs. Crampton, wife of the Surgeon-General[322] in Ireland, sends to say she is hereabouts, so we ask her.  Hospitality must not be neglected, and most hospitable are the Cramptons.  All the “calliachs"[323] from Huntly Burn are to be here, and Anne wishes we may have enough of dinner.  Naboclish! it is hoped there will be a piece de resistance.

August 22.—­Mrs. and Misses Crampton departed.  I was rather sorry to give them such brief entertainment, for they were extremely kind.  But going to Eildon Hall to-day, and to Drumlanrig to-morrow, there was nothing more could be done for them.  It is raining now “successfully,” as old Macfarlane of the Arroquhar used to say.  What is the odds?  We get a soaking before we cross the Birkendailly—­wet against dry, ten to one.

August 23 [Bittock’s Bridge].—­Set off cheerily with Walter, Charles, and Surtees in the sociable, to make our trip to Drumlanrig.  We breakfasted at Mr. Boyd’s, Broadmeadows, and were received with Yarrow hospitality.  From thence climbed the Yarrow, and skirted Saint Mary’s Lake, and ascended the Birkhill path, under the moist and misty influence of the genius loci.  Never mind; my companions were merry and I cheerful.  When old people can be with the young without fatiguing them or themselves, their tempers derive the same benefits which some fantastic physicians of old supposed accrued to their constitutions from the breath of the young and healthy.  You have not, cannot again have, their gaiety of pleasure in seeing sights, but still it reflects itself upon you, and you are cheered and comforted.  Our luncheon eaten in the herd’s cottage; but the poor woman saddened me unawares, by asking for poor Charlotte, whom she had often seen there with me.  She put me in mind that I had come twice over those hills and bogs with a wheeled-carriage, before the road, now an excellent one, was made.  I knew it was true; but, on my soul, looking where we must have gone, I could hardly believe I had been such a fool.  For riding, pass if you will; but to put one’s neck in such a venture with a wheeled-carriage was too silly.  Here we are, however, at Bittock’s Inn for this night.

Drumlanrig, August 24.—­This morning lunched at Parkgate under a very heavy shower, and then pushed on to Drumlanrig, where I was pleased to see the old Castle, and old servants solicitous and anxious to be civil.  What visions does not this magnificent old house bring back to me!  The exterior is much improved since I first knew it.  It was then in the state of dilapidation to which it had been abandoned by the celebrated old Q.,[324] and was indeed scarce wind and water tight.  Then the whole wood had been felled, and the outraged castle stood in the midst of waste and desolation, excepting a few scattered old stumps, not judged worth the cutting.