I have not the pen of a poet, nor has the poet yet been born whose pen could paint with fitting words the glory of the shining Nith. Hector says Virgil could have done it; but I wonder. There are beauties beyond the range of words. The eye can drink them in; the soul can interpret them: and as the soul interprets them, so are they revealed to the eye that sees them. We walked for more than a mile till we came to a lofty eminence, set tree-crowned above the stream. When we had climbed to its summit Hector paused beneath a giant beech tree which stood perilously near the declivity that fell sheer to the river brink. "Look," he said, and pointed down the river. Lit by the rays of the setting sun, it stretched like a ruddy band of bronze into the distance, leading the eye directly to the ruins of the old College of Lincluden with its Gothic window and shattered tower. Beyond, the blue hills raised their brows to the sky, from which, as from a golden chalice, a stream of glory poured. For each of Nature’s pictures there is one divine moment in the day. It was now. I stood in rapture till Hector touched my arm. "It’s bonnie," he said. "I should say ye’ve naething to match it in England, but we maun awa’ hame. Come on," and he led the way across a field to the road. "This," he said, "is the shortest way back to the toon. I ha’e been alang it aince the day already, for it leads tae Locharbriggs, and mair than likely I’ll be alang it the morn, for the widda was wonderfu’ kind, and though she wouldna exactly gang the length o’ namin’ the day, she was mair amenable to reason than I’ve ever kent her afore. So the morn’s mornin’ I’m makin’ my way oot to her again: and maybe I’ll be lucky. Ye never can tell, for didna’ Virgil himsel’ say ’_Varium et mutabile semper femina_’--’Woman is a fickle jade onyway ye like to tak’ her.’ Oh, these auld poets, but they had the wise word every time. Noo that we’re comin’ near the toon we’d better settle what we are gaun to dae the morn. As for me, I ha’e mony things on haun and my time’ll be a’ ta’en up. But I’ll be free at six o’clock. Ye can spend the day as ye like, and I’ll meet ye at that oor at the Vennel Port." I promised that I should be at the trysting-place at the time appointed. We were now drawing near the town. By and by we came to the mound known as Christie’s Mount, and soon we could see the Plain Stones before us. As we swung round into the lower part of the High Street we heard sounds of revelry coming from Lag’s house at the corner of the Turnpike Wynd. We crossed to the other side of the street and looked up. Every window was a blaze of light. From an upper room came the sound of wild voices of men far gone in their cups, and every now and then shouts of laughter. One laugh, a great raucous bellow, dominated all the rest.