At a miserable house of entertainment, half-way between Donaghadee and Belfast, were two men sitting at Whisky--one a labourer, and the other I took to be a drunken weaver--the labourer took me to be a Frenchman, and the other hinted at bounty-money; saying he was ready to take it--On calling for the letters at Port Patrick, the man snapped out "what Regiment?" On our return from Belfast we met a sedan--the Duchess of Dunghill. It is no laughing matter though. Imagine the worst dog kennel you ever saw, placed upon two poles from a mouldy fencing--In such a wretched thing sat a squalid old woman, squat like an ape half-starved, from a scarcity of biscuit in its passage from Madagascar to the Cape, with a pipe in her mouth, and looking out with a round-eyed skinny-lidded inanity; with a sort of horizontal idiotic movement of her head--Squat and lean she sat, and puffed out the smoke, while two ragged tattered girls carried her along. What a thing would be a history of her life and sensations; I shall endeavour when I have thought a little more, to give you my idea of the difference between the Scotch and Irish--The two Irishmen I mentioned were speaking of their treatment in England, when the weaver said--"Ah you were a civil man, but I was a drinker." Till further notice you must direct to Inverness. Your most affectionate Brother JOHN. LIX.--TO THOMAS KEATS. Belantree [for Ballantrae,] July 10 Ah! ken ye what I met the day Out oure the Mountains A coming down by craggies gray An mossie fountains-- Ah goud-hair'd Marie yeve I pray Ane minute's guessing-- For that I met upon the way Is past expressing. As I stood where a rocky brig A torrent crosses I spied upon a misty rig A troup o' Horses-- And as they trotted down the glen I sped to meet them To see if I might know the Men To stop and greet them. First Willie on his sleek mare came At canting gallop His long hair rustled like a flame On board a shallop, Then came his brother Rab and then Young Peggy's Mither And Peggy too--adown the glen They went togither-- I saw her wrappit in her hood Frae wind and raining-- Her cheek was flush wi' timid blood Twixt growth and waning-- She turn'd her dazed head full oft For there her Brithers Came riding with her Bridegroom soft And mony ithers. Young Tam came up and eyed me quick With reddened cheek-- Braw Tam was daffed like a chick-- He could na speak-- Ah Marie they are all gane hame Through blustering weather An' every heart is full on flame An' light as feather. Ah! Marie they are all gone hame Frae happy wadding, Whilst I--Ah is it not a shame? Sad tears am shedding.