From Moffat can be reached in a different direction some notable hills and ravines, amongst which may be named Hartfell, and Queensberry Hill, from the summit of both of which magnificent panoramas of scenery are opened to view. A remarkable scene is that of the Earl of Annandale's Beef Tub, otherwise called 'The Devil's Beef Tub,' a vast semicircle of precipitous rock, down in the bosom of which many beeves, perhaps driven from other mens' lands, could be hidden away. ST. MARY'S LOCH. There is no native of Scotland who does not wax poetical when St. Mary's Loch is named. Round it and the district of which it is the crown and glory there centres more of legend, ballad, poem and sentiment than is to be found anywhere else, and in good sooth it is only necessary to visit the place to realize the halo of love and admiration which has been thrown around it. Then it is also the centre of a famous angling district, and in 'Tibbie Shiel's' the 'contemplative man,' when his day of enjoyment is done, will find a tidy bed, and eke some jovial companion, who will make the evening hilarious as the day has been exhilarating. If the tourist has visited the _Grey Mare's Tail_, described in the preceding chapter, the same coach that has brought him from Moffat will bring him on to this scene of singular pastoral beauty. St. Mary's Loch presents sufficient space to make up a fine landscape, and is not too large to be taken in at one glance. In its still beauty it has its chief charm:-- 'You see that all is loneliness, And silence aids--though the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills, In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear to sleep. Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude.' The square keep seen in the foreground is Dryhope Tower, the home of 'Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow.' Here we at once plunge into the old ballad and foray, for she married Wat of Harden, a famed Border freebooter, and to name him is to let loose a flood of reminiscences, legends, and family histories, on which the space at command here will not permit us to enter. The old kirk and kirkyard of St. Mary's were not less remarkable than the loch:-- 'Lord William was buried in St. Marie's Kirk, Lady Margaret in Marie's Quire, Out o' the lady's grave there grew a red rose And out o' the knight's a brier.' Thus ends the tale of the _Douglas Tragedy_. Less famous people are buried there, as another voice tells us, 'For though, in feudal strife a foe Hath laid our lady's chapel low, Yet still beneath the hallowed soil The peasant rests him from his toil, And, dying, bids his bones be laid Where erst his simple fathers prayed.'