In ilka letter that comes owre I'm tauld o' something changin' there; Some ferlie mak's me start an' glower, Some waefu' stories vex me sair. The lassies that we looed hae wed, The lads we kent are buirdly men; Some auld guidwives an' carles are deid, We'll ne'er their faces see again. But, John, the hills are yonder yet, The grand auld hills we looed sae weel, That you an' I wi' lichtsome fit, Fu' mony an' mony a time did spiel; An' thro' the glen as blithely still The bonnie burn gangs wimplin' doon, Whaur aft we tried oor fisher skill, Or listened tae its eerie croon. Ilk stream or hicht can raise in me Dreams o' the past that ye hae shared-- Sweet dreams o' youth an' thochtless glee Ere we for walth or wisdom cared. There's Enterkin, Powtrail, an' Daur, An' Carron's Linns, an' Katie's Well, An' Mennock Water, Clyde, an' Snar, An' mony anither burn an' hill. An' ilka time I hear them named Away across the surgin' sea, Like some wild bird but halflins tamed. Sick o' the toon, my fancies flee; An' in the gloamin' fa' yince mair, Yince mair I hear the linty sing, An' hearken' thro' the startled air The muircock flee on whirrin' wing. Noo, will ye lay yer loof in mine An' mak' a tryst this day wi' me, Tae meet, as aft we did langsyne, This time twa years, gin I be free? Tae see yince mair the heichs an' howes, Dear scenes o' many a youthfu' ploy, Whaur young love pledged its early vows, An' life was nocht but smiles an' joy. We'll see oor lassies a' grown douce, Oor auld folks wearin' thirt an' grey, Ilk dear kenspeckle face, an' hoose, Ilk singin' burn, an' sunny brae. We'll rin the hills, like herds gane wud, We're young yet an' as yaul as then; An' gin we're in the fishin' tid, We'll try the rod an' line again. While lazy loons lie still an' snore, An' dream, the gowden dawn away, We'll loup the burn at Greenshields' door, An' bauldly briest the Wungate Brae. Far owre the Lowthers mony a mile, An' deep within his lanesome glen, Auld Daur comes doon in kingly style; We'll try nae waters but his ain. An' when we pairt, as pairt we maun, Aiblins for ever--wha can tell?-- We'll tak' ilk ither by the han' An' kindly bid a lang farewell. An' in the herts o' baith, I ken, The memory o' that day will be A link that binds tae Wanlock Glen Twa lovin' cronies, till they dee. THE ANSWER. _Pro JOHN PATERSON, Blantyre._ _By the AUTHOR._ Dear Rab, your letter I received; Weel pleased was I tae hae frae you A promise that for yin o' mine, Ye'd sen' me three an' pang them fu'. Sae I will keep ye tae yer word, For I'm nae adept wi' the pen; Tho' had it been a business deal I'd haud my ain wi' business men.