It is some years since we last saw the Solway Firth, but we well remember the long stretch of naked sand so quickly covered by the galloping tide, and the giant shape of Criffell guarding the whole expanse of water from out which it appeared to rise, so that the prophecy ascribed to Thomas the Rhymer, "In the evil day coming safety shall nowhere be found except atween Criffell and the sea," seemed in truth a hard saying. Our abode was a solitary house on the northern bank, and, save for the wild ebb and flow of the waters, all was peace. On the right was the open sea, not much ploughed of passing keel; straight across was the indented Cumberland shore, well tended and fertile, but not more so than the inland from our cottage. How plainly it comes back as one takes up the pen! "Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, The Esks, the Solway where they lose their names": so sings quaint and courtly Drummond of Hawthornden. It is before these and the other Solway tributaries "lose their names" that we wish to write of them, touch on their beauty, and repeat again some of the brave tales, weird traditions, and choice songs that hallow their fields. And first as to the Firth itself. The Solway opens so rapidly on the sea that it is hard to draw the line between it and the ocean. We shall not try. The Cumberland side falls rapidly off, and presents a larger coast to the open water. Its rivers are not numerous, but in the Eden it possesses one of great interest and importance. The coast-line of the three counties of Dumfries, Kirkcudbright, and Wigtown forms the northern shore. It has many streams. We do not go beyond the Cree, which runs into Wigtown Bay, and of which we shall count the Bladenoch a tributary. [Illustration: THE EDEN, THE PETTERIL, AND THE CALDEW.]