on, to the Tweed; into which it empties itself a few miles below.
I had been wonderfully pleased with Eskdale, Ewesdale, and Tiviotdale; but I cannot describe my sensations of delight, when I came in sight of that part of Tweedale, around Yair, and Fairnalie. The road, after it quits the banks of Ettrick, takes a quick turn, and winds round the bases of hills; when on a sudden, it comes close on the Tweed; and within sight of a simple bridge, and scenery more enchanting than can be described. As soon as I crossed the bridge, Yair was to my left, on the other side of the river; and Fairnalie, on my right; I knew not which to admire most; the river; its banks; the hills; the rocks; or the wood, (which is here in abundance.) All are beautiful. The fancy, in Arcadia, cannot paint a more soft, more sweet, or more lovely scene, than that part of Tweedale. It is pastoral beauty completely perfect. Not an object that can hurt the eye, or ruffle the mind. The soul, for four miles, must be lost to every other sensation but that of soft delight, heightened by an elevation of sentiment, which nothing but such enchanting scenes as those on the Tweed can produce.
