"I am going to-morrow to a delightfull place, Braehead by name,
belonging to Mrs. Crraford, where there is ducks cocks hens bubblyjocks
2 dogs 2 cats and swine which is delightful. I think it is shocking to
think that the dog and cat should bear them" (this is a meditation
physiological), "and they are drowned after all. I would rather have a
man-dog than a woman-dog, because they do not bear like women-dogs; it
is a hard case--it is shocking. I cam here to enjoy natures delightful
breath it is sweeter than a fial (phial) of rose oil."

Braehead is the farm the historical Jock Howison asked and got from our
gay James the Fifth, "the gudeman o' Ballengiech," as a reward for the
services of his flail, when the King had the worst of it at Cramond Brig
with the gypsies. The farm is unchanged in size from that time, and
still in the unbroken line of the ready and victorious thrasher.
Braehead is held on the condition of the possessor being ready to
present the King with a ewer and basin to wash his hands, Jock having
done this for his unknown king after the _splore_, and when George the
Fourth came to Edinburgh this ceremony was performed in silver at
Holyrood. It is a lovely neuk this Braehead, preserved almost as it was
200 years ago. "Lot and his wife," mentioned by Maidie,--two quaintly
cropped yew-trees,--still thrive, the burn runs as it did in her time,
and sings the same quiet tune,--as much the same and as different as
_Now_ and _Then_. The house full of old family relics and pictures, the
sun shining on them through the small deep windows with their plate
glass; and there, blinking at the sun, and chattering contentedly, is a
parrot, that might, for its looks of eld, have been in the ark, and
domineered over and _deaved_ the dove. Everything about the place is old
and fresh.

This is beautiful: "I am very sorry to say that I forgot God--that is to