The water of Gryfe rises in the muir between this and Greenock, and running through the parishes of Kilmacolm, Houston, and Kilbarchan, it receives Black Cart at Walkinshaw, and White Cart at Inchinan, and a little further on discharges itself into Clyde. Its run is about 17 miles, traversing nearly the whole breadth of the county; which from it was anciently named Strathgryfe.

Leaving the cultivated part of Kilmacolm, and passing by Carncurran, I entered the muir, which rises gradually till we come within the parish of Lochwinnoch; and coming to the highest elevation, we descend again for about five miles towards the town of that name. When I came to the height and found the wide expanse of Lochwinnoch and Beith open upon the eye, I was struck with amazement at the richness and beauty of the country. It is just so hilly as to be very beautiful, but not so as to be sterile. It seems to be improved to great perfection. The equal mixture of corn land, and green grass, with a thick sprinkling of trees and hedges, exhibited a grand prospect of richness and plenty; and with the loch in the midst of it, and the towns and villages scattered about, it formed the finest contrast with the bleak country I was just leaving.

The sun's setting rays just brought me to the village. Passing along a very irregular street, I began to inquire for an Inn, and was directed to gang by the Factrie Closs, and than alang a gey dreich

street, till I cam to the new corse. It was indeed a very dreich street; perhaps the more so, that I was a good deal tired with my walk. I have heard of the lang toun o' Kirkaldie: I think they may call this the lang toun o' Lochwinnoch. Having found the Inn, secured my bed, and eaten some supper, the landlord came in and addressed me thus:" Aibles ye wadna like to let twa gentlemen tak a side wi' you sir?" I replied I had no objection; so they were ushered in, and I spent a social evening with them. They told me the few genteel people who are about this place, have hardly any intercourse with one another, seldom entertaining each other; and there being no coffee room, nor even an evening club for the gentlemen, I sup pose they go to Beith for society; which is a sort of head town for several surrounding parishes..

Lochwinnoch, or as is pronounced, Lochinyoch, is a regular well built village, containing 2000 inhabitants: the trade of the place consists chiefly of weaving, and cotton spinning. There are two handsome cotton mills. The principal natural object in the neighbourhood, is the Loch, a piece of water, which from its wooded banks and some islets in it, is very beautiful, and picturesque. A very enterprising gentleman of the neighbourhood has, by cutting a canal at great expence, dried a large portion of the Loch, and recovered several hundred acres of rich carse land from the water. This will tend to enrich the neighbourhood; but it rather

impairs the beauty of the place, by circumscribing the Loch.

I am told the one half of the people in this parish bear the sirname of Orr; and consequently it is necessary to invent nicknames, in order to distinguish them. You hardly ever hear them speak of any body by his christian name, but always by his nickname. Some of them, however, cannot properly be called nicknames, as they imply no opprobrium: but are rather ficticious titles, derived from some indifferent accident. Thus my landlord is stiled Garpal, from the farm where he was born; and another person is called the Curler, by way of eminence, as he excels in that game. And in such cases the person so named, admits of the title, and answers to it as his appropriate designation.

Here I took up my abode for the night, my enquiries thus far having consumed the day.

(To be continued.)

TO MACENAS.

Horace, Ode 29th of Book 3d.
Tyrrhena regum progenies, &c.

Descendant of a royal line,

Fresh rosy wreaths for you I twine,

To grace a festive day;

For you my choicest wines prepare,

Qintments and perfumes for your hair

Come then Macænas, come, no more delay.

In Tiber's cool translucent wave,

Your limbs awhile now cease to lave:

Forsake th' enchanting view,

Of th' Esulan mountain, and the lands
Of Telegon, who with murderous hands,

And ever vengeful heart, his aged parent slew.

Your palace leave, cease to admire
The pomp to which the rich aspire,

The noise, the smoke of Rome.

It oft, I ween, delights the great,
Aside to throw all gaudy state,

And for the lowly cot to exchange the lofty dome.

See Æthiop's King, now shining bright,
Procyon and Leo at their height;

While round his sultry beams,

Bright Phoebus darts, quick dries the plain;
No more in torrents falls the rain--

No longer rivers flow, no longer run the streams.

The shepherd with his languid flock,

Rests on the bank of some clear brook,

Seeks shelter in some grove;

Or coolness of some woody dell,

Where Fauns with Sylvan love to dwell,

While all is calm around: nor leaves nor branches

move.

E'er anxious for the public weal,

With grievous cares your mind you fiil,

Dreading Leuas' arms;

Fearing the Bactrians civil broils,

Remnant of haughty Cyrus' spoils,

Where direful battles rage, where Tanais sounds

The pow'rs divine have hid in night,
Nor e'er reveal❜d to human sight,

The firm decrees of fate;

Nor pleas'd are they when man repines,

Or murmurs at their wise designs;

'Tis best with tranquil mind t' enjoy our present

state.

All mortal things like rivers flow,
Which down their channel meandring slow,
Now murmuring gently glide;

Now rushing on with hideous roar,

Sweep houses, cattle from the shore,

While rocks, woods, valleys, hills, resound on every side.

Thrice blest the fellow who can say,
All's well, for I have liv'd to-day,

Let storms arise to-morrow;
Or let bright Sol exert his power,

I've seiz'd, and have enjoy'd this hour,

What's past can't be recalled, the Gods can't cause

me sorrow.

Fortune, the cruel wanton creature,
Sadly torments poor human nature,
Now adverse proves, now kind;
I court her when she deigns to stay,
But when the gipsy flies away,

In virtue's fostering arms a snug retreat I find.

'Tis not for me when storms arise,
When pealing thunders rend the skies,
To teaze the Gods with prayers;

Lest shipwreck'd by some stormy breeze,
I ever may enrich the seas

With Cyprian merchandize, or costly Tyrian

wares.