BORE TOURS. * THE pleasant volumes which come every year from

the hands of Mr. Weld and of Mr. Walter White, present, along with cer- tain individual characteristics, that sort of family resemblance which might be expected in the works of authors so nearly affined in office. Living habitually in an atmosphere of science the one as Secretary, the other as Clerk to the Royal Society, both these gentlemen are endowed with a ready apprehension of new facts, special and general, and are skilled in its use both as to the how and the what to observe. Both appear to be men of genial temper, taking alike the rough and smooth of travel with a frolic welcome sturdy and active in body as befits practical geographers who make their legs their compasses. Both write clearly. and forcibly, but Mr. Weld's narratives, though generally briefer than Mr. White's, are somewhat more diffuse and less carefully weeded of superfluous details. The programme of Mr. 'Weld's volume for this year was determined by an invitation he received last July to join a sporting party in Caithness. Mr. White's holiday of the same month was spent in Shropshire and the neigh- bouring counties and the volume that describes it is not inferior to any of its predecessors in fulness of matter and variety of interest. In Peeblesshire Mr. Weld made his first halt beyond the border, and visited the cottage built for the Black Dwarf a few years before his death. The hovel which Ritchie, or Bow'd Davie, as he was generally called, erected almost entirely with his own hands, no longer exists.

"flow genius hallows localities ! Here is an insignificant looking cot- tage, not it itself worthy a moment's consideration, and yet palaces are not

• Two Months in the Highlands, Orcadia, and Skye. By Charles Richard Weld. Published by Longman and Co. All Round the Wrekin. By Walter White. Published by Chapman and Hall. more famoas. Scott used his privilege as a novelist and represents poor Bow'd Davie far more deformed than nature unkind as she was, had moulded him. Still, in many respects, the mysterious hermit of Wodehouse was not unlike the description given of him in the Black _Dwarf. Nor was this made up of second-hand evidence. Dr. Adam Fergusson, Profes- sor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, one of the very few persons admitted to the privilege of visiting Ritchie, took Scott to see the Dwarf. The visit was made in 1797, when Scott was twenty-seven years old, an age when the mind is easily affected ; and there is no doubt that Ritchie's conduct and appearance made a deep impression on the young novelist.

"It is recorded that when Scott and Dr. Fergusson were within the Dwarf's dwelling he double-locked the door ; and, Razing Scott's wrists with vice-like grasp, shrieked in an unearthly voice, 'Man, ha'e ye ony poo'er ? ' meaning spiritual or cabalistic power. Scott disclaimed all fel- lowship wiih the powers of derbies; upon which the Dwarf waved his gaunt, bony arms, and called a huge black cat forth from beneath the bed. The beast, at his master's bidding, sprang upon a shelf, and while the ani- mal's eyes glared, and his fur stood out like a porcupine's erect bristles, Ritchie screamed, 'See, HE has poo'er !' and observing that Scott was greatly moved, the Dwarf repeated : 'Ay, HE has poo'er! ' and then sat down, laughing and grinning horribly.

"During the scene neither Fergusaon nor Scott spoke a word ; and when at length Ritchie unlocked the door and allowed his visitors to depart, they gladly bade the recluse farewell.

"That the impression left upon Scott's mind by this visit was strong, is evident from the pages of the Black. Dwalf. See even now Ritchie's phy- sisal power was remembered, ' Grippie for grippie, freend, I'll wad a wether he'll mak the bluid spin free under your nails. He's a tengh eerie, Elshie! he grips like a smith's vice!' " Proceeding to Aberdeen to take steamer for Wick, Mr. Weld found the granite city beginning to seethe with excitement at the prospect of all the wisdom and all the money which the members of the British Association were about to bring to it ; but the fun that was coming was unexpected, for "it is not generally known" that the sages of the Association are addicted to playing at high jinks. Once during every week of meeting they dine together as a e.ub, styled the Red Lions, sing comic songs, and otherwise ev:ace their hilarity by leonine growls, accompanied by a general wagging of coat-tails. At Wick, the metropolis of the herring fishery, Mr. Weld arrived in the midst of its gainful and disgust- ing harvest, about which he gives much interesting information. He saw 2500 women engaged together by the harbour side in gutting, with a rapidity of motion that baffled the eye, the-fish taken the preceding night. He timed them at their bloody work, and saw that each woman gutted on an average twenty-six herrings per minute. With less nimble fingers they coulci not have despatched the prodigious heaps beforr m-,,gy, ezc. By J. 7,11ino 'tubs in time to save the whole from putref•YA. w. ...take haa been 18,051 crans,-averaging 750 -, ..tta making a total of 13,538,250. At the rate io_..1'obaesrt 2 . J .S1X per minute, this vast number would have passee[of meii 'the gutters' hands in more than four-ileum It 1B ',the spechlet that even fishwomen, working in groups of Bat...2crt%. Clari y cue b_

side, should be all silent

during a prooess that 1i.FrenewchaT little nerve force disposable for vocal purposes It Wfdemen c;itbey don gay dresses, and flaunting Sandhurst. BY

in colours, ' 2 know the girls that you meet in the atening to' NWhOm you saw in the morning coated with blood and - adTess.'" - The take of herrings at Wick alone has in - some year _ -ceeded 134,000 crans. Brawl Castle, an ugly modern building which the sporting

tr.ty made their head-quarters, is chiefly remarkable for its large d productive gardens, and the adjacent grove of real trees, both onders in dreary and almost treeless Caithness. The postmaster at the neighbourinn•b town of Halkirk, gravely informed Mr. Weld that a penny stamp was not sufficient to prepay a letter to Southampton, because that town was in foreign parts. Postal correspondence is apparently not very brisk in Halkirk, and the Southrons did not find the natives disposed to admit them to so- cial intercourse. The two ministers, Established and Free Kirk, held them in great dread, not perhaps unreasonably, for some previous occupants of Brawl had amused themselves with firing at the chimney-pots of the manse with their rifles. In his wan- derings on the moors Mr. Weld made many unsuccessful inquiries after heather ale. The peasants had never heard of such a bever- age, and he concludes that the art of moking it is lost. , 'The secret, according to Boece's Chronicles, was possessed by the Picts. astory is told, legendary it must be granted, that when Kenneth M'Alpine resolved on extirpating the Picts, he slew all but two an aged father and '-is son, who were said to have the recipe of brewing this heather nectar. Their lives were promised to be spared on one condition—that they divulged the secret. The father declared that he would disclose the art provided he was granted one boon. This being acceded to, great was the astonishment of the victorious Kenneth and his followers when the old man demanded as his request that his son should be killed, emphatically insisting that on

no other terms would he divulge the secret. Accordingly the youth's head was struck off. 'Now,' said the father, '1 ain satisfied. My son might have aught you the art ; I never will.' He had the satisfaction of carrying it with him to his grave. And the ballad tells us :—

" The Picts were undone, cut off, mother's son,

For not teaching the Scots to brew heather ale."

"I have read, however, that although the art of brewing Pictish heather ale is lost, old grouse-shooters have tasted a beverage prepared by shepherds on the moors, principally from heather flowers, though honey or sugar to produce fermentation was added."

After three weeks spent with his sporting friends, Mr. Weld struck across the country on foot, took a passing glimpse of the Castle of Girnigoe,—where a trap-door in the floor of a chamber overhanging the sea, still attests the murderous propensities of the old Earls of Caithness, "who seem to have been special ministers of the powers of darkness "—and visited the site of John of Groat's House, which is marked by four small grassy hil- locks, the sole vestiges of the celebrated structure. It seems to be quite unknown in the neighbourhood; a young man who had

lived near it all his life astonished Mr. Weld by telling him he did not know where it was. In narrating his excursion to the Orkneys Mr. Weld describes, but apparently not from personal inspection, the colossal effigy of Sir Walter Scott, which the Or- cadian spirits of the air have sculptured in gratitude for the im- mortality bestowed by him on many portions of their stormy do- main.

"Shortly after Scott's name became famous, it was noticed that the north-west extremity of the high hill of Hoy presented a very striking likeness in profile of the great novelist. Daring countless ages this precipi- tous terminal hill-face has been slowly changing, under meteorological in- fluences, and now the outline of the human face that is developed is found to accurately resemble that of the author of the Pirate ; ' in another cen- tury perhaps another profile may be developed which will resemble that of some unborn worthy.'

In Sutherland Mr. Weld found good roads, and excellent inns erected by the ducal proprietor of the whole country, and fur- nished under the personal direction of the Duchess. The only complaint to be made of them is that they are very small and not numerous enough. It seems to be the Duke's wish that a few tourists should be made comfortable in his wild county, but that they should not be encouraged to come in shoals • mobs, however wellbred, being offensive to the exclusive tastes Of the deer. At Burgh Head Mr. Weld saw a subterranean bath cut in the sand- stone by the Romans, and still supplied with water. Footprints of reptiles abound in the sandstone of the neighbourhood, and this reminds him of a discussion at the Geological Society which was enlivened by the observations of the late Dr. Buekland :—

" What could have possessed the animals,—they were fossil tortoises, I be- lieve,—to be all travelling in the same direction ? That was the question ; one, be sure, of great importance, at least you would have thought so had you heard the keen manner in which it was discussed. At length the Dean solved the problem. " You said, I think,' qnoth he, 'that the footprints; in- dicated that the beasts were travelling from north to south ? " Yes ' re- plied the author of the paper, as gravely as if A barrister had asked him whether he had seen a man murdered. Then,' said the Dean, they were Scotch tortoises on their way to England to better their condition !' "

Mr. Walter White's way of striking up an acquaintance on the road, and improving the occasion, is quaintly exemplified in the following extract from his book :—

" Approaching a sharp bend in the road, I heard a voice beyond the hedge singing a hymn with cheerful note, and knowing the tune, I lifted up my voice and chimed in with a bass. At the bend there met me a young man who, holding an open hymn-book in his hand, evidently enjoyed his exer- cise. Are sou going straight away to Heaven ?' I asked with a smile, as we both stood still-,

" 'Yes,' he answered 'miliaria go with me ? ' " What would you say if I should wish to go to Wem first ? ' " I'd say you'd better go with me ? '

" ' Why—are you a local preacher?' " W ell—I am a local preacher ; and if you go with me you shall hear something that's most worth thinking about.

" ' And what is that? '

" ' Going to Heaven.' "'And is it that which a man ought most to think about ?' "He looked at me in utter amazement, and replied, how would you like to be put into one of them great blazing furnaces where they melt iron?' " I shouldn't like it at all."

" 'Well then ! '

" Well then !' and we stood looking one at the other. "He returned to the charge with You had better come and hear me preach.' " Where ?—In one of those little places which you country folk describe as nice and close ? '

" Well, it will be pretty warm today.'

"'That is one reason why I can't accept your invitation : another that I can't put trust in sermons preached in a .foul atmosphere. Moreover, it seems to me that many people distress themselves about going to Heaven, who take but little heed to their way of life on earth. I will go and hear you when you recognize the necessity for fresh ai; and plenty of it ; when you discern rightly the dependence between here and hereafter; when the wife who hears you shall understand that thrift and cleanliness in house and family are part of Christian duty ; when the village grocer shall do unto his customers that which he would they should do unto him; when the labourer digging a ditch in a far-away field all by himself, shall work as diligently, and finish off as carefully, as if his master were standing by. If I mistake not, these would be acceptable as first steps on the journey to which you invite me.'

"I held out my hand : he took it, but with a doubtful shake of his head ; and so we parted."

A glimpse of the Severn calls up this Welsh legend :— "Once on a walk from Bangor to Banbury I saw the rapid stream nearer its source, where it brawls and chafes over rocky ledges, and has not yet lost its native name of Hafren, and while crossing the flanks of Plinlimmon, I fell in with a Welsh pedlar, who told me the legend of the three rivers, whose birthplace is the famous hill; how that on the eve of their bubbling up, they talked together, each emulous of rising earliest for his start on the morrow. SeVern, waking at the first peep of dawn, ran quickly down the hill, and chose a course through all the most beautiful towns and cities ; Wye woke next, and finding himself anticipated, sped with many a curve and sudden bend into the best and richest land ; and little Rheidiol waking last, saw that he had lost his chance, and exclaiming, 'Never mind, I'll be first at the Bea,' tripped nimbly away to the western main at Aberyavrith.

Told in Welsh,' said the pedlar as he finished, it was a much prettier story than in English."

In his tour round the Wrekin Mr. White did not fail to visit the two towns, extant and buried, which the Saxons and the Ro- mans named after that famous hill—Wroxeter and Uriconium. Here:—

"Excavator points out a drain which was discovered at the bottom of a small square chamber, and tells what he thinks about it, and what he has heard Mr. Wright andDr. Johnson, and other learned antiquaries, remark concerning the various discoveries. He shows us the dusthole, the corner of a small room into which the serving-men and maids of that ancient time cast the sweepings of the floors, little thinking that they were forming a treasure-heap for after ages. In that heap, which was about half a yard in thickness, were found most of the small articles—the hair-pins, needles, buckles, coins, nails, and things of iron, bronze and lead, which are now preserved in the Shrewsbury Museum. In other places, the floors were strewn with broken glaze, and tilesherds, some of clay, some of sandstone flags ; and broken pottery was here and there met with, of which two kinds were manufactured in Shropshire, one, light-coloured, from Broseley clay, the other, red, from one of the clay beds near the Severn. And besides the decorations in colour, enough of shafts and columns, and capitals plain and carved, have been discovered to demonstrate that Uriconium was a city in which the adornments of architecture were liberally displayed. How happy antiquaries would be if only a single street could be rebuilt ! "But to an ordinary visitor, the old city would be a very disappointing place. We had seen in Birmingham advertisements of Excursion trains to the Buried City of Wroxeter—the British Pompeii,' and could easily be- lieve what Excavator told us of the proceedings of the excursionists on their arrival ; how that the majority declared themselves sold,' and went off forthwith to the refreshment tent ; some thought it hardly worth while to travel to look at rubbish, and asked where the houses, 'doors, and windows were. How could there be city without houses ? ' To which Excavator, somewhat proud of his knowledge, would reply that, for want of rain they hadn't come up yet. The simple truth is, that no one should go to Wrox- eter with overwrought expectations, or who is not prepared to see much, not to say very much, with his mind. Moreover, it seems to me that a visit should first be paid to the Museum at Shrewsbury ; for, having seen the many interesting relies there arranged, things of daily life, the visitor on coming to the city would be able to rebuild and repeople it in imagina- tion."