At certain seasons, when the gulls desert their surfy forelands, the birds of sea and mountain hunt and scream together in the same field by Fairmilehead.

The winged, wild things intermix their wheelings, the sea-birds skim the tree-tops and fish among the furrows of the plough.
These little craft of air are at home in all the world, so long as they cruise in their own element; and, like sailors, ask but food and water from the shores they coast.
Below, over a stream, the road passes Bow Bridge, now a dairy-farm, but once a distillery of whisky.

It chanced, some time in the past century, that the distiller was on terms of good-fellowship with the visiting officer of excise.

The latter was of an easy, friendly disposition, and a master of convivial arts.

Now and again, he had to walk out of Edinburgh to measure the distiller's stock; and although it was agreeable to find his business lead him in a friend's direction, it was unfortunate that the friend should be a loser by his visits.