In such weather it is a pleasant road, with long prospects to cheer the traveller, and kindly ale-houses to rest his legs in.

But that day it rained as if the floodgates of heaven had opened.

When I crossed Clyde by the bridge at Hyndford the water was swirling up to the key-stone.
The ways were a foot deep in mire, and about Carnwath the bog had overflowed and the whole neighbourhood swam in a loch.

It was pitiful to see the hay afloat like water-weeds, and the green oats scarcely showing above the black floods.

In two minutes after starting I was wet to the skin, and I thanked Providence I had left my little Dutch _Horace_ behind me in the book-box.