约翰济慈致弟弟（范尼）

　　dumfries， july 2 nd 1818
　　my dear fanny，
　　i intended to have written you from kirkcudbright，the town i shall be in tomorrow——but iwill write now because my knapsack has worn mycoat in the seams， my coat has gone to the taylorsand i have but one coat to my back in these parts.i must tell you i went to liverpool with george and our new sister and the gentleman，my fellow traveller， through the summer andautumn—— we had a tolerable journey to liverpool——which i left the next morning beforegeorge was up for lancaster.——then we setoff from lancaster on foot with our knapascks on，and have walked a little zig zag through themountains and lakes of cumberland and westmoreland—— we came from carlisle yesterday to this place——we are employed ingoing up mountains， looking at strange towns，prying into old ruins and eating very heartybreakfasts.here we are full in the midst ofbroad scocth“how is it a'wi yoursel”——the girls are walking about bare footed and in theworst cottages the smoke finds its way out of thedoor.——mr. abbey says we are don quixotes——tell him we are more generallytaken for pedlars.all i hope is that we may not betaken for excise men in this whiskey country.weare generally up about 5 walking before breakfastand we complete our 20 miles before dinner.——yesterday we visited burn's tomb and thismorning the fine ruins of lincluden.——i haddone thus far when my coat came back fortified atall points——so as we lose no time we set forthagain through galloway——all very pleasant andpretty with no fatigue when one is used to it——we are in the midst of meg merrilies' country ofwhom i suppose you have heard.
　　old meg she was a gipsy，
　　and liv'd upon the moors
　　her bed it was the brown heath turf
　　and her house was out of doors.
　　her apples were swart blackberries
　　her currants pods o' broom
　　her wine was dew o'the wild while rose
　　her book a churchyard tomb.
　　no breakfast had she many a day morn
　　no dinner many a noon
　　and'stead of supper she would stare
　　full hard against the moon.

　　old meg was brave as margaret queen
　　and tall as amazon：
　　an old red blanket cloak she wore；
　　a chip hat had she on.
　　god rest her aged bones somewhere
　　she died full long agone！
　　if you like these sort of ballads， i will now andthen scribble one for you——if i send any to tomi'll tell him to send them to you. i have so manyinterruptions that i cannot manage to fill a letterin one day——since i scribbled the song we havewalked through a beautiful country to
　　kirkcudbright——at which place i will write you asong about myself.
　　there was a naughty boy
　　a naughty boy was he
　　he would not stop at home
　　he would not quiet be——
　　he took
　　in his knapsack

　　a book
　　full of vowels
　　and a shirt
　　with some towels——
　　a slight cap
　　for night cap——
　　a hair brush
　　comb ditto
　　new stockings
　　for old ones
　　would split o
　　this knapsack
　　tight at's back
　　he rivetted close

　　and followed his nose to the north
　　to the north
　　and followed his noseto the north.
　　there was a naughty boy
　　and a naughty boy was he
　　he ran away to scotland
　　then he found
　　that the ground
　　was as hard
　　that a yard
　　was as long，
　　that a song
　　was as merry
　　that a cherry

　　was as red——
　　that lead
　　was as weighty
　　that fourscore was as eighty
　　that a door
　　was as wooden
　　as in england——
　　so he stood in
　　his shoes
　　and he wondered
　　he wondered
　　he stood in his
　　shoes and he wonder'd.
　　my dear fanny，i am ashamed of writing yousuch stuff， nor would i if it were not for beingtired after my day's walking，and ready to tumbleinto bed so fatigued that when i am asleep youmight sew my nose to my great toe and trundle meround the town， like a hoop， without waking me.then i get so hungry a ham goes but a very littleway and fowls are like larks to me——a batch ofbread i make no more ado with than a sheet ofparliament，and i can eat a bull's head as easilyas i used to do bull's eyes. i take a whole string ofpork sausages down as easily as a pen－orth oflady's fingers.ah dear i must soon be contentedwith an acre or two of oaten cake， a hogshead ofmilk and a basket of eggs morning noon and nightwhen i get among the highlanders.

　　your affectionate brother john——