which they luxuriated with mad joy, like some California gold-seeker, when he finds a whole mountain of the precious yellow dust. Their cries were very annoying; but they had the worst of it. Our way to Belfast was through the counties of Dublin, Westmeath, Louth, and Down; and in beauty often surpassed the vivid pictures imagination had drawn. Never was fitter name than the Green Isle; although this country, like England, is rather bare of trees. My eye rested on the hills and valleys of lively green with unceasing delight; and as the landscape glided from my view, the thought that I should never see those beautiful scenes again was painful.

Armagh lies on gracefully swelling hills. At a distance of ten miles, I could see its celebrated cathedral on a commanding height covered with luxuriant green, forming a beautifully picturesque landscape. On a neighbouring hill another splendid cathedral was erecting. From Armagh to Belfast is an excellent railway, equal to any in England. Along this part of the route the scenery is charming, the prospect being very extensive. Leftward, twenty-five miles off, is a splendid sheet of water, twenty-five miles long and half that width, and from its azure tint, might be mistaken for a strip of sky. On the right are the highest mountains in Ireland, stretching from Dundrum Bay to Belfast. At Lisburn and other places millions of yards of linen spread over the green lawns for miles, gave the country the appearance of winter. At six in the evening I reached Belfast, surprised at its beauty, extensive trade, increasing prosperity, and the comparative cheapness of many commodities, lower than I found them in England or Ireland. Here I was kindly welcomed by Mr. Gaussen, to whom I was introduced from Dublin. The city lies in a broad valley, the Belfast mountains rising in sombre grandeur around;

"And where this valley winded out below,

The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard to flow."

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An American introduction to the Rev. Dr. Edgar was very fortunate. That gentleman showed me many of the principal lions of curiosity in Belfast. At the very beautiful Botanic Garden I saw the mistletoe growing from the trunk of a species of apple tree. It also grows on the oak. The mistletoe thrush is supposed to drop the seed into the bark, where it vegetates. "You must see the Giant's Causeway by all means," said Dr. E. I told him with regret that my plans would not possibly permit a visit there, it being some eighty miles distant. He then seized a huge stone and broke off a piece from some curious specimens of the Causeway in the Botanic Garden, which I preserved among my curiosities. These stones were about a foot square, the convex fitting the concave. It is difficult to believe these nicely-fitting joints are natural formations; yet such they are. We then visited the Queen's College, a new and very magnificent pile, bearing some resemblance to Eaton Hall, in Cheshire, already described. The beauty and extent of this institution are surprising. In a splendid book was the Queen's autograph, placed there on her recent visit to Belfast. Prince Albert's signature was a mere circumstance alongside of the large, bold and beautiful name Victoria. I was invited to place my own name on the visiter's book.

My recollection of Ireland will always be delightful. Fancy me now on the deck of the royal steamer Thetis, without a place of repose, the rain drizzling through the open windows above for the whole cheerless night. But the vivacity of Hope cheers me on; and I shall be well paid for a few unavoidable discomforts if permitted in the morning to get a sight of the next object of my ambition, the hills of Caledonia!

CHAPTER VII.

The Clyde-Glasgow-Bumbarton Castle—The Highlands— Loch Lomond-Loch Katrine.

WHILE twilight lasted I gazed on the receding shores of Ireland with melancholy pleasure. Holywood seemed a fit name for an angelic abode. A passenger pointed to an old castle on the coast, saying it was built before Christ; but an old monkish legend which he related connected with that locality soon faded from my mind; for my attention was all alive while taking my last look at the shores of Ireland. County Down and Antrim, and Carrickfergus, lovely to behold, were soon lost in the dim distance. Farewell Ireland! The glorious beauty of thy fat valleys cannot be greener than the memory of thy brotherly kindness!

At midnight I was in the Frith of Clyde, having passed the isles of Arran and Bute, and a number of smaller ones, some of them bald, barren and uninhabited. Neither the cold Scotch mist and drizzling rain, nor severe illness, could keep me in my bed; and for a good reason—I had none! I watched with a fluttering, romantic feeling that cannot be described, for the first glimpse of Scotland. About daylight we passed Greenock, twenty miles below Glasgow. Helensburg, stretching along the green sloping meads of the Clyde, looked like a strip of Paradise, the white mansions beauti

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fully contrasting with the deep-green verdure. Along the Clyde is some of the finest table land in the world, sprinkled over with castles and wealthy seats. A few years ago, the Clyde was shallow enough to be waded; but it has been dredged so as to allow ships to pass up to Glasgow, which formerly came no farther than Greenock. Forty years ago, when a vessel of one hundred tons arrived from Liverpool, the whole city of Glasgow turned out to see such a novelty. Now, ships of a thousand tons come up. In this vicinity it is quite narrow and turbid; but the water being impregnated with iron, is very healthy. In the middle of the river, lighthouses are erected a quarter of a mile apart for miles.

But what strange dream is this? Can it be that I am awake in Scotland-the land of romance and song-of Bruce and Wallace, Thomson and Scott? The peculiar physiognomy and enunciation—everything tells me this is no dream, however strange. Although aware that Glasgow was the centre of commerce for all Scotland, I was quite astonished to see such a large and well-built city. The houses make a showy appearance, being built of a light-coloured stone, in a tastefui and ornate style. Among many handsome spires, that of the new Free Church in Argyle street is exceedingly beautiful. This long and splendid street is the Broadwaythe Fleet street-of Glasgow. "Let Glasgow flourish."

Were one's impressions derived from Dr. Johnson, (and mine were in part,) he would suppose Scotland was a poor place indeed, with little better food than oats and barley. Scotland is the "land o' cakes:" the "soda scone" can hardly be excelled. The butter, as in other parts of Britain, is of the finest flavour, beef and mutton tender and juicy, and as for bread, scarcely anywhere in Europe did I get any that was really good, except in Glasgow and at Invernaid in the Highlands! The tough, puffy, tasteless trash called bread, is sad stuff. A very cheap and healthful dish is oatmeal stirabout. In Glasgow, a good substantial breakfast, with

beef or mutton, may be had for eightpence sterling: in London the price is much higher. Still, from careful observation, with no special reference to Scotland, I should say the average price of living in the United States is about one half that of Great Britain. How the working classes contrive to live is beyond my ken. Many of them do not livethey only exist. Notwithstanding the difference of some parts, wherever I went it was my strong conviction that America is the country for the poor man.

But it is time to look out for some friends. Among a number of introductory letters I had one from Rev. Mr. Bof New-York, to Mr. Godfrey Pattison of Glasgow, who would have been pleased if I could possibly have made his residence at Helensburg my home while staying at Glasgow. Another from Mr. George Wilkie of New-York to his brother Mr. Edward Wilkie, rendered my visit to Glasgow truly delightful. The hospitality of that gentleman to an American stranger is another bright spot to which memory turns with especial pleasure. The very remarkable manner in which a kind Providence strewed my way with flowers while passing tearfully along life's rugged road, seems like a dream, and fills me with surprise. There was an air of romance, with an occasional sprinkle of wild adventure, that made many of my journeyings in Europe stranger than fiction. When shall I see such days again!

My new friend, who went with me in my ramblings, pointed out the old Tron Church, in Argyle street, which so often resounded with the eloquence of Chalmers. We visited the great cathedral a thousand years old, standing in gloomy solitude and antique magnificence. Its outside walls, and the inside of those around the spacious churchyard, were covered with ancient tombs of costly workmanship, crumbling to decay. Old Mortality might chisel away for ever at these blind records of departed glory, without discovering many of the names defaced by the storms of ten centuries.