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have been able to make them according to his pattern. And as I cannot hope to do so well, I here present the original draught, every article and every feature of which, with some additional filling up, is actually exhibited now in this romantic island :
“ Here for retreat in dangerous hour
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.
The scenery of a fairy dream.” Having emerged from this singular chaos just as the shades of night came on, we travelled ten miles to Calendar; in the morning, before breakfast, sixteen miles to Stirling; and after breakfast, twenty-eight miles to Glasgow.
And it is enough, perhaps, to say of what we passed that day, that it was the very bosom of the scenes in which the youthful imagination of Walter Scott was cradled.
NEW LANARK-FALLS OF THE CLYDE. This once, and I shall have done with Scotland. Being obliged to wait at Glasgow a day for a steam-packet to Londonderry, I undertook to discharge another duty; that is, to visit the Falls of the Clyde, which not to see, being there, would have been an offence to all taste.
The vale of the Clyde, for 30 miles above Glasgow, presents one of the finest regions of country I have seen in Great Britain, and under the highest cultivation. Aside from the falls, it is well and satisfactory to have seen it. Besides many highly-improved seats of gentlemen, the road to Lanark passes by Lord Douglass' residence and estates, and through the large possessions and by the castle of the Duke of Hamilton. I thought myself in England again, and in its most cultivated parts.
- The first fall of the Clyde, in ascending, is Stonebyres, two miles this side of the borough of Lanark, and is well described by a comparison with the fall of Genesee river, at Carthage, N.Y.; it being not a single cataract, but consisting of several leaps in a few rods, in making a descent of 80 feet. The other two falls are Corra Linn and Bonniton Linn; the former 84 feet, and the latter 30, half a mile asunder, the upper (Bonniton) being 25 miles above Lanark. Corra Linn Fall makes its descent by several leaps-Bonniton by one principally. At a high flood they must be grand and awful; and at any time are highly interesting, for the small scale of the rivers in Great Britain. Genesee river, breaking from the hills at Mount Morris, between its rocky, high, and precipitous bluffs, is not unlike this scene of the Clyde—wanting only the falls. The chasm of the latter, however, at the feet of which the waters leap into the Corra Linn, I think is more worthy to be compared to the chasm which receives Niagara's awful cataract, making allowance for the difference in magnitude. The Clyde is a small stream, and Corra Linn a little basin.
The ruins of Corra Castle stand on the verge of the lofty precipice formed by the Corra Linn Falls; and the highly-improved estates of Lord Corehouse on the west, and of Lady Mary Ross on the east of the Clyde at this point, lend great enchantment to these wonders of nature. The wild becomes thus intimate with the tame—nature joins fellowship with art; the latter imparting qualifying grace to the former, while the former loses nothing of its grandeur. The whole region of the Clyde, on either side, in the neighbourhood of Lanark, exhibits bold and majestic features, and contributes to magnify the sportful and resolute plunges of this sinuous current, breaking its passage through the rocks of Bonniton and Corra.
The waters of the Clyde are gathered up below the falls, to give life and activity, though I apprehend not excessive wealth, the nanufacturing village of New Lanark, one mile up stream, but down hill from the borough. New Lanark is a pattern of a New-England manufacturing establishment, of equal extent, employing about thirteen hundred persons in spinning cotton. It has been nearly ruined by Robert Owen's experiments. Owen began here and run out. He recommenced in Perthshire, and run out there; and we know what has been the result of his experiment in Ohio. He is now running his career in London. There are yet a few relics of his customs at New Lanark, among which is the dancing-school. Dancing is one of the classical exercises of the little ragged, dirty, barefooted children every day, as regularly as their ab, ib, ub. In passing through the different school-rooms I was introduced, among the rest, to the exhibitions of the dancing-class, and really it was ridiculous enough: two fiddlers, one blind, both sawing, like two tyros, who had never learned a note, on a corn-stalk ; fifty children, as above described, led by the most awkward fellow imaginable, who might have been taken for a beggar in London ; and all coming as near to the perfection of the art, as the worst caricatures ever given of the trainings of our own unpractised militia approach to the perfection of military tactics. Poor Robert Owen, like Fanny Wright, has become a martyr to his benevolence, and done as much good. But we must not persecute him. Positively, considering the promises of Mr. Owen's new theory of society, and regarding the dancing exhibition I saw as growing out of it, the most ingeniouslycontrived farce could not possibly have been more ridiculous.
I ought perhaps to say a word of Glasgow. After observing that it is an active and thriving commercial and manufacturing town, nearly equal in population to the city of NewYork, there is little to be added which
does not belong to an ordinary description of like things. The University is several centuries old, and very respectable, as is sufficiently known. The heart of the city is well built, and exhibits many interesting and attractive features. The Clyde runs through the city, leaving much the larger portion on the north side. The navigation of the river is constantly being improved, by stoning up the banks, in the manner of a canal, and by deepening the channel in the use of the dredge machine. The public spirit and enterprise of Glasgow are preeminent. They are a bustling and energetic community, doing with all their might what their hands find to do.
EXCURSION IN IRELAND.
A narrow escape-Dunluce Castle-Giant's Causeway–A Husband's
The wheels of the steamer in which I had taken passage from Glasgow to Londonderry had not stopped, before I was darting down the river in the Queen Adelaide, retracing forty miles of the same track I had just made. The wind had been blowing hard ever since 12 o'clock, and the sea had got to be very rough. Instead of landing at Port Rush, however, as another gentleman was to land at Port Stewart, a little further west, and understanding that I could probably accomplish my object in visiting the Giant's Causeway easier by stopping there, I consented to go ashore with him, not dreaming of the peril that awaited us.
The usual signal being given, a boat appeared off the harbour to receive us, and came alongside about half a mile from land. Those who know any thing of the contact of a small boat and a ship in a heavy swell, while the ship is lying to, need not
be told of the difficulty of passing from one to the other. Every swell dashed her against the side of the vessel, and threatened to break or swamp her. We succeeded, however, in getting down by the iron ladder, which was thrown over for the purpose-there being four men to manage the boat, and we two making six. While receiving our luggage, a heavy swell brought the rim of the boat under the end of the ladder, and dipped and filled it as quick as one could fill a teacup in a tub of water. My companion and myself sprung for the ladder, and both of us caught hold of its lower rungs by our hands. The four men, as was quite natural, attached themselves to our legs, the vessel every instant changing its position by the motion of the
For the moment, it seemed inevitable that we must all go down together. By a merciful Providence, however, the boat was not entirely filled, and a rope still connected it with the deck of the vessel. The captain and crew of the steamer being prompt, drew upon the rope, and instantly dropped several buckets to the men below, ordering them to bale out the water. The men, seeing the boat did not go down, obeyed the order, and soon changed the aspects of the
The boat was speedily lightened, and in a few moments principally cleared of water, our luggage in the meantime afloat, all except my portmanteau--which, most fortunately for me, as it contained my most valuable articles, and those most susceptible of injury by wet, was still upon deck. The danger came so suddenly, and was over so quick, that
for myself I hardly had time for a second thought. Why we did not all go down, was as much a wonder as a mercy. If the boat had sunk, as might ordinarily be expected in such a case, the probable result is too obvious; and the only reason why it did not is ascribed to the fact, that we were able to relieve it by hanging upon the ladder suspended from the side of the vessel. We finally got safe ashore -ourselves and luggage drenched in the sea.
The excitement of such an occurrence, when once the danger is past, I felt to be very useful. To have been brought, in an unexpected moment, to the very verge of the eternal world—that one is obliged to feel that he has been there, and that the merciful hand of God has been stretched out to rescue him from the abyss—stirs up all the susceptibilities of the soul, and opens the deep fountains of its feelings, as nothing else can do. I hope never to forget, and always to be thankful for, such a preservation.
In execution of my plan to see the Causeway that day, and take the mail in the evening for Belfast, I proceeded directly in a car to Colerain, four-miles,—whence, having pur on dry clothes, and ordered my wet luggage to be dried, it being early in the day, I hastened off in the same conveyance for the Giant's Causeway, ten miles from Colerain.
DUNLUCE CASTLE. “Will you go by Dunluce Castle ?" said my driver. “No, I am tired of castles.”
“It is only one mile farther; and everybody thinks it very worth seeing.”
Well, let us see it, then." The ruins of Dunluce Castle are situated on a rocky promontory, jutting into the sea about three miles west of the Causeway, and elevated perhaps 200 feet above the water. The fortress itself, when in keeping, could be approached only by a drawbridge. The ruins themselves are rather picturesque—but more remarkable on account of the pecusiar character of the place. The sea almost entirely surrounds its base, and comes dashing and foaming in over a rocky bed, as if it would wear away the eternal hills. From the west windows of the castle the shore of the sea, stretching for a mile or more, is a precipitous white cliff, exhibiting the most fantastic shapes that can be imagined, as formed by the action of the sea. Larger and smaller columns may be seen all along, standing in the water, and supporting the ends of magnificent arches, of the same material, whose other supports are merged in the cliff. I saw one arch about a mile distant, exactly after the pattern of the heaviest stone bridge—and others which reminded me of the heavy Saxon architecture of Durham Cathedral.
I had heard of a cave under this castle, and to my utter