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gates leading to four courts and the interior of the buildings. This noble institution was founded in 1450 by Bishop Turnbull, and is the oldest of the Scottish universities except St. Andrew's. At the time of the Reformation the members, being chiefly ecclesiastics, dispersed to avoid the popular fury. Beaton, the chancelor, carried away to France all the charters and muniments of the college, as well as the images and relics belonging to the cathedral, and deposited them in the Scot's College at Paris. James VI. granted it a new charter, and bestowed upon it some valuable property. Its modern establishment consists of a chancelor, rector, dean of faculty, a principal, and eighteen professors; and the average number of students is about twelve hundred. There is but one session each year, which commences the 10th of Oct. and terminates the 1st of May. Originally the term was longer; the change was found necessary in consequence of the poverty of the students, who were unable to absent themselves so long from home, being obliged to earn means to prosecute their studies by pursuing some branch of industry for several months of the year. The library is said to contain 70,000 volumes, including the valuable collection of Dr. Simson, the translator of Euclid's Elements, and the medical works bequeathed by the celebrated Dr. Hunter; besides several curious manuscripts. The college buildings are neat and commodious. The houses of the professors are contiguous, and upon the east side of the buildings is a garden of ten acres, laid out in walks and ornamented with shrubbery. Oliver Cromwell contributed liberally toward the erection of these buildings.

After a hasty view of the college we proceeded to the old cathedral or high church. It is a most beautiful Gothic structure, and was erected by John Achaius, bishop of Glasgow, in 1123. It is three hundred and nineteen feet long, sixty-three feet broad, and ninety feet high within the walls, and has two great square towers, on one of which a spire was built about 1430, making the whole height two hundred and twenty-five feet. The other tower, it is said, was never finished, but was actually undergoing the process of completion when we were there,-a work which will occupy several years. This superb building narrowly escaped destruction from the disciples of John Knox during the days of the Reformation, and is one of only two cathedrals which survived that great struggle in all Scotland.

The interior is divided into choir, outer church, inner high church, and vaulted cemetery. The inner church and the arched roof of the adjoining vestry, supported by a single pillar, are much admired. The vaulted cemetery immediately beneath the inner church was

at one period the old barony church. “ Conceive an extensive range of low-browed, dark, and twilight vaults, such as are used for sepulchres in other countries, and had long been dedicated to the same purpose in this, a portion of which was seated with pews and used as a church. The part of the vaults thus occupied, though capable of containing a congregation of many hundreds, bore a small proportion to the darker and more extensive caverns which yawned around what may be termed the inhabited space. In these waste regions of oblivion, dusky banners and tattered escutcheons indicated the graves of those who were once, doubtless, 'princes in Israel.' Inscriptions, which could only be read by the painful antiquary in language as obsolete as the act of devotional charity which they implored, invited the passengers to pray for the souls of those whose bodies rested beneath."—Sir Walter Scott.

Looking back two hundred years, and conceiving of a congregation assembled in this gloomy place, we could well appreciate the powers of description which produced the above passage. Here is still remaining the tomb of St. Mungo, the founder and patron saint of Glasgow, at the west end of the cathedral, where it has remained ever since the year 601. And also there are here sarcophagi, or stone coffins, said to be of Druidical origin, in which the ancients buried those bodies which were not burned, -probably the bodies of kings, or other great men.

The inner church was in great confusion, being incumbered with stages and occupied by workmen, who seemed to be engaged in effecting extensive repairs. One can scarcely gaze upon this venerable pile without entering into the spirit of auld Scotch folk, who are always ready to exclaim with Andrew Fairservice :—“Ah! it's a brave kirk-nane o' yere whig-maleeries, and curliewurlies, and open-steek hems, about it-a' solid, weel-jointed mason-wark, that will stand as lang as the warld, keep hands and gun powther aff it.” Standing on the south of the cathedral you have a splendid view of the “Necropolis,” or city of the dead, from which you are separated by a deep ravine or gorge, through which murmurs a small stream of water at a great depth. You cross this deep chasm upon a stone bridge apparently as strong as the rocks upon which its arch rests. By a winding, well-finished road, you make your ascent to this place of unrivaled beauty. It is situated upon a height which commands a fine view of the city and country across the Clyde. Upon the brow of the hill is a massive monument of the great Scottish reformer, John Knox, with his Bible in his left hand, and his right raised in the attitude of preaching. There are many other fine monuments here which we cannot occupy

space to describe. The “Necropolis” is one of the most attractive places about Glasgow. In addition to the splendid monuments, it is ornamented by serpentine walks, shrubs, and flowers.

Glasgow contains many fine public buildings and other objects of interest to the visitor, which we cannot now particularly notice. We must not, however, entirely pass by “George Square,” and “ The Green.” The former is in a central position, and is tastefully ornamented. There is a monument to the memory of Sir Walter Scott,-a beautiful column eighty feet high, surmounted by a statue of Sir Walter, with a Scotch plaid shawl turned over one shoulder and then around the body under the arms, and one end hanging over the other shoulder down to the knees. This is the manner in which Scotchmen are often seen fortified against the cold. There is also a bronze statue to the memory of Jarnes Watt, and another to the memory of Sir John More. It is all in all a most lovely place to ramble and indulge in reminiscences of the past.

The Green lies on the north bank of the Clyde, south-east of the city. It includes one hundred and eighty acres, is surrounded with gravel walks, and is a fine promenade, much resorted to for health and recreation, and commands a splendid landscape view. There is an obelisk one hundred and forty-three feet high, erected to the memory of Lord Nelson; one who, we should judge, has more monuments erected to his memory in the British isles than any other, not excepting the kings and queens. And upon all these monuments must of course be inscribed the memorable words of the admiral, before the famous battle of Trafalgar :—“England expects every man to do his duty.” But as death did not spare the soldier, so the lightnings of heaven have no respect for his monument: for soon after its erection it was smitten and rent by Heaven's irresistible artillery with as little ceremony as the cedar or oak is often riven by that tremendous agency. The damage is, however, now completely repaired.

Our time was limited; but still we determined to see a little of “the highlands," and something of the beautiful “lochs” lying quietly in the basins which nature, or rather the God of nature, scooped out for their accommodation, that they might add to the beauty and variety of the scenery. As we were obliged in all our movements to consult expedition, we took a steamboat for Dumbarton on the Clyde. The scenery was diversified with plains and elevations, and clusters of buildings, or villages, of an antique appearance. Our attention was directed to a little town called Kilpatrick, said to be the birthplace of the patron saint of Ireland,

where, it is said, there is still to be seen an ancient monument erected to the memory of the old saint.

Dumbarton is a smoky old town, principally noted for its glass manufactories and castle. The castle is upon a rock which shoots up out of the bed of the Clyde to the height of five hundred and sixty feet, and seems to furnish an impregnable position for a small armed force. The rock is basaltic, is cleft at the top, and presents two peaks, with a winding way up through the cleft. It is a mile in circumference at the base, and is approached on two opposite sides. There is a building near the commencement of the cleft, where the commanding officer resides. This, with a few scattering sheep and goats climbing the crags, and picking the grass which shoots up from its slopes, seams, and crevices, are all the signs of life which we noticed about this famous rock. The situation of the castle is singularly picturesque; and upon the highest point of the right side of the cleft from the channel of the Clyde, those travelers who have time to make the ascent can luxuriate in the most magnificent views. But we had to satisfy ourselves with the pleasure of the mere imagination of the sight of Loch Lomond and the surrounding hills; the vale of the Leven, Port Glasgow, and Greenock, upon the other side of the Clyde ; and the mountains of Argyleshire, from “Wallace's Seat."

We left Dumbarton in, or rather upon the top of, an omnibus drawn by three wretchedly-jaded nags, which the merciless driver did not fail to cut and slash with his whip without a moment's intermission. The top of our vehicle was furnished with benches, some of which were disarranged by all sorts of “luggage;" among the rest, hunting and fishing apparatus, together with two miserable hounds coupled by a rope. These animals were rather restiff, and had quite frequently to be called to order, and were finally right well contented to be let down from their unwonted elevation by the nape of the neck. But neither the discomfort of our position nor the frequent stirring up of the heterogeneous mass of trumpery piled up around us, as passengers were discharged, prevented our taking a lively interest in the scenery which we passed.

We passed up the vale of the Leven, the outlet of Loch Lomond, which is no longer the rural stream apostrophized by Smollett; but "mansions, cottages, prosperous villages, plantations, and finely ornamented pleasure grounds, occur in constant succession.” The waters of this stream“ are of the most limpid purity and softness, well suited to the purposes of bleaching and print fields, with which its banks are covered.” About half way from Dumbarton to Ballock, the point where we reached the loch, we passed Dal,

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quharn House, the birthplace of Smollett. The building is small, but in a good state of preservation, and kept in a tidy condition. Upon the opposite side of the road, a little further on, is a Tuscan column terminated by a vase, erected to the memory of Smollett by a cousin-german of the same name, with an inscription in Latin by Dr. Johnson. This monument is shamefully neglected, and seems in places to be going to decay. Before reaching the loch we passed through a splendid plantation or two, and had a sight of Tillichewn Castle situated upon an eminence. It is a splendid Gothic edifice in the midst of grounds tastefully laid out and beautifully ornamented.

Upon reaching the far-famed Loch Lomond we entered the steamboat Water Witch, which was waiting for the arrival of the stages. We now turned

away eyes from the lowly vale through which we had just passed, and thought no more of mansions and castles, but directed our attention to the beautiful sheet of pure water before us, and gazed with a kind of awe upon the ranges hills and mountains which upon both sides of the loch peered up toward the heavens. We had seen mountain scenery as grand, and more picturesque, in our own country. But this lake, together with every foot of ground along its shores, had been made classic by the immortal genius of Scott; and in spite of yourself you consider the peaks, crags, and caverns, which present themselves to the eye, more as the haunts of Rob Roy Macgregor and his clan than as sublime specimens of natural scenery. But we now labored under the embarrassment of a misty atmosphere and a cold drizzling rain. But we buttoned up our box-coat to our chin, and gazed, first on one side and then on the other, as we shot up between the towering mountains and among the lovely islands which are scattered upon the bosom of this crystal sheet of water. The largest of these islands is Inchmurrin, being two miles long by one broad. It is owned by the duke of Montrose, and is converted into a deer park. There are said to be four hundred deer upon the island, some of which could be seen feeding upon the lawn with a perfect sense of security. The only human inhabitant of this island is the game-keeper. Near the west end is an old castle in ruins, once the residence of the ancient family of Lenox.

“Where the lake begins to narrow, Ben Lomond, on the eastern bank, raises its head to more than three thousand feet above the sea. Ben Lomond is a beautiful mountain, rising with a gentle ascent, and covered with fine grass to the very summit.”Penny Cyc. Indeed, all the mountains in the neighborhood of this lake, even the slopes of the rocks, every inch of them, where mold or moss

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