frequented by the fashionables of the place, who prefer walking on the Trongate, or on some of the narrow highways round the town, and leave this delicious Green (for that is the name it goes by) to be trodden almost exclusively by the feet of those whom they are pleased (in contradistinction from themselves) to call the Vulgar. But my friend remembers the old times, when the Green was the constant lounge, and has a pride in being seen walking leisurely under the ancient elms which gave shade to the more judicious worthies of a generation that has passed away. A tall Monument, in the form of an obelisk, has been erected to the memory of Lord Nelson, in the midst of this green, and contrasts itself agreeably with the level plain surface out of which it arises. Shortly after it was erected, it was struck by lightning-the top was completely shattered --and a yawning fissure points out the course of the destructive element, more than half-way down one of the sides. But it would be a difficult thing to repair this injury, and the people of Glasgow have, allowed the Monument to remain exactly as the thunder left it. It has stood for several years in this way-and, I doubt not, will stand for many centuries without any considerable alteration for the worse. In the neighbourhood of the Monument, we saw several elderly citizens playing at the old Scots game of golf. which is a kind of gigantic variety of billiards—the table being a certain space in the green, sometimes of many hundred yards in extent the holes situated here and there, at great distances -and the balls, which are made very hard, stuffed with feathers, and swung to and fro in a terrific manner, by means of long queues with elastic shafts-a fine healthy game which seems to be a mighty favourite both here and at Edinburgh. Nearer the margin of the river, which is really a very grand stream here, another wide division of the meadow seemed to be set apart for the purposes of a washing-green. It is here, upon the fine green turf, that the servant-maids of Glasgow love to spread forth their bleaching linen before the sun, wringing the sheets, and giggling and tittering at the passers by. It is here that the corporal takes his forenoon lounge, with his Waterloo medal, and perhaps enters into some interchange of repartees with the rosy and joyful dame sels; so that from less to more, he is ultimately, it may be, induced to add from among them a fifth or sixth wife, to the list of those whom he has already left weeping at Cork, at Manchester, at Hull, at Dundee, and elsewhere. In the present case, the devoted victim leans over her watering-pan, and admires his sinewy limbs, gracefully and freely exhibited beneath the scanty covering of the regimental philabeg -his spirited style of flourishing a sixpenny rattan-the knowing cock of his eye-and the readiness of his retorts -and alas! reflects not how often, and how fatally, the same fascinations may have been practised before Non sola comptos arsit adulteri If, perhaps, a shoemaker, or any other common mechanic, happens to pass the group, he is sure to be made the butt of their wit; and, in fact, appears but a poor sneaking devil for the time, although perhaps he treated them with curds and cream on Sunday last. Even a gentleman's servant figures to disadvantage—his showy livery cannot rival the regales cultus-and a lamp-lighter is execrable, and fit only to be shuddered at by these fine ladies. But, as I said before, the devoted victim thinks only of him in scarlet; and while the deep tones of his voice sink into her ears, the river appears to flow more smoothly than it ever did before; and the fields to look fresher than ever summer could make them. She remembers the day, when the news of the glorious 18th of June arrived-the enthusiasm with which her master read aloud the newspaper at the breakfast tablethe green branches that adorned the streets during the forenoon-and the charming dazzle of the windows, when she walked out to see the illumination in the evening. The remembrance of all these fine things rushes bright upon her fancy-and having once more surveyed the strapping corporal from head to foot, her fate is determined. Those of the damsels engaged in the actual occupation of washing their linen, were also worthy of some notice, on account of the peculiar way in which they go about their operations. The greater part of their work is done, not by means of the hands, but the feet, each maiden standing in her tub, and thumping below like an Italian grape-treader, her petticoats being kilted considerably above the knee, and her ivory limbs frothed over half way up, with the light foam of the ocean of suds, which their extremities agitate. Some might turn away from this exposure as somewhat indelicate-but I confess I had a pleasure in seeing it—for I consider it as an interesting relic of the fearless purity of the olden times. But, indeed, I think a group of girls washing linen, in whatever way, is always a pretty spectacle, and revives pleasing ideas, concerning the simple fashions of antiquity when the daughters of kings used to think no shame of asking their father's regal leave to go out and wash their own smocks, and the shirts of the princes their brothers-representing, too, the propriety of majesty itself making a clean appearance at the council-board.* Seeing that I could easily amuse myself in this place, my friend left me to myself, and went off to pay a visit in the town. I continued my stroll along the breezy banks of the river for a considerable space-but at length found myself a little fatigued, and sat down on one of the benches, which occur every now and then by the side of the walks. I had not sat long till I perceived a brother lounger advancing toward me from the opposite direction, in a meditative attitude; and, surveying the man, I thought I could distinguish him to be one of that class of philosophical weavers, with which the west of Scotland is known to be so plentifully stocked. Nor was I mistaken. The man edged toward * Πάππα φιλ', οὐκ ἂν δή μοι εφοπλίσσειας ἀπήνην ODYSS. Z. the bench, and soon took his place within a yard of me, with an air of infinite composure. Being seated, he cast one or two sidelong glances upon me, and then fixed his eyes in a very speculative stare upon the water, which rippled within a little distance of his feet-while I, on my part, continued less politely to study him with the eye of a traveller and a craniologist. He was tall and slender in his person, with a bend forward, acquired, no doubt, through the stooping demanded by his vocation-considerably in-kneed and splayfooted-but apparently strong enough and nervous in every part of his muscular frame. He was clad in a very respectable short coat of blue-a waistcoat of deep yellow ground, with thin purple and green stripes crossing each other upon it a pair of corduroy breeches, unbuttoned at the kneesa thick pair of worsted stockings, hanging loosely about his legs—and a dark red coloured cravat. He seemed to be a man of about fifty years of age, and when he took off his hat to cool himself, the few lank hairs which escaped from below a small striped night-cap on the top of his cranium, were evidently of the same class with those of the Ghost in Hamlet-the "sable silvered." As to his face, its language was the perfection of self-important non chalance. A bitter grin of settled scepticism seemed to be planted from his nostril on either side, down almost to the peak of his long unshorn chin-his eye-brows were scanty and scraggy, but drawn together in a cynical sort of knot-and, altogether, the personage gave one the idea of a great deal of glum shrewdness in a small way-I should have mentioned that he had a green apron (the symbol of his trade) wrapped about his middle, beneath his upper garment-and that he held a number of the Edinburgh Review, twisted hard in his left hand. "This is a hot day, friend," said I, willing to enter a little into conversation. The fellow's features involuntarily relaxed themselves a little on the greeting. and he answered very civilly, "Middling warm, sir-Ye'll have been taking a walk?""I have," said I, "and I am glad I came this way, for I think the town looks better from where we are than any where else I have been."-" Ye'll be only a stranger, sir?--Indeed, I might have kenn'd, by your lan guage, ye were fra the South." "I only came to Glasgow two days ago," said I." Glasgow's a very grand ceety noo, sir-a very grand ceety-there is no the like o't in Scotland hooever. I have seen Manchester in my time, but Glasgow clean dings baith it and Edinburgh, and I believe it does most places-we've a noble situation here, sir—a pretty river, navigable quite up to the Broomielaw, for sloops, brigs, and gabbarts, and it might be made passable quite up to Hamilton, but the folk here are keen to keep it to themselves-and it's natural it should be sae."-" The weather is, in general, very wet hereabouts?" said 1; “you have very seldom any such stretch of dry weather as the present."-" Very seldom, sir; and I think it may be dooted whether it is not lucky it is sae-the agriculturist, no question, is against the lang weets, but the commercial interest is uppermost here, sir; and what wad come of the Monkland Canal, think ye, if we had not a perpetual drizzle to keep the springs running? There's reason for a' thing, sir -if folk could see it."-"Is that the last number of the Review, friend?" said I, "has it just come out ?"—" It is the last number, sir, but it is not just come oot-I ken not how it is, but altho' I've gane every other morning to the leebrary, I've never been able to get a haud o't till yestreen --and noo that I have gotten it-I think not that muckle o't -it's very driegh.”—“ Driegh," said I, "I am sorry I don't just understand you-what's the meaning of the word, friend, if you please?-I am but a new comer, and don't yet understand the Scots quite so well as I could wish.""Troth," cried the fellow, with a most gracious smile, "it's nae wonder after a' ye shuid not tak me up-ane's sae muckle in the habit of conversing with people that knows naething but Scots, that ane really forgets what ane says when ane meets with a stranger. Driegh, ye see, means just a kind o' mixture of dryness and dreariness, like a lang road atween twa brick walls or sae-the Review's sairly fallen off-but they say Jeffrey's sae muckle ta'en up with the law that he has little time for thae things by what he used to have--and Horner, he's gane-he was a fine lad-weel worth the hail bang o'them-his report on the bullion always seemed to |