RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND. A.D. 1803

_FIRST WEEK_

William and I parted from Mary on Sunday afternoon, August 14th 1803;

and William, Coleridge, and I left Keswick on Monday morning, the 15th,

at twenty minutes after eleven o'clock. The day was very hot; we walked

up the hills, and along all the rough road, which made our walking half

the day's journey. Travelled under the foot of Carrock, a mountain

covered with stones on the lower part; above, it is very rocky, but

sheep pasture there; we saw several where there seemed to be no grass to

tempt them. Passed the foot of Grisdale and Mosedale, both pastoral

valleys, narrow, and soon terminating in the mountains--green, with

scattered trees and houses, and each a beautiful stream. At Grisdale our

horse backed upon a steep bank where the road was not fenced, just above

a pretty mill at the foot of the valley; and we had a second threatening

of a disaster in crossing a narrow bridge between the two dales; but

this was not the fault of either man or horse. Slept at Mr.

Younghusband's public-house, Hesket Newmarket. In the evening walked to

Caldbeck Falls, a delicious spot in which to breathe out a summer's

day--limestone rocks, hanging trees, pools, and water-breaks--caves and

caldrons which have been honoured with fairy names, and no doubt

continue in the fancy of the neighbourhood to resound with fairy revels.

_Tuesday, August 16th._--Passed Rose Castle upon the Caldew, an ancient

building of red stone with sloping gardens, an ivied gateway, velvet

lawns, old garden walls, trim flower-borders with stately and luxuriant

flowers. We walked up to the house and stood some minutes watching the

swallows that flew about restlessly, and flung their shadows upon the

sunbright walls of the old building; the shadows glanced and twinkled,

interchanged and crossed each other, expanded and shrunk up, appeared

and disappeared every instant; as I observed to William and Coleridge,

seeming more like living things than the birds themselves. Dined at

Carlisle; the town in a bustle with the assizes; so many strange faces

known in former times and recognised, that it half seemed as if I ought

to know them all, and, together with the noise, the fine ladies, etc.,

they put me into confusion. This day Hatfield was condemned. I stood at

the door of the gaoler's house, where he was; William entered the house,

and Coleridge saw him; I fell into conversation with a debtor, who told

me in a dry way that he was "far over-learned," and another man observed

to William that we might learn from Hatfield's fate "not to meddle with

pen and ink." We gave a shilling to my companion, whom we found out to

be a friend of the family, a fellow-sailor with my brother John "in

Captain Wordsworth's ship." Walked upon the city walls, which are broken

down in places and crumbling away, and most disgusting from filth. The

city and neighbourhood of Carlisle disappointed me; the banks of the

river quite flat, and, though the holms are rich, there is not much

beauty in the vale from the want of trees--at least to the eye of a

person coming from England, and, I scarcely know how, but to me the

holms had not a _natural_ look; there was something townish in their

appearance, a dulness in their strong deep green. To Longtown--not very

interesting, except from the long views over the flat country; the road

rough, chiefly newly mended. Reached Longtown after sunset, a town of

brick houses belonging chiefly to the Graham family. Being in the form

of a cross and not long, it had been better called Crosstown. There are

several shops, and it is not a very small place; but I could not meet

with a silver thimble, and bought a half-penny brass one. Slept at the

Graham's Arms, a large inn. Here, as everywhere else, the people seemed

utterly insensible of the enormity of Hatfield's offences; the ostler

told William that he was quite a gentleman, paid every one genteelly,

etc. etc. He and "Mary" had walked together to Gretna Green; a heavy

rain came on when they were there; a returned chaise happened to pass,

and the driver would have taken them up; but "Mr. Hope's" carriage was

to be sent for; he did not choose to accept the chaise-driver's offer.

_Wednesday, August 17th._--Left Longtown after breakfast. About half a

mile from the town a guidepost and two roads, to Edinburgh and Glasgow;

we took the left-hand road, to Glasgow. Here saw a specimen of the

luxuriance of the heath-plant, as it grows in Scotland; it was in the

enclosed plantations--perhaps sheltered by them. These plantations

appeared to be not well grown for their age; the trees were stunted.

Afterwards the road, treeless, over a peat-moss common--the Solway Moss;

here and there an earth-built hut with its peat stack, a scanty growing

willow hedge round the kail-garth, perhaps the cow pasturing near,--a

little lass watching it,--the dreary waste cheered by the endless

singing of larks.

We enter Scotland by crossing the river Sark; on the Scotch side of the

bridge the ground is unenclosed pasturage; it was very green, and

scattered over with that yellow flowered plant which we call grunsel;

the hills heave and swell prettily enough; cattle feeding; a few corn

fields near the river. At the top of the hill opposite is Springfield, a

village built by Sir William Maxwell--a dull uniformity in the houses,

as is usual when all built at one time, or belonging to one individual,

each just big enough for two people to live in, and in which a family,

large or small as it may happen, is crammed. There the marriages are

performed. Further on, though almost contiguous, is Gretna Green, upon a

hill and among trees. This sounds well, but it is a dreary place; the

stone houses dirty and miserable, with broken windows. There is a

pleasant view from the churchyard over Solway Firth to the Cumberland

mountains. Dined at Annan. On our left as we travelled along appeared

the Solway Firth and the mountains beyond, but the near country dreary.

Those houses by the roadside which are built of stone are comfortless

and dirty; but we peeped into a clay "biggin" that was very "canny," and

I daresay will be as warm as a swallow's nest in winter. The town of

Annan made me think of France and Germany; many of the houses large and

gloomy, the size of them outrunning the comforts. One thing which was

like Germany pleased me: the shopkeepers express their calling by some

device or painting; bread-bakers have biscuits, loaves, cakes, painted

on their window-shutters; blacksmiths horses' shoes, iron tools, etc.

etc.; and so on through all trades.

Reached Dumfries at about nine o'clock--market-day; met crowds of people

on the road, and every one had a smile for us and our car.... The inn

was a large house, and tolerably comfortable; Mr. Rogers and his sister,

whom we had seen at our own cottage at Grasmere a few days before, had

arrived there that same afternoon on their way to the Highlands; but we

did not see them till the next morning, and only for about a quarter of

an hour.

_Thursday, August 18th._--Went to the churchyard where Burns is buried.

A bookseller accompanied us. He showed us the outside of Burns's house,

where he had lived the last three years of his life, and where he died.

It has a mean appearance, and is in a bye situation, whitewashed; dirty

about the doors, as almost all Scotch houses are; flowering plants in

the windows.

Went on to visit his grave. He lies at a corner of the churchyard, and

his second son, Francis Wallace, beside him. There is no stone to mark

the spot; but a hundred guineas have been collected, to be expended on

some sort of monument. "There," said the bookseller, pointing to a

pompous monument, "there lies Mr. Such-a-one"--I have forgotten his

name,--"a remarkably clever man; he was an attorney, and hardly ever

lost a cause he undertook. Burns made many a lampoon upon him, and there

they rest, as you see." We looked at the grave with melancholy and

painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses:--

Is there a man whose judgment clear

Can others teach the course to steer,

Yet runs himself life's mad career

Wild as the wave?--

Here let him pause, and through a tear

Survey this grave.

The poor Inhabitant below

Was quick to learn, and wise to know

And keenly felt the friendly glow

And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And stain'd his name.

The churchyard is full of grave-stones and expensive monuments in all

sorts of fantastic shapes--obelisk-wise, pillar-wise, etc. In speaking

of Gretna Green, I forgot to mention that we visited the churchyard. The

church is like a huge house; indeed, so are all the churches, with a

steeple, not a square tower or spire,--a sort of thing more like a

glass-house chimney than a Church of England steeple; grave-stones in

abundance, few verses, yet there were some--no texts. Over the graves of

married women the maiden name instead of that of the husband, "spouse"

instead of "wife," and the place of abode preceded by "in" instead of

"of." When our guide had left us, we turned again to Burns's house. Mrs.

Burns was gone to spend some time by the sea-shore with her children. We

spoke to the servant-maid at the door, who invited us forward, and we

sate down in the parlour. The walls were coloured with a blue wash; on

one side of the fire was a mahogany desk, opposite to the window a

clock, and over the desk a print from the _Cotter's Saturday Night_,

which Burns mentions in one of his letters having received as a present.

The house was cleanly and neat in the inside, the stairs of stone,

scoured white, the kitchen on the right side of the passage, the parlour

on the left. In the room above the parlour the poet died, and his son

after him in the same room. The servant told us she had lived five years

with Mrs. Burns, who was now in great sorrow for the death of "Wallace."

She said that Mrs. Burns's youngest son was at Christ's Hospital.

We were glad to leave Dumfries, which is no agreeable place to them who

do not love the bustle of a town that seems to be rising up to wealth.

We could think of little else but poor Burns, and his moving about on

that unpoetic ground. In our road to Brownhill, the next stage, we

passed Ellisland at a little distance on our right, his farmhouse. We

might there have had more pleasure in looking round, if we had been

nearer to the spot; but there is no thought surviving in connexion with

Burns's daily life that is not heart-depressing. Travelled through the

vale of Nith, here little like a vale, it is so broad, with irregular

hills rising up on each side, in outline resembling the old-fashioned

valances of a bed. There is a great deal of arable land; the corn ripe;

trees here and there--plantations, clumps, coppices, and a newness in

everything. So much of the gorse and broom rooted out that you wonder

why it is not all gone, and yet there seems to be almost as much gorse

and broom as corn; and they grow one among another you know not how.

Crossed the Nith; the vale becomes narrow, and very pleasant; corn

fields, green hills, clay cottages; the river's bed rocky, with woody

banks. Left the Nith about a mile and a half, and reached Brownhill, a

lonely inn, where we slept. The view from the windows was pleasing,

though some travellers might have been disposed to quarrel with it for

its general nakedness; yet there was abundance of corn. It is an open

country--open, yet all over hills. At a little distance were many

cottages among trees, that looked very pretty. Brownhill is about seven

or eight miles from Ellisland. I fancied to myself, while I was sitting

in the parlour, that Burns might have caroused there, for most likely

his rounds extended so far, and this thought gave a melancholy interest

to the smoky walls. It was as pretty a room as a thoroughly dirty one

could be--a square parlour painted green, but so covered over with smoke

and dirt that it looked not unlike green seen through black gauze. There

were three windows, looking three ways, a buffet ornamented with

tea-cups, a superfine largeish looking-glass with gilt ornaments

spreading far and wide, the glass spotted with dirt, some ordinary

alehouse pictures, and above the chimney-piece a print in a much better

style--as William guessed, taken from a painting by Sir Joshua

Reynolds--of some lady of quality, in the character of Euphrosyne. "Ay,"

said the servant-girl, seeing that we looked at it, "there's many

travellers would give a deal for that, it's more admired than any in the

house." We could not but smile; for the rest were such as may be found

in the basket of any Italian image and picture hawker.

William and I walked out after dinner; Coleridge was not well, and

slept upon the carriage cushions. We made our way to the cottages among

the little hills and knots of wood, and then saw what a delightful

country this part of Scotland might be made by planting forest trees.

The ground all over heaves and swells like a sea; but for miles there

are neither trees nor hedgerows, only "mound" fences and tracts; or

slips of corn, potatoes, clover--with hay between, and barren land; but

near the cottages many hills and hillocks covered with wood. We passed

some fine trees, and paused under the shade of one close by an old

mansion that seemed from its neglected state to be inhabited by farmers.

But I must say that many of the "gentlemen's" houses which we have

passed in Scotland have an air of neglect, and even of desolation. It

was a beech, in the full glory of complete and perfect growth, very

tall, with one thick stem mounting to a considerable height, which was

split into four "thighs," as Coleridge afterwards called them, each in

size a fine tree. Passed another mansion, now tenanted by a

schoolmaster; many boys playing upon the lawn. I cannot take leave of

the country which we passed through to-day, without mentioning that we

saw the Cumberland mountains within half a mile of Ellisland, Burns's

house, the last view we had of them. Drayton has prettily described the

connexion which this neighbourhood has with ours when he makes Skiddaw

say--

Scurfell[77] from the sky,

That Anadale[78] doth crown, with a most amorous eye,

Salutes me every day, or at my pride looks grim,

Oft threat'ning me with clouds, as I oft threat'ning him.

[Footnote 77: Criffel.--J. C. S.]

[Footnote 78: Annandale.--J. C. S.]

These lines recurred to William's memory, and we talked of Burns, and

of the prospect he must have had, perhaps from his own door, of Skiddaw

and his companions, indulging ourselves in the fancy that we _might_

have been personally known to each other, and he have looked upon those

objects with more pleasure for our sakes. We talked of Coleridge's

children and family, then at the foot of Skiddaw, and our own new-born

John a few miles behind it; while the grave of Burns's son, which we had

just seen by the side of his father, and some stories heard at Dumfries

respecting the dangers his surviving children were exposed to, filled us

with melancholy concern, which had a kind of connexion with ourselves.

In recollection of this, William long afterwards wrote the following

Address to the sons of the ill-fated poet:--

Ye now are panting up life's hill,

'Tis twilight time of good and ill,

And more than common strength and skill

Must ye display,

If ye would give the better will

Its lawful sway.

Strong-bodied if ye be to bear

Intemperance with less harm, beware,

But if your Father's wit ye share,

Then, then indeed,

Ye Sons of Burns, for watchful care

There will be need.

For honest men delight will take

To shew you favour for his sake,

Will flatter you, and Fool and Rake

Your steps pursue,

And of your Father's name will make

A snare for you.

Let no mean hope your souls enslave,

Be independent, generous, brave;

Your Father such example gave,

And such revere,

But be admonished by his grave,

And think and fear.

_Friday, August 19th._--Open country for a considerable way. Passed

through the village of Thornhill, built by the Duke of Oueensberry; the

"brother-houses" so small that they might have been built to stamp a

character of insolent pride on his own huge mansion of Drumlanrigg,

which is full in view on the opposite side of the Nith. This mansion is

indeed very large; but to us it appeared like a gathering together of

little things. The roof is broken into a hundred pieces, cupolas, etc.,

in the shape of casters, conjuror's balls, cups, and the like. The

situation would be noble if the woods had been left standing; but they

have been cut down not long ago, and the hills above and below the house

are quite bare. About a mile and a half from Drumlanrigg is a turnpike

gate at the top of a hill. We left our car with the man, and turned

aside into a field where we looked down upon the Nith, which runs far

below in a deep and rocky channel; the banks woody; the view pleasant

down the river towards Thornhill, an open country--corn fields,

pastures, and scattered trees. Returned to the turnpike house, a cold

spot upon a common, black cattle feeding close to the door. Our road led

us down the hill to the side of the Nith, and we travelled along its

banks for some miles. Here were clay cottages perhaps every half or

quarter of a mile. The bed of the stream rough with rocks; banks

irregular, now woody, now bare; here a patch of broom, there of corn,

then of pasturage; and hills green or heathy above. We were to have

given our horse meal and water at a public-house in one of the hamlets

we passed through, but missed the house, for, as is common in Scotland,

it was without a sign-board. Travelled on, still beside the Nith, till

we came to a turnpike house, which stood rather high on the hill-side,

and from the door we looked a long way up and down the river. The air

coldish, the wind strong.

We asked the turnpike man to let us have some meal and water. He had no

meal, but luckily we had part of a feed of corn brought from Keswick,

and he procured some hay at a neighbouring house. In the meantime I went

into the house, where was an old man with a grey plaid over his

shoulders, reading a newspaper. On the shelf lay a volume of the Scotch

Encyclopædia, a History of England, and some other books. The old man

was a caller by the way. The man of the house came back, and we began to

talk. He was very intelligent; had travelled all over England, Scotland,

and Ireland as a gentleman's servant, and now lived alone in that

lonesome place. He said he was tired of his bargain, for he feared he

should lose by it. And he had indeed a troublesome office, for

coal-carts without number were passing by, and the drivers seemed to do

their utmost to cheat him. There is always something peculiar in the

house of a man living alone. This was but half-furnished, yet nothing

seemed wanting for _his_ comfort, though a female who had travelled half

as far would have needed fifty other things. He had no other meat or

drink in the house but oat bread and cheese--the cheese was made with

the addition of seeds--and some skimmed milk. He gave us of his bread

and cheese, and milk, which proved to be sour.

We had yet ten or eleven miles to travel, and no food with us. William

lay under the wind in a corn-field below the house, being not well

enough to partake of the milk and bread. Coleridge gave our host a

pamphlet, "The Crisis of the Sugar Colonies"; he was well acquainted

with Burns's poems. There was a politeness and a manly freedom in this

man's manners which pleased me very much. He told us that he had served

a gentleman, a captain in the army--he did not know who he was, for none

of his relations had ever come to see him, but he used to receive many

letters--that he had lived near Dumfries till they would let him stay no

longer, he made such havoc with the game; his whole delight from morning

till night, and the long year through, was in field sports; he would be

on his feet the worst days in winter, and wade through snow up to the

middle after his game. If he had company he was in tortures till they

were gone; he would then throw off his coat and put on an old jacket not

worth half-a-crown. He drank his bottle of wine every day, and two if he

had better sport than usual. Ladies sometimes came to stay with his

wife, and he often carried them out in an Irish jaunting-car, and if

they vexed him he would choose the dirtiest roads possible, and spoil

their clothes by jumping in and out of the car, and treading upon them.

"But for all that"--and so he ended all--"he was a good fellow, and a

clever fellow, and he liked him well." He would have ten or a dozen

hares in the larder at once, he half maintained his family with game,

and he himself was very fond of eating of the spoil--unusual with true

heart-and-soul sportsmen.

The man gave us an account of his farm where he had lived, which was so

cheap and pleasant that we thought we should have liked to have had it

ourselves. Soon after leaving the turnpike house we turned up a hill to

the right, the road for a little way very steep, bare hills, with sheep.

After ascending a little while we heard the murmur of a stream far below

us, and saw it flowing downwards on our left, towards the Nith, and

before us, between steep green hills, coming along a winding valley. The

simplicity of the prospect impressed us very much. There was a single

cottage by the brook side; the dell was not heathy, but it was

impossible not to think of Peter Bell's Highland Girl.

We now felt indeed that we were in Scotland; there was a natural

peculiarity in this place. In the scenes of the Nith it had not been the

same as England, but yet not simple, naked Scotland. The road led us

down the hill, and now there was no room in the vale but for the river

and the road; we had sometimes the stream to the right, sometimes to the

left. The hills were pastoral, but we did not see many sheep; green

smooth turf on the left, no ferns. On the right the heath-plant grew in

abundance, of the most exquisite colour; it covered a whole hill-side,

or it was in streams and patches. We travelled along the vale without

appearing to ascend for some miles; all the reaches were beautiful, in

exquisite proportion, the hills seeming very high from being so near to

us. It might have seemed a valley which nature had kept to herself for

pensive thoughts and tender feelings, but that we were reminded at every

turning of the road of something beyond by the coal-carts which were

travelling towards us. Though these carts broke in upon the tranquillity

of the glen, they added much to the picturesque effect of the different

views, which indeed wanted nothing, though perfectly bare, houseless,

and treeless.

After some time our road took us upwards towards the end of the valley.

Now the steeps were heathy all around. Just as we began to climb the

hill we saw three boys who came down the cleft of a brow on our left;

one carried a fishing-rod, and the hats of all were braided with

honeysuckles; they ran after one another as wanton as the wind. I cannot

express what a character of beauty those few honeysuckles in the hats of

the three boys gave to the place: what bower could they have come from?

We walked up the hill, met two well-dressed travellers, the woman

barefoot. Our little lads before they had gone far were joined by some

half-dozen of their companions, all without shoes and stockings. They

told us they lived at Wanlockhead, the village above, pointing to the

top of the hill; they went to school and learned Latin, Virgil, and some

of them Greek, Homer, but when Coleridge began to inquire further, off

they ran, poor things! I suppose afraid of being examined.

When, after a steep ascent, we had reached the top of the hill, we saw

a village about half a mile before us on the side of another hill, which

rose up above the spot where we were, after a descent, a sort of valley

or hollow. Nothing grew upon this ground, or the hills above or below,

but heather, yet round about the village--which consisted of a great

number of huts, all alike, and all thatched, with a few larger slated

houses among them, and a single modern-built one of a considerable

size--were a hundred patches of cultivated ground, potatoes, oats, hay,

and grass. We were struck with the sight of haycocks fastened down with

aprons, sheets, pieces of sacking--as we supposed, to prevent the wind

from blowing them away. We afterwards found that this practice was very

general in Scotland. Every cottage seemed to have its little plot of

ground, fenced by a ridge of earth; this plot contained two or three

different divisions, kail, potatoes, oats, hay; the houses all standing

in lines, or never far apart; the cultivated ground was all together

also, and made a very strange appearance with its many greens among the

dark brown hills, neither tree nor shrub growing; yet the grass and the

potatoes looked greener than elsewhere, owing to the bareness of the

neighbouring hills; it was indeed a wild and singular spot--to use a

woman's illustration, like a collection of patchwork, made of pieces as

they might have chanced to have been cut by the mantua-maker, only just

smoothed to fit each other, the different sorts of produce being in such

a multitude of plots, and those so small and of such irregular shapes.

Add to the strangeness of the village itself, that we had been climbing

upwards, though gently, for many miles, and for the last mile and a half

up a steep ascent, and did not know of any village till we saw the boys

who had come out to play. The air was very cold, and one could not help

thinking what it must be in winter, when those hills, now "red brown,"

should have their three months' covering of snow.

The village, as we guessed, is inhabited by miners; the mines belong to

the Duke of Queensberry. The road to the village, down which the lads

scampered away, was straight forward. I must mention that we met, just

after we had parted from them, another little fellow, about six years

old, carrying a bundle over his shoulder; he seemed poor and half

starved, and was scratching his fingers, which were covered with the

itch. He was a miner's son, and lived at Wanlockhead; did not go to

school, but this was probably on account of his youth. I mention him

because he seemed to be a proof that there was poverty and wretchedness

among these people, though we saw no other symptom of it; and afterwards

we met scores of the inhabitants of this same village. Our road turned

to the right, and we saw, at the distance of less than a mile, a tall

upright building of grey stone, with several men standing upon the roof,

as if they were looking out over battlements. It stood beyond the

village, upon higher ground, as if presiding over it,--a kind of

enchanter's castle, which it might have been, a place where Don Quixote

would have gloried in. When we drew nearer we saw, coming out of the

side of the building, a large machine or lever, in appearance like a

great forge-hammer, as we supposed for raising water out of the mines.

It heaved upwards once in half a minute with a slow motion, and seemed

to rest to take breath at the bottom, its motion being accompanied with

a sound between a groan and "jike." There would have been something in

this object very striking in any place, as it was impossible not to

invest the machine with some faculty of intellect; it seemed to have

made the first step from brute matter to life and purpose, showing its

progress by great power. William made a remark to this effect, and

Coleridge observed that it was like a giant with one idea. At all

events, the object produced a striking effect in that place, where

everything was in unison with it--particularly the building itself,

which was turret-shaped, and with the figures upon it resembled much one

of the fortresses in the wooden cuts of Bunyan's _Holy War_.

After ascending a considerable way we began to descend again; and now

we met a team of horses dragging an immense tree to the lead mines, to

repair or add to the building, and presently after we came to a cart,

with another large tree, and one horse left in it, right in the middle

of the highway. We were a little out of humour, thinking we must wait

till the team came back. There were men and boys without number all

staring at us; after a little consultation they set their shoulders to

the cart, and with a good heave all at once they moved it, and we passed

along. These people were decently dressed, and their manners decent;

there was no hooting or impudent laughter. Leadhills, another mining

village, was the place of our destination for the night; and soon after

we had passed the cart we came in sight of it. This village and the

mines belong to Lord Hopetoun; it has more stone houses than

Wanlockhead, one large old mansion, and a considerable number of old

trees--beeches, I believe. The trees told of the coldness of the

climate; they were more brown than green--far browner than the ripe

grass of the little hay-garths. Here, as at Wanlockhead, were haycocks,

hay-stacks, potato-beds, and kail-garths in every possible variety of

shape, but, I suppose from the irregularity of the ground, it looked far

less artificial--indeed, I should think that a painter might make

several beautiful pictures in this village. It straggles down both sides

of a mountain glen. As I have said, there is a large mansion. There is

also a stone building that looks like a school, and the houses are

single, or in clusters, or rows as it may chance.

We passed a decent-looking inn, the Hopetoun Arms; but the house of

Mrs. Otto, a widow, had been recommended to us with high encomiums. We

did not then understand Scotch inns, and were not quite satisfied at

first with our accommodations, but all things were smoothed over by

degrees; we had a fire lighted in our dirty parlour, tea came after a

reasonable waiting; and the fire with the gentle aid of twilight,

burnished up the room into cheerful comfort. Coleridge was weary; but

William and I walked out after tea. We talked with one of the miners,

who informed us that the building which we had supposed to be a school

was a library belonging to the village. He said they had got a book into

it a few weeks ago, which had cost thirty pounds, and that they had all

sorts of books. "What! have you Shakespeare?" "Yes, we have that," and

we found, on further inquiry, that they had a large library, of long

standing, that Lord Hopetoun had subscribed liberally to it, and that

gentlemen who came with him were in the habit of making larger or

smaller donations. Each man who had the benefit of it paid a small sum

monthly--I think about fourpence.

The man we talked with spoke much of the comfort and quiet in which they

lived one among another; he made use of a noticeable expression, saying

that they were "very peaceable people considering they lived so much

under-ground";--wages were about thirty pounds a year; they had land for

potatoes, warm houses, plenty of coals, and only six hours' work each

day, so that they had leisure for reading if they chose. He said the

place was healthy, that the inhabitants lived to a great age; and indeed

we saw no appearance of ill-health in their countenances; but it is not

common for people working in lead mines to be healthy; and I have since

heard that it is _not_ a healthy place. However this may be, they are

unwilling to allow it; for the landlady the next morning, when I said to

her "You have a cold climate," replied, "Ay, but it is _varra

halesome_." We inquired of the man respecting the large mansion; he told

us that it was built, as we might see, in the form of an H, and belonged

to the Hopetouns, and they took their title from thence,[79] and that

part of it was used as a chapel. We went close to it, and were a good

deal amused with the building itself, standing forth in bold

contradiction of the story which I daresay every man of Leadhills tells,

and every man believes, that it is in the shape of an H; it is but half

an H, and one must be very accommodating to allow it even _so_ much, for

the legs are far too short.

[Footnote 79: There is some mistake here. The Hopetoun title was not

taken from any place in the Leadhills, much less from the house shaped

like an H.--J. C. S.]

We visited the burying-ground, a plot of land not very small, crowded

with graves, and upright grave-stones, over-looking the village and the

dell. It was now the closing in of evening. Women and children were

gathering in the linen for the night, which was bleaching by the

burn-side;--the graves overgrown with grass, such as, by industrious

culture, had been raised up about the houses; but there were bunches of

heather here and there, and with the blue-bells that grew among the

grass the small plot of ground had a beautiful and wild appearance.

William left me, and I went to a shop to purchase some thread; the woman

had none that suited me; but she would send a "_wee_ lad" to the other

shop. In the meantime I sat with the mother, and was much pleased with

her manner and conversation. She had an excellent fire, and her cottage,

though very small, looked comfortable and cleanly; but remember I saw it

only by firelight. She confirmed what the man had told us of the quiet

manner in which they lived; and indeed her house and fireside seemed to

need nothing to make it a cheerful happy spot, but health and good

humour. There was a bookishness, a certain formality in this woman's

language, which was very remarkable. She had a dark complexion, dark

eyes, and wore a very white cap, much over her face, which gave her the

look of a French woman, and indeed afterwards the women on the roads

frequently reminded us of French women, partly from the extremely white

caps of the elder women, and still more perhaps from a certain gaiety

and party-coloured appearance in their dress in general. White bed-gowns

are very common, and you rarely meet a young girl with either hat or

cap; they buckle up their hair often in a graceful manner.

I returned to the inn, and went into the kitchen to speak with the

landlady; she had made a hundred hesitations when I told her we wanted

three beds. At last she confessed she _had_ three beds, and showed me

into a parlour which looked damp and cold, but she assured me in a tone

that showed she was unwilling to be questioned further, that all _her_

beds were well aired. I sat a while by the kitchen fire with the

landlady, and began to talk to her; but, much as I had heard in her

praise--for the shopkeeper had told me she was a varra discreet woman--I

cannot say that her manners pleased me much. But her servant made

amends, for she was as pleasant and cheerful a lass as was ever seen;

and when we asked her to do anything, she answered, "Oh yes," with a

merry smile, and almost ran to get us what we wanted. She was about

sixteen years old: wore shoes and stockings, and had her hair tucked up

with a comb. The servant at Brownhill was a coarse-looking wench,

barefoot and bare-legged. I examined the kitchen round about; it was

crowded with furniture, drawers, cupboards, dish-covers, pictures, pans,

and pots, arranged without order, except that the plates were on

shelves, and the dish-covers hung in rows; these were very clean, but

floors, passages, staircase, everything else dirty. There were two beds

in recesses in the wall; above one of them I noticed a shelf with some

books:--it made me think of Chaucer's Clerke of Oxenforde:--

Liever had he at his bed's head

Twenty books clothed in black and red.

They were baking oat-bread, which they cut into quarters, and half-baked

over the fire, and half-toasted before it. There was a suspiciousness

about Mrs. Otto, almost like ill-nature; she was very jealous of any

inquiries that might appear to be made with the faintest idea of a

comparison between Leadhills and any other place, except the advantage

was evidently on the side of Leadhills. We had nice honey to breakfast.

When ready to depart, we learned that we might have seen the library,

which we had not thought of till it was too late, and we were very sorry

to go away without seeing it.

_Saturday, August 20th._--Left Leadhills at nine o'clock, regretting

much that we could not stay another day, that we might have made more

minute inquiries respecting the manner of living of the miners, and been

able to form an estimate, from our own observation, of the degree of

knowledge, health, and comfort that there was among them. The air was

keen and cold; we might have supposed it to be three months later in the

season and two hours earlier in the day. The landlady had not lighted us

a fire; so I was obliged to get myself toasted in the kitchen, and when

we set off I put on both grey cloak and spencer.

Our road carried us down the valley, and we soon lost sight of

Leadhills, for the valley made a turn almost immediately, and we saw two

miles, perhaps, before us; the glen sloped somewhat rapidly--heathy,

bare, no hut or house. Passed by a shepherd, who was sitting upon the

ground, reading, with the book on his knee, screened from the wind by

his plaid, while a flock of sheep were feeding near him among the rushes

and coarse grass--for, as we descended we came among lands where grass

grew with the heather. Travelled through several reaches of the glen,

which somewhat resembled the valley of Menock on the other side of

Wanlockhead; but it was not near so beautiful; the forms of the

mountains did not melt so exquisitely into each other, and there was a

coldness, and, if I may so speak, a want of simplicity in the surface of

the earth; the heather was poor, not covering a whole hill-side; not in

luxuriant streams and beds interveined with rich verdure; but patchy and

stunted, with here and there coarse grass and rushes. But we soon came

in sight of a spot that impressed us very much. At the lower end of this

new reach of the vale was a decayed tree, beside a decayed cottage, the

vale spreading out into a level area which was one large field, without

fence and without division, of a dull yellow colour; the vale seemed to

partake of the desolation of the cottage, and to participate in its

decay. And yet the spot was in its nature so dreary that one would

rather have wondered how it ever came to be tenanted by man, than lament

that it was left to waste and solitude. Yet the encircling hills were so

exquisitely formed that it was impossible to conceive anything more

lovely than this place would have been if the valley and hill-sides had

been interspersed with trees, cottages, green fields, and hedgerows. But

all was desolate; the one large field which filled up the area of the

valley appeared, as I have said, in decay, and seemed to retain the

memory of its connexion with man in some way analogous to the ruined

building; for it was as much of a field as Mr. King's best pasture

scattered over with his fattest cattle.

We went on, looking before us, the place losing nothing of its hold upon

our minds, when we discovered a woman sitting right in the middle of the

field, alone, wrapped up in a grey cloak or plaid. She sat motionless

all the time we looked at her, which might be nearly half an hour. We

could not conceive why she sat there, for there were neither sheep nor

cattle in the field; her appearance was very melancholy. In the meantime

our road carried us nearer to the cottage, though we were crossing over

the hill to the left, leaving the valley below us, and we perceived that

a part of the building was inhabited, and that what we had supposed to

be _one_ blasted tree was eight trees, four of which were entirely

blasted; the others partly so, and round about the place was a little

potato and cabbage garth, fenced with earth. No doubt, that woman had

been an inhabitant of the cottage. However this might be, there was so

much obscurity and uncertainty about her, and her figure agreed so well

with the desolation of the place, that we were indebted to the chance of

her being there for some of the most interesting feelings that we had

ever had from natural objects connected with man in dreary solitariness.

We had been advised to go along the _new_ road, which would have

carried us down the vale; but we met some travellers who recommended us

to climb the hill, and go by the village of Crawfordjohn as being much

nearer. We had a long hill, and after having reached the top, steep and

bad roads, so we continued to walk for a considerable way. The air was

cold and clear--the sky blue. We walked cheerfully along in the

sunshine, each of us alone, only William had the charge of the horse and

car, so he sometimes took a ride, which did but poorly recompense him

for the trouble of driving. I never travelled with more cheerful spirits

than this day. Our road was along the side of a high moor. I can always

walk over a moor with a light foot; I seem to be drawn more closely to

nature in such places than anywhere else; or rather I feel more strongly

the power of nature over me, and am better satisfied with myself for

being able to find enjoyment in what unfortunately to many persons is

either dismal or insipid. This moor, however, was more than commonly

interesting; we could see a long way, and on every side of us were

larger or smaller tracts of cultivated land. Some were extensive farms,

yet in so large a waste they did but look small, with farm-houses,

barns, etc., others like little cottages, with enough to feed a cow, and

supply the family with vegetables. In looking at these farms we had

always one feeling. Why did the plough stop there? Why might not they as

well have carried it twice as far? There were no hedgerows near the

farms, and very few trees. As we were passing along, we saw an old man,

the first we had seen in a Highland bonnet, walking with a staff at a

very slow pace by the edge of one of the moorland corn-fields; he wore a

grey plaid, and a dog was by his side. There was a scriptural solemnity

in this man's figure, a sober simplicity which was most impressive.

Scotland is the country above all others that I have seen, in which a

man of imagination may carve out his own pleasures. There are so many

_inhabited_ solitudes, and the employments of the people are so

immediately connected with the places where you find them, and their

dresses so simple, so much alike, yet, from their being folding

garments, admitting of an endless variety, and falling often so

gracefully.

After some time we descended towards a broad vale, passed one

farm-house, sheltered by fir trees, with a burn close to it; children

playing, linen bleaching. The vale was open pastures and corn-fields

unfenced, the land poor. The village of Crawfordjohn on the slope of a

hill a long way before us to the left. Asked about our road of a man who

was driving a cart; he told us to go through the village, then along

some fields, and we should come to a "herd's house by the burn side."

The highway was right through the vale, unfenced on either side; the

people of the village, who were making hay, all stared at us and our

carriage. We inquired the road of a middle-aged man, dressed in a shabby

black coat, at work in one of the hay fields; he looked like the

minister of the place, and when he spoke we felt assured that he was so,

for he was not sparing of hard words, which, however, he used with great

propriety, and he spoke like one who had been accustomed to dictate. Our

car wanted mending in the wheel, and we asked him if there was a

blacksmith in the village. "Yes," he replied, but when we showed him the

wheel he told William that he might mend it himself without a

blacksmith, and he would put him in the way; so he fetched hammer and

nails and gave his directions, which William obeyed, and repaired the

damage entirely to his own satisfaction and the priest's, who did not

offer to lend any assistance himself; not as if he would not have been

willing in case of need; but as if it were more natural for him to

dictate, and because he thought it more fit that William should do it

himself. He spoke much about the propriety of every man's lending all

the assistance in his power to travellers, and with some ostentation of

self-praise. Here I observed a honeysuckle and some flowers growing in a

garden, the first I had seen in Scotland. It is a pretty

cheerful-looking village, but must be very cold in winter; it stands on

a hillside, and the vale itself is very high ground, unsheltered by

trees.

Left the village behind us, and our road led through arable ground for

a considerable way, on which were growing very good crops of corn and

potatoes. Our friend accompanied us to show us the way, and Coleridge

and he had a scientific conversation concerning the uses and properties

of lime and other manures. He seemed to be a well-informed man; somewhat

pedantic in his manners; but this might be only the difference between

Scotch and English.[80]

[Footnote 80: Probably the Rev. John Aird, minister of the parish,

1801-1815.--J. C. S.]

Soon after he had parted from us, we came upon a stony, rough road over

a black moor; and presently to the "herd's house by the burn side." We

could hardly cross the burn dry-shod, over which was the only road to

the cottage. In England there would have been stepping-stones or a

bridge; but the Scotch need not be afraid of wetting their bare feet.

The hut had its little kail-garth fenced with earth; there was no other

enclosure--but the common, heathy with coarse grass. Travelled along the

common for some miles, before we joined the great road from Longtown to

Glasgow--saw on the bare hill-sides at a distance, sometimes a solitary

farm, now and then a plantation, and one very large wood, with an

appearance of richer ground above; but it was so very high we could not

think it possible. Having descended considerably, the common was no

longer of a peat-mossy brown heath colour, but grass with rushes was its

chief produce; there was sometimes a solitary hut, no enclosures except

the kail-garth, and sheep pasturing in flocks, with shepherd-boys

tending them. I remember one boy in particular; he had no hat on, and

only had a grey plaid wrapped about him. It is nothing to describe, but

on a bare moor, alone with his sheep, standing, as he did, in utter

quietness and silence, there was something uncommonly impressive in his

appearance, a solemnity which recalled to our minds the old man in the

corn-field. We passed many people who were mowing, or raking the grass

of the common; it was little better than rushes; but they did not mow

straight forward, only here and there, where it was the best; in such a

place hay-cocks had an uncommon appearance to us.

After a long descent we came to some plantations which were not far from

Douglas Mill. The country for some time had been growing into

cultivation, and now it was a wide vale with large tracts of corn; trees

in clumps, no hedgerows, which always make a country look bare and

unlovely. For my part, I was better pleased with the desert places we

had left behind, though no doubt the inhabitants of this place think it

"a varra bonny spot," for the Scotch are always pleased with their own

abode, be it what it may; and afterwards at Edinburgh, when we were

talking with a bookseller of our travels, he observed that it was "a

fine country near Douglas Mill." Douglas Mill is a single house, a large

inn, being one of the regular stages between Longtown and Glasgow, and

therefore a fair specimen of the best of the country inns of Scotland.

As soon as our car stopped at the door we felt the difference. At an

English inn of this size, a waiter, or the master or mistress, would

have been at the door immediately, but we remained some time before

anybody came; then a barefooted lass made her appearance, but she only

looked at us and went away. The mistress, a remarkably handsome woman,

showed us into a large parlour; we ordered mutton-chops, and I finished

my letter to Mary; writing on the same window-ledge on which William had

written to me two years before.

After dinner, William and I sat by a little mill-race in the garden. We

had left Leadhills and Wanlockhead far above us, and now were come into

a warmer climate; but there was no richness in the face of the country.

The shrubs looked cold and poor, and yet there were some very fine trees

within a little distance of Douglas Mill, so that the reason, perhaps,

why the few low shrubs and trees which were growing in the gardens

seemed to be so unluxuriant, might be, that there being no hedgerows,

the general appearance of the country was naked, and I could not help

seeing the same coldness where, perhaps, it did not exist in itself to

any great degree, for the corn crops are abundant, and I should think

the soil is not bad. While we were sitting at the door, two of the

landlady's children came out; the elder, a boy about six years old, was

running away from his little brother, in petticoats; the ostler called

out, "Sandy, tak' your wee brither wi' you"; another voice from the

window, "Sawny, dinna leave your wee brither"; the mother then came,

"Alexander, tak' your wee brother by the hand"; Alexander obeyed, and

the two went off in peace together. We were charged eightpence for hay

at this inn, another symptom of our being in Scotland. Left Douglas Mill

at about three o'clock; travelled through an open corn country, the

tracts of corn large and unenclosed. We often passed women or children

who were watching a single cow while it fed upon the slips of grass

between the corn. William asked a strong woman, about thirty years of

age, who looked like the mistress of a family--I suppose moved by some

sentiment of compassion for her being so employed,--if the cow would eat

the corn if it were left to itself: she smiled at his simplicity. It is

indeed a melancholy thing to see a full-grown woman thus waiting, as it

were, body and soul devoted to the poor beast; yet even this is better

than working in a manufactory the day through.

We came to a moorish tract; saw before us the hills of Loch Lomond, Ben

Lomond and another, distinct each by itself. Not far from the roadside

were some benches placed in rows in the middle of a large field, with a

sort of covered shed like a sentry-box, but much more like those boxes

which the Italian puppet-showmen in London use. We guessed that it was a

pulpit or tent for preaching, and were told that a sect met there

occasionally, who held that toleration was unscriptural, and would have

all religions but their own exterminated. I have forgotten what name the

man gave to this sect; we could not learn that it differed in any other

respect from the Church of Scotland. Travelled for some miles along the

open country, which was all without hedgerows, sometimes arable,

sometimes moorish, and often whole tracts covered with grunsel.[81]

There was one field, which one might have believed had been sown with

grunsel, it was so regularly covered with it--a large square field upon

a slope, its boundary marked to our eyes only by the termination of the

bright yellow; contiguous to it were other fields of the same size and

shape, one of clover, the other of potatoes, all equally regular crops.

The oddness of this appearance, the grunsel being uncommonly luxuriant,

and the field as yellow as gold, made William laugh. Coleridge was

melancholy upon it, observing that there was land enough wasted to rear

a healthy child.

[Footnote 81: Ragweed.--J. C. S.]

We left behind us, considerably to the right, a single high

mountain;[82] I have forgotten its name; we had had it long in view. Saw

before us the river Clyde, its course at right angles to our road, which

now made a turn, running parallel with the river; the town of Lanerk in

sight long before we came to it. I was somewhat disappointed with the

first view of the Clyde: the banks, though swelling and varied, had a

poverty in their appearance, chiefly from the want of wood and

hedgerows. Crossed the river and ascended towards Lanerk, which stands

upon a hill. When we were within about a mile of the town, William

parted from Coleridge and me, to go to the celebrated waterfalls.

Coleridge did not attempt to drive the horse; but led him all the way.

We inquired for the best inn, and were told that the New Inn was the

best; but that they had very "genteel apartments" at the Black Bull, and

made less charges, and the Black Bull was at the entrance of the town,

so we thought we would stop there, as the horse was obstinate and weary.

But when we came to the Black Bull we had no wish to enter the

apartments; for it seemed the abode of dirt and poverty, yet it was a

large building. The town showed a sort of French face, and would have

done much more, had it not been for the true British tinge of

coal-smoke; the doors and windows dirty, the shops dull, the women too

seemed to be very dirty in their dress. The town itself is not ugly; the

houses are of grey stone, the streets not very narrow, and the

market-place decent. The New Inn is a handsome old stone building,

formerly a gentleman's house. We were conducted into a parlour, where

people had been drinking; the tables were unwiped, chairs in disorder,

the floor dirty, and the smell of liquors was most offensive. We were

tired, however, and rejoiced in our tea.

[Footnote 82: Tinto.--J. C. S.]

The evening sun was now sending a glorious light through the street,

which ran from west to east; the houses were of a fire red, and the

faces of the people as they walked westward were almost like a

blacksmith when he is at work by night. I longed to be out, and meet

with William, that we might see the Falls before the day was gone. Poor

Coleridge was unwell, and could not go. I inquired my road, and a little

girl told me she would go with me to the porter's lodge, where I might

be admitted. I was grieved to hear that the Falls of the Clyde were shut

up in a gentleman's grounds, and to be viewed only by means of lock and

key. Much, however, as the pure feeling with which one would desire to

visit such places is disturbed by useless, impertinent, or even

unnecessary interference with nature, yet when I was there the next

morning I seemed to feel it a less disagreeable thing than in smaller

and more delicate spots, if I may use the phrase. My guide, a sensible

little girl, answered my inquiries very prettily. She was eight years

old, read in the "Collection," a book which all the Scotch children whom

I have questioned read in. I found it was a collection of hymns; she

could repeat several of Dr. Watts'. We passed through a great part of

the town, then turned down a steep hill, and came in view of a long

range of cotton mills,[83] the largest and loftiest I had ever seen;

climbed upwards again, our road leading us along the top of the left

bank of the river; both banks very steep and richly wooded. The girl

left me at the porter's lodge. Having asked after William, I was told

that no person had been there, or could enter but by the gate. The night

was coming on, therefore I did not venture to go in, as I had no hope of

meeting William. I had a delicious walk alone through the wood; the

sound of the water was very solemn, and even the cotton mills in the

fading light of evening had somewhat of the majesty and stillness of the

natural objects. It was nearly dark when I reached the inn. I found

Coleridge sitting by a good fire, which always makes an inn room look

comfortable. In a few minutes William arrived; he had heard of me at the

gate, and followed as quickly as he could, shouting after me. He was

pale and exceedingly tired.

[Footnote 83: New Lanark, Robert Owen's mills.--J. C. S.]

After he had left us he had taken a wrong road, and while looking about

to set himself right had met with a barefooted boy, who said he would go

with him. The little fellow carried him by a wild path to the upper of

the Falls, the Boniton Linn, and coming down unexpectedly upon it, he

was exceedingly affected by the solemn grandeur of the place. This fall

is not much admired or spoken of by travellers; you have never a full,

breast view of it; it does not make a complete self-satisfying place, an

abode of its own, as a perfect waterfall seems to me to do; but the

river, down which you look through a long vista of steep and ruin-like

rocks, the roaring of the waterfall, and the solemn evening lights, must

have been most impressive. One of the rocks on the near bank, even in

broad daylight, as we saw it the next morning, is exactly like the

fractured arch of an abbey. With the lights and shadows of evening upon

it, the resemblance must have been much more striking.

William's guide was a pretty boy, and he was exceedingly pleased with

him. Just as they were quitting the waterfall, William's mind being full

of the majesty of the scene, the little fellow pointed to the top of a

rock, "There's a fine slae-bush there." "Ay," said William, "but there

are no slaes upon it," which was true enough; but I suppose the child

remembered the slaes of another summer, though, as he said, he was but

"half seven years old," namely, six and a half. He conducted William to

the other fall, and as they were going along a narrow path, they came to

a small cavern, where William lost him, and looking about, saw his

pretty figure in a sort of natural niche fitted for a statue, from which

the boy jumped out laughing, delighted with the success of his trick.

William told us a great deal about him, while he sat by the fire, and of

the pleasure of his walk, often repeating, "I wish you had been with

me." Having no change, he gave the boy sixpence, which was certainly, if

he had formed any expectations at all, far beyond them; but he received

it with the utmost indifference, without any remark of surprise or

pleasure; most likely he did not know how many halfpence he could get

for it, and twopence would have pleased him more. My little girl was

delighted with the sixpence I gave her, and said she would buy a book

with it on Monday morning. What a difference between the manner of

living and education of boys and of girls among the lower classes of

people in towns! she had never seen the Falls of the Clyde, nor had ever

been further than the porter's lodge; the boy, I daresay, knew every

hiding-place in every accessible rock, as well as the fine "slae bushes"

and the nut trees.

_SECOND WEEK_

_Sunday, August 21st._--The morning was very hot, a morning to tempt us

to linger by the water-side. I wished to have had the day before us,

expecting so much from what William had seen; but when we went there, I

did not desire to stay longer than till the hour which we had prescribed

to ourselves; for it was a rule not to be broken in upon, that the

person who conducted us to the Falls was to remain by our side till we

chose to depart. We left our inn immediately after breakfast. The lanes

were full of people going to church; many of the middle-aged women wore

long scarlet cardinals, and were without hats: they brought to my mind

the women of Goslar as they used to go to church in their silver or gold

caps, with their long cloaks, black or coloured.

The banks of the Clyde from Lanerk to the Falls rise immediately from

the river; they are lofty and steep, and covered with wood. The road to

the Falls is along the top of one of the banks, and to the left you have

a prospect of the open country, corn fields and scattered houses. To the

right, over the river, the country spreads out, as it were, into a plain

covered over with hills, no one hill much higher than another, but hills

all over; there were endless pastures overgrown with broom, and

scattered trees, without hedges or fences of any kind, and no distinct

footpaths. It was delightful to see the lasses in gay dresses running

like cattle among the broom, making their way straight forward towards

the river, here and there as it might chance. They waded across the

stream, and, when they had reached the top of the opposite bank, sat

down by the road-side, about half a mile from the town, to put on their

shoes and cotton stockings, which they brought tied up in

pocket-handkerchiefs. The porter's lodge is about a mile from Lanerk,

and the lady's house--for the whole belongs to a lady, whose name I have

forgotten[84]--is upon a hill at a little distance. We walked, after we

had entered the private grounds, perhaps two hundred yards along a

gravel carriage-road, then came to a little side gate, which opened upon

a narrow gravel path under trees, and in a minute and a half, or less,

were directly opposite to the great waterfall. I was much affected by

the first view of it. The majesty and strength of the water, for I had

never before seen so large a cataract, struck me with astonishment,

which died away, giving place to more delightful feelings; though there

were some buildings that I could have wished had not been there, though

at first unnoticed. The chief of them was a neat, white, lady-like

house,[85] very near to the waterfall. William and Coleridge however

were in a better and perhaps wiser humour, and did not dislike the

house; indeed, it was a very nice-looking place, with a moderate-sized

garden, leaving the green fields free and open. This house is on the

side of the river opposite to the grand house and the pleasure-grounds.

The waterfall Cora Linn is composed of two falls, with a sloping space,

which _appears_ to be about twenty yards between, but is much more. The

basin which receives the fall is enclosed by noble rocks, with trees,

chiefly hazels, birch, and ash growing out of their sides whenever there

is any hold for them; and a magnificent resting-place it is for such a

river; I think more grand than the Falls themselves.

[Footnote 84: Lady Mary Ross.--J. C. S.]

[Footnote 85: Corehouse.--J. C. S.]

After having stayed some time, we returned by the same footpath into

the main carriage-road, and soon came upon what William calls an

ell-wide gravel walk, from which we had different views of the Linn. We

sat upon a bench, placed for the sake of one of these views, whence we

looked down upon the waterfall, and over the open country, and saw a

ruined tower, called Wallace's Tower, which stands at a very little

distance from the fall, and is an interesting object. A lady and

gentleman, more expeditious tourists than ourselves, came to the spot;

they left us at the seat, and we found them again at another station

above the Falls. Coleridge, who is always good-natured enough to enter

into conversation with anybody whom he meets in his way, began to talk

with the gentleman, who observed that it was a _majestic_ waterfall.

Coleridge was delighted with the accuracy of the epithet, particularly

as he had been settling in his own mind the precise meaning of the words

grand, majestic, sublime, etc., and had discussed the subject with

William at some length the day before. "Yes, sir," says Coleridge, "it

_is_ a majestic waterfall." "Sublime and beautiful," replied his friend.

Poor Coleridge could make no answer, and, not very desirous to continue

the conversation, came to us and related the story, laughing heartily.

The distance from one Linn to the other may be half a mile or more,

along the same ell-wide walk. We came to a pleasure-house, of which the

little girl had the key; she said it was called the Fog-house, because

it was lined with "fog," namely moss. On the outside it resembled some

of the huts in the prints belonging to Captain Cook's Voyages, and

within was like a hay-stack scooped out. It was circular, with a

dome-like roof, a seat all round fixed to the wall, and a table in the

middle,--seat, wall, roof, and table all covered with moss in the

neatest manner possible. It was as snug as a bird's nest; I wish we had

such a one at the top of our orchard, only a great deal smaller. We

afterwards found that huts of the same kind were common in the

pleasure-grounds of Scotland; but we never saw any that were so

beautifully wrought as this. It had, however, little else to recommend

it, the situation being chosen without judgment; there was no prospect

from it, nor was it a place of seclusion and retirement, for it stood

close to the ell-wide gravel walk. We wished we could have shoved it

about a hundred yards further on, when we arrived at a bench which was

also close to the walk, for just below the bench, the walk elbowing out

into a circle, there was a beautiful spring of clear water, which we

could see rise up continually, at the bottom of a round stone basin full

to the brim, the water gushing out at a little outlet and passing away

under the walk. A reason was wanted for placing the hut where it is;

what a good one would this little spring have furnished for bringing it

hither! Along the whole of the path were openings at intervals for views

of the river, but, as almost always happens in gentlemen's grounds, they

were injudiciously managed; you were prepared for a dead stand--by a

parapet, a painted seat, or some other device.

We stayed some time at the Boniton Fall, which has one great advantage

over the other falls, that it is at the termination of the

pleasure-grounds, and we see no traces of the boundary-line; yet, except

under some accidental circumstances, such as a sunset like that of the

preceding evening, it is greatly inferior to the Cora Linn. We returned

to the inn to dinner. The landlord set the first dish upon the table, as

is common in England, and we were well waited upon. This first dish was

true Scottish--a boiled sheep's head, with the hair singed off;

Coleridge and I ate heartily of it; we had barley broth, in which the

sheep's head had been boiled. A party of tourists whom we had met in the

pleasure-grounds drove from the door while we were waiting for dinner; I

guess they were fresh from England, for they had stuffed the pockets of

their carriage with bundles of heather, roots and all, just as if

Scotland grew no heather but on the banks of the Clyde. They passed away

with their treasure towards Loch Lomond. A party of boys, dressed all

alike in blue, very neat, were standing at the chaise-door; we

conjectured they were charity scholars; but found on inquiry that they

were apprentices to the cotton factory; we were told that they were well

instructed in reading and writing. We had seen in the morning a flock of

girls dressed in grey coming out of the factory, probably apprentices

also.

After dinner set off towards Hamilton, but on foot, for we had to turn

aside to the Cartland Rocks, and our car was to meet us on the road. A

guide attended us, who might almost in size, and certainly in activity,

have been compared with William's companion who hid himself in the niche

of the cavern. His method of walking and very quick step soon excited

our attention. I could hardly keep up with him; he paddled by our side,

just reaching to my shoulder, like a little dog, with his long snout

pushed before him--for he had an enormous nose, and walked with his head

foremost. I said to him, "How quick you walk!" he replied, "_That_ was

_not_ quick walking," and when I asked him what he called so, he said

"Five miles an hour," and then related in how many hours he had lately

walked from Lanerk to Edinburgh, done some errands, and returned to

Lanerk--I have forgotten the particulars, but it was a very short

time--and added that he had an old father who could walk at the rate of

four miles an hour, for twenty-four miles, any day, and had never had an

hour's sickness in his life. "Then," said I, "he has not drunk much

strong liquor?" "Yes, enough to drown him." From his eager manner of

uttering this, I inferred that he himself was a drinker; and the man who

met us with the car told William that he gained a great deal of money as

an errand-goer, but spent it all in tippling. He had been a shoe-maker,

but could not bear the confinement on account of a weakness in his

chest.

The neighbourhood of Lanerk is exceedingly pleasant; we came to a sort

of district of glens or little valleys that cleave the hills, leaving a

cheerful, open country above them, with no superior hills, but an

undulating surface. Our guide pointed to the situation of the Cartland

Crags. We were to cross a narrow valley, and walk down on the other

side, and then we should be at the spot; but the little fellow made a

sharp turn down a footpath to the left, saying, "We must have some

conversation here." He paddled on with his small pawing feet till we

came right opposite to a gentleman's house on the other side of the

valley, when he halted, repeating some words, I have forgotten what,

which were taken up by the most distinct echo I ever heard--this is

saying little: it was the most distinct echo that it is possible to

conceive. It shouted the names of our fireside friends in the very tone

in which William and Coleridge spoke; but it seemed to make a joke of

me, and I could not help laughing at my own voice, it was so shrill and

pert, exactly as if some one had been mimicking it very successfully,

with an intention of making me ridiculous. I wished Joanna had been

there to laugh, for the echo is an excellent laugher, and would have

almost made her believe that it was a true story which William has told

of her and the mountains. We turned back, crossed the valley, went

through the orchard and plantations belonging to the gentleman's house.

By the bye, we observed to our guide that the echo must bring many

troublesome visitors to disturb the quiet of the owner of that house,

"Oh no," said he, "he glories in much company." He was a native of that

neighbourhood, had made a moderate fortune abroad, purchased an estate,

built the house, and raised the plantations; and further, had made a

convenient walk through his woods to the Cartland Crags. The house was

modest and neat, and though not adorned in the best taste, and though

the plantations were of fir, we looked at it with great pleasure, there

was such true liberality and kind-heartedness in leaving his orchard

path open, and his walks unobstructed by gates. I hope this goodness is

not often abused by plunderers of the apple-trees, which were hung with

tempting apples close to the path.

At the termination of the little valley, we descended through a wood

along a very steep path to a muddy stream running over limestone rocks;

turned up to the left along the bed of the stream, and soon we were

closed in by rocks on each side. They were very lofty--of limestone,

trees starting out of them, high and low, overhanging the stream or

shooting up towards the sky. No place of the kind could be more

beautiful if the stream had been clear, but it was of a muddy yellow

colour; had it been a large river, one might have got the better of the

unpleasantness of the muddy water in the grandeur of its roaring, the

boiling up of the foam over the rocks, or the obscurity of its pools.

We had been told that the Cartland Crags were better worth going to see

than the Falls of the Clyde. I did not think so; but I have seen rocky

dells resembling this before, with clear water instead of that muddy

stream, and never saw anything like the Falls of the Clyde. It would be

a delicious spot to have near one's house; one would linger out many a

day in the cool shade of the caverns, and the stream would soothe one by

its murmuring; still, being an old friend, one would not love it the

less for its homely face. Even we, as we passed along, could not help

stopping for a long while to admire the beauty of the lazy foam, for

ever in motion, and never moved away, in a still place of the water,

covering the whole surface of it with streaks and lines and ever-varying

circles. Wild marjoram grew upon the rocks in great perfection and

beauty; our guide gave me a bunch, and said he should come hither to

collect a store for tea for the winter, and that it was "varra

halesome": he drank none else. We walked perhaps half a mile along the

bed of the river; but it might _seem_ to be much further than it was,

owing to the difficulty of the path, and the sharp and many turnings of

the glen. Passed two of Wallace's Caves. There is scarce a noted glen in

Scotland that has not a cave for Wallace or some other hero. Before we

left the river the rocks became less lofty, turned into a wood through

which was a convenient path upwards, met the owner of the house and the

echo-ground, and thanked him for the pleasure which he had provided for

us and other travellers by making such pretty pathways.

It was four o'clock when we reached the place where the car was waiting.

We were anxious to be off, as we had fifteen miles to go; but just as we

were seating ourselves we found that the cushions were missing. William

was forced to go back to the town, a mile at least, and Coleridge and I

waited with the car. It rained, and we had some fear that the evening

would be wet, but the rain soon ceased, though the sky continued

gloomy--an unfortunate circumstance, for we had to travel through a

beautiful country, and of that sort which is most set off by sunshine

and pleasant weather.

Travelled through the Vale or _Trough_ of the Clyde, as it is called,

for ten or eleven miles, having the river on our right. We had fine

views both up and down the river for the first three or four miles, our

road being not close to it, but above its banks, along the open country,

which was here occasionally intersected by hedgerows.

Left our car in the road, and turned down a field to the Fall of

Stonebyres, another of the falls of the Clyde, which I had not heard

spoken of; therefore it gave me the more pleasure. We saw it from the

top of the bank of the river at a little distance. It has not the

imposing majesty of Cora Linn; but it has the advantage of being left to

itself, a grand solitude in the heart of a populous country. We had a

prospect above and below it, of cultivated grounds, with hay-stacks,

houses, hills; but the river's banks were lonesome, steep, and woody,

with rocks near the fall.

A little further on, came more into company with the river; sometimes

we were close to it, sometimes above it, but always at no great

distance; and now the vale became more interesting and amusing. It is

very populous, with villages, hamlets, single cottages, or farm-houses

embosomed in orchards, and scattered over with gentlemen's houses, some

of them very ugly, tall and obtrusive, others neat and comfortable. We

seemed now to have got into a country where poverty and riches were

shaking hands together; pears and apples, of which the crop was

abundant, hung over the road, often growing in orchards unfenced; or

there might be bunches of broom along the road-side in an interrupted

line, that looked like a hedge till we came to it and saw the gaps.

Bordering on these fruitful orchards perhaps would be a patch, its chief

produce being gorse or broom. There was nothing like a moor or common

anywhere; but small plots of uncultivated ground were left high and low,

among the potatoes, corn, cabbages, which grew intermingled, now among

trees, now bare. The Trough of the Clyde is, indeed, a singular and very

interesting region; it is somewhat like the upper part of the vale of

Nith, but above the Nith is much less cultivated ground--without

hedgerows or orchards, or anything that looks like a rich country. We

met crowds of people coming from the kirk; the lasses were gaily

dressed, often in white gowns, coloured satin bonnets, and coloured silk

handkerchiefs, and generally with their shoes and stockings in a bundle

hung on their arm. Before we left the river the vale became much less

interesting, resembling a poor English country, the fields being large,

and unluxuriant hedges.

It had been dark long before we reached Hamilton, and William had some

difficulty in driving the tired horse through the town. At the inn they

hesitated about being able to give us beds, the house being

brim-full--lights at every window. We were rather alarmed for our

accommodations during the rest of the tour, supposing the house to be

filled with _tourists_; but they were in general only regular

travellers; for out of the main road from town to town we saw scarcely a

carriage, and the inns were empty. There was nothing remarkable in the

treatment we met with at this inn, except the lazy impertinence of the

waiter. It was a townish place, with a great larder set out; the house

throughout dirty.

_Monday, August 22nd._--Immediately after breakfast walked to the Duke

of Hamilton's house to view the picture-gallery, chiefly the famous

picture of Daniel in the Lions' Den, by Rubens. It is a large building,

without grandeur, a heavy, lumpish mass, after the fashion of the

Hopetoun H,[86] only five times the size, and with longer legs, which

makes it gloomy. We entered the gate, passed the porter's lodge, where

we saw nobody, and stopped at the front door, as William had done two

years before with Sir William Rush's family. We were met by a little

mean-looking man, shabbily dressed, out of livery, who, we found, was

the porter. After scanning us over, he told us that we ought not to have

come to that door. We said we were sorry for the mistake, but as one of

our party had been there two years before, and was admitted by the same

entrance, we had supposed it was the regular way. After many

hesitations, and having kept us five minutes waiting in the large hall,

while he went to consult with the housekeeper, he informed us that we

could not be admitted at that time, the housekeeper being unwell; but

that we might return in an hour: he then conducted us through long

gloomy passages to an obscure door at the corner of the house. We asked

if we might be permitted to walk in the park in the meantime; and he

told us that this would not be agreeable to the Duke's family. We

returned to the inn discontented enough, but resolved not to waste an

hour, if there were anything else in the neighbourhood worth seeing. The

waiter told us there was a curious place called Baroncleugh, with

gardens cut out in rocks, and we determined to go thither. We had to

walk through the town, which may be about as large as Penrith, and

perhaps a mile further, along a dusty turnpike road. The morning was

hot, sunny, and windy, and we were half tired before we reached the

place; but were amply repaid for our trouble.

[Footnote 86: The house belonging to the Earls of Hopetoun at

Leadhills, not that which bears this name about twelve miles from

Edinburgh.--J. C. S.]

The general face of the country near Hamilton is much in the ordinary

English style; not very hilly, with hedgerows, corn fields, and stone

houses. The Clyde is here an open river with low banks, and the country

spreads out so wide that there is no appearance of a regular vale.

Baroncleugh is in a beautiful deep glen through which runs the river

Avon, a stream that falls into the Clyde. The house stands very sweetly

in complete retirement; it has its gardens and terraces one above

another, with flights of steps between, box-trees and yew-trees cut in

fantastic shapes, flower-borders and summer-houses; and, still below,

apples and pears were hanging in abundance on the branches of large old

trees, which grew intermingled with the natural wood, elms, beeches,

etc., even to the water's edge. The whole place is in perfect harmony

with the taste of our ancestors, and the yews and hollies are shaven as

nicely, and the gravel walks and flower-borders kept in as exact order,

as if the spirit of the first architect of the terraces still presided

over them. The opposite bank of the river is left in its natural

wildness, and nothing was to be seen higher up but the deep dell, its

steep banks being covered with fine trees, a beautiful relief or

contrast to the garden, which is one of the most elaborate old things

ever seen, a little hanging garden of Babylon.

I was sorry to hear that the owner of this sweet place did not live

there always. He had built a small thatched house to eke out the old

one: it was a neat dwelling, with no false ornaments. We were

exceedingly sorry to quit this spot, which is left to nature and past

times, and should have liked to have pursued the glen further up; we

were told that there was a ruined castle; and the walk itself must be

very delightful; but we wished to reach Glasgow in good time, and had to

go again to Hamilton House. Returned to the town by a much shorter road,

and were very angry with the waiter for not having directed us to it;

but he was too great a man to speak three words more than he could help.

We stopped at the proper door of the Duke's house, and seated ourselves

humbly upon a bench, waiting the pleasure of the porter, who, after a

little time, informed us that we could not be admitted, giving no reason

whatever. When we got to the inn, we could just gather from the waiter

that it was not usual to refuse admittance to strangers; but that was

all: he could not, or would not, help us, so we were obliged to give it

up, which mortified us, for I had wished much to see the picture.

William vowed that he would write that very night to Lord Archibald

Hamilton, stating the whole matter, which he did from Glasgow.

I ought to have mentioned the park, though, as we were not allowed to

walk there, we saw but little of it. It looked pleasant, as all parks

with fine trees must be, but, as it seemed to be only a large, nearly

level, plain, it could not be a particularly beautiful park, though it

borders upon the Clyde, and the Avon runs, I believe, through it, after

leaving the solitude of the glen of Baroncleugh.

Quitted Hamilton at about eleven o'clock. There is nothing interesting

between Hamilton and Glasgow till we came to Bothwell Castle, a few

miles from Hamilton. The country is cultivated, but not rich, the fields

large, a perfect contrast to the huddling together of hills and trees,

corn and pasture grounds, hay-stacks, cottages, orchards, broom and

gorse, but chiefly broom, that had amused us so much the evening before

in passing through the Trough of the Clyde. A native of Scotland would

not probably be satisfied with the account I have given of the Trough of

the Clyde, for it is one of the most celebrated scenes in Scotland. We

certainly received less pleasure from it than we had expected; but it

was plain that this was chiefly owing to the unfavourable circumstances

under which we saw it--a gloomy sky and a cold blighting wind. It is a

very beautiful district, yet there, as in all the other scenes of

Scotland celebrated for their fertility, we found something which gave

us a notion of barrenness, of what was not altogether genial. The new

fir and larch plantations, here as in almost every other part of

Scotland, contributed not a little to this effect.

Crossed the Clyde not far from Hamilton, and had the river for some

miles at a distance from us, on our left; but after having gone, it

might be, three miles, we came to a porter's lodge on the left side of

the road, where we were to turn to Bothwell Castle, which is in Lord

Douglas's grounds. The woman who keeps the gate brought us a book, in

which we wrote down our names. Went about half a mile before we came to

the pleasure-grounds. Came to a large range of stables, where we were to

leave the car; but there was no one to unyoke the horse, so William was

obliged to do it himself, a task which he performed very awkwardly,

being then new to it. We saw the ruined castle embosomed in trees,

passed the house, and soon found ourselves on the edge of a steep brow

immediately above and overlooking the course of the river Clyde through

a deep hollow between woods and green steeps. We had approached at right

angles from the main road to the place over a flat, and had seen nothing

before us but a nearly level country terminated by distant slopes, the

Clyde hiding himself in his deep bed. It was exceedingly delightful to

come thus unexpectedly upon such a beautiful region.

The Castle stands nobly, overlooking the Clyde. When we came up to it I

was hurt to see that flower-borders had taken place of the natural

overgrowings of the ruin, the scattered stones and wild plants. It is a

large and grand pile, of red freestone, harmonizing perfectly with the

rocks of the river, from which, no doubt, it has been hewn. When I was a

little accustomed to the unnaturalness of a modern garden, I could not

help admiring the excessive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants,

particularly the purple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leaved creeping

plant without flowers, which scrambled up the castle wall along with the

ivy, and spread its vine-like branches so lavishly that it seemed to be

in its natural situation, and one could not help thinking that, though

not self-planted among the ruins of this country, it must somewhere have

its natural abode in such places. If Bothwell Castle had not been close

to the Douglas mansion we should have been disgusted with the

possessor's miserable conception of "adorning" such a venerable ruin;

but it is so very near to the house that of necessity the

pleasure-grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neatness

of a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to a ruin might

have made an unpleasing contrast; and besides, being within the

precincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very near to the modern

mansion of a noble family, it has forfeited in some degree its

independent majesty, and becomes a tributary to the mansion; its

solitude being interrupted, it has no longer the same command over the

mind in sending it back into past times, or excluding the ordinary

feelings which we bear about us in daily life. We had then only to

regret that the castle and house were so near to each other; and it was

impossible _not_ to regret it; for the ruin presides in state over the

river, far from city or town, as if it might have had a peculiar

privilege to preserve its memorials of past ages and maintain its own

character and independence for centuries to come.

We sat upon a bench under the high trees, and had beautiful views of

the different reaches of the river above and below. On the opposite

bank, which is finely wooded with elms and other trees, are the remains

of an ancient priory, built upon a rock: and rock and ruin are so

blended together that it is impossible to separate the one from the

other. Nothing can be more beautiful than the little remnants of this

holy place; elm trees--for we were near enough to distinguish them by

their branches--grow out of the walls, and overshadow a small but very

elegant window. It can scarcely be conceived what a grace the castle and

priory impart to each other; and the river Clyde flows on smooth and

unruffled below, seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the sober

and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over a rocky

channel, forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended gently with the

warbling of the smaller birds and chattering of the larger ones that had

made their nests in the ruins. In this fortress the chief of the English

nobility were confined after the battle of Bannockburn. If a man is to

be a prisoner, he scarcely could have a more pleasant place to solace

his captivity; but I thought that for close confinement I should prefer

the banks of a lake or the sea-side. The greatest charm of a brook or

river is in the liberty to pursue it through its windings; you can then

take it in whatever mood you like; silent or noisy, sportive or quiet.

The beauties of a brook or river must be sought, and the pleasure is in

going in search of them; those of a lake or of the sea come to you of

themselves. These rude warriors cared little perhaps about either; and

yet if one may judge from the writings of Chaucer and from the old

romances, more interesting passions were connected with natural objects

in the days of chivalry than now, though going in search of scenery, as

it is called, had not then been thought of. I had heard nothing of

Bothwell Castle, at least nothing that I remembered, therefore, perhaps,

my pleasure was greater, compared with what I received elsewhere, than

others might feel.

At our return to the stables we found an inferior groom, who helped

William to yoke the horse, and was very civil. We grew hungry before we

had travelled many miles, and seeing a large public-house--it was in a

walled court some yards from the road--Coleridge got off the car to

inquire if we could dine there, and was told we could have nothing but

eggs. It was a miserable place, very like a French house; indeed we

observed, in almost every part of Scotland, except Edinburgh, that we

were reminded ten times of France and Germany for once of England.

Saw nothing remarkable after leaving Bothwell, except the first view of

Glasgow, at some miles distance, terminated by the mountains of Loch

Lomond. The suburbs of Glasgow extend very far, houses on each side of

the highway,--all ugly, and the inhabitants dirty. The roads are very

wide; and everything seems to tell of the neighbourhood of a large town.

We were annoyed by carts and dirt, and the road was full of people, who

all noticed our car in one way or other; the children often sent a

hooting after us.

Wearied completely, we at last reached the town, and were glad to walk,

leading the car to the first decent inn, which was luckily not far from

the end of the town. William, who gained most of his road-knowledge from

ostlers, had been informed of this house by the ostler at Hamilton; it

proved quiet and tolerably cheap, a new building--the Saracen's Head. I

shall never forget how glad I was to be landed in a little quiet

back-parlour, for my head was beating with the noise of carts which we

had left, and the wearisomeness of the disagreeable objects near the

highway; but with my first pleasant sensations also came the feeling

that we were not in an English inn--partly from its half-unfurnished

appearance, which is common in Scotland, for in general the deal

wainscots and doors are unpainted, and partly from the dirtiness of the

floors. Having dined, William and I walked to the post-office, and after

much seeking found out a quiet timber-yard wherein to sit down and read

our letter. We then walked a considerable time in the streets, which are

perhaps as handsome as streets can be, which derive no particular effect

from their situation in connexion with natural advantages, such as

rivers, sea, or hills. The Trongate, an old street, is very

picturesque--high houses, with an intermixture of gable fronts towards

the street. The New Town is built of fine stone, in the best style of

the very best London streets at the west end of the town, but, not being

of brick, they are greatly superior. One thing must strike every

stranger in his first walk through Glasgow--an appearance of business

and bustle, but no coaches or gentlemen's carriages; during all the time

we walked in the streets I only saw three carriages, and these were

travelling chaises. I also could not but observe a want of cleanliness

in the appearance of the lower orders of the people, and a dulness in

the dress and outside of the whole mass, as they moved along. We

returned to the inn before it was dark. I had a bad headache, and was

tired, and we all went to bed soon.