"Sweet Teviot, by thy silver tide
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more."
As we drew near to Glasgow these illuminations increased, till the whole
air was red with the glare of them.
"What can they be?"
"Dear me," said Mr. S., in a tone of sudden recollection, "it's the iron
works! Don't you know Glasgow is celebrated for its iron works?"
So, after all, in these peaceful fires of the iron works, we got an idea
how the country might have looked in the old picturesque times, when the
Highlanders came down and set the Lowlands on fire; such scenes as are
commemorated in the words of Roderick Dhu's song:--
"Proudly our pibroch, has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
And Banmachar's groans to our slogan replied;
Glen Luss and Ross Dhu, they are smoking in ruins,
And the best of Loch Lomond lies dead on her side."
To be sure the fires of iron founderies are much less picturesque than
the old beacons, and the clink of hammers than the clash of claymores;
but the most devout worshipper of the middle ages would hardly wish to
change them.
Dimly, by the flickering light of these furnaces, we see the approach to
the old city of Glasgow. There, we are arrived! Friends are waiting in
the station house. Earnest, eager, friendly faces, ever so many. Warm
greetings, kindly words. A crowd parting in the middle, through which we
were conducted into a carriage, and loud cheers of welcome, sent a
throb, as the voice of living Scotland.
I looked out of the carriage, as we drove on, and saw, by the light of a
lantern, Argyle Street. It was past twelve o'clock when I found myself
in a warm, cozy parlor, with friends, whom I have ever since been glad
to remember. In a little time we were all safely housed in our
hospitable apartments, and sleep fell on me for the first time in
Scotland.