the Rover." A famous pirate of this name is said to have cut the bell from the framework, "to plague the Abbot of Aberbrotheck," and some time after to have received the just punishment of his malice by being shipwrecked on the spot. An elegant Lighthouse now stands on this rock, one hundred and fifteen feet high, and which cost $300,000. It is one of the most prominent and useful beacons on the Scottish shore. It stands twelve miles from the nearest land, and is kept by two men, who communicate with the shore in fine weather, by means of a boat.

Early in the afternoon we were landed at Aberdeen. This city ranks next to Edinburgh and Glasgow in importance, and is considered the capital of the north. It is situated on the northern bank of the river Dee, just where its waters unite with the German Ocean. The principal thoroughfare, Union street, will compare favorably with any in Britain, as far as architecture and uniformity go. It is built the whole length with a beautiful gray granite, which, from its entire uniformity, I should judge must have come from one quarry. It is a great commercial mart. Large steamers ply regularly from here to London, Leith,

and Hull. The population is upwards of 60,000 The principal public buildings are the North of Scotland Bank and Marischal College. Old Aberdeen, about a mile to the north, contains the Chathedral and King's College, to both of which I gave but a cursory examination. About a mile from Old Aberdeen, I crossed the river Don by the far-famed "Brig of Balgownie," celebrated by Lord Byron in the following lines :—

"As auld lang syne brings Scotland, one and all,

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Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills and clear streams, The Dee, the Don, Balgownie's Brig's black wall,

All my boy-feelings, all my gentler dreams,

Of what I then dreamt, cloth'd in their own pall,
Like Banquo's offspring.

"The Brig of Don," says the poet in a note, near the auld town of Aberdeen, with its one arch, and its black, deep salmon stream below, is in my memory as yesterday. I still remember, though perhaps I may misquote, the awful proverb which made me pause to cross it, and yet lean over it with a childish delight, being an only son, at least by the mother's side. The saying, as recollected by me, was thus :

"Brig of Balgownie, black 's your wa,
Wi' a wife's ae son, doon ye shall fa'!"

This bridge is said to have been built in the days of Robert the Bruce, by Bishop Cheyne. It consists of one Gothic arch, spacious and pointed, which rests on a rock at each side. It is in perfect order, and bids fair to stand many centuries

more.

Early the following day I left Aberdeen for Perth. In the cars I met a very intelligent young man, from whom I learned some interesting facts relative to the scenes through which we were passing. In the conversation, I dropped a hint which led him to suppose that I was from America. He eagerly inquired about things on the Yankee side of the water, and evinced almost New England curiosity about American affairs. A woman sitting by me, overhearing our conversation, said :— "I hear you are from America, Sir; were you ever in Canada ?" I replied in the affirmative. "ye'll maybe ken my brother Jock." I had to plead ignorance of the gentleman's acquaintance, but excused myself by saying that I had only visited that region. This was the most illiterate woman I met in Scotland. Generally I found all around me intelligent and communicative; and it was no small addition to the 15*

"Weel," says she,

182

A TRIP TO THE NORTH.

pleasure of my trip the little half-hour acquaintances which I frequently formed in passing from place to place.

I arrived at Perth about noon, and put up at the George Hotel-the same at which the Queen spent a night during one of her visits to Scotland; and it is believed that this is the only public establishment in the kingdom that was ever honored by accommodating a British sovereign with lodgings.

Perth is one of the most famous towns of Scottish history. Near it was the old Scone Palace, where the Scottish kings were crowned. It lies on the west bank of the Tay, in the middle of a spacious plain, with a plot of public ground on each side of it, called the North and South Inch. On approaching it from Edinburgh, it is seen first from a neighboring hill. The view of the town from this elevated position is one of the finest in the north. When the Roman army, endeavoring to conquer Scotland, (which, by the way, they never succeeded in doing,) arrived at the top of this hill, looking down on the lovely Tay winding through the beautiful plain, they exclaimed, with the greatest enthusiasm, "Ecce Tiber," "Ecce

MARY LUNDIE'S GRAVE.

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Campus Martius." Leaving the railway at Perth, I procured a gig to take me to Kinross, passing by the way through the Carse of Gowrie, one of the richest agricultural localities in Scotland. Afterwards, the road winds through Glenfarg, a narrow and most romantic defile of nearly five miles in extent. Kinross is on the banks of Loch Leven. In the middle of the Loch is a small island, on which stand the ruins of Loch Leven Castle, celebrated for being the prison-house of Mary Queen of Scots. The little village of Kinneswood, on the north-east shore of the Lake, was the birth-place of Michael Bruce, the poet, author of those beautiful and well known verses, entitled, an Ode to the Cuckoo." He died at the age of twenty-one, before his poetical genius was fully matured. Three miles from Kinross lies the parish of Cleish, where the sainted Mary Lundie spent the closing years of her life, and in the churchyard of which lie her mortal remains.

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It had just cleared off, after a violent shower, when two friends and myself, friends too of Mary's, set out to visit the parish, of which she was so long the ornament. As we drove along, the sun burst forth, shedding a lustre of glory on the dis