lingshire. The forges of the Carron Works roar on our right, and vomit their thick smoke. We now pass the plain of Falkirk, which recalls the memory of Wallace and Prince Edward. The landscape becomes invested with wood, and more and more animated and embellished as we advance. A bridge aqueduct, thrown across the road, appeared from a distance as if. it would bar our passage. This bridge appertains to the canal which unites the Forth and the Clyde. A vessel was passing it with all her sails up, and seemed to be floating through the air. But as we approached, the bridge's span enlarged, and our vehicle lightly rolled on, beneath an arch whence a few drops of water, which had filtered through its stones, fell as we past. A vaster plain now opened on our view, and naturally excited the idea of its having been the site of some great battle. Four Scotchmen, situated like myself on the top of the vehicle, immediately recognized it; and all four by common consent pronounced the name of Bannockburn. It was in fact that eminently famous plain-the Morat of Caledonia-which no Scotchman passes without a vision of the glorious shades of Bruce and his soldiers effacing the memory of the defeat of Falkirk, and reconquering the independence of the country. The theatre of the battle has been so well described by the chroniclers, Barbour, and since Barbour by Lord Hailes and Sir Walter Scott, that a single glance of the eye will suffice

to find the positions of the two armies on the plain. The eminence still exists where Maurice, the Prior of Inchastray, celebrated mass, in sight of Bruce's soldiers. The fancy requires little excitement to depict him coming, after the pious ceremony, to the front of the battle, barefooted, with a crucifix in his hand, and exhorting, in a few laconic energetic words, the sons of Scotland to fight for their rights and liberty. The Scotch knelt. "They surrender," exclaimed Edward; "see they implore pardon."-" Yes!" returned Ingebrand of Umfraville; "but not of us; they will conquer or die."

Not far from Bannockburn is Torwood, which had been the asylum of the fugitive Wallace. An old root of Wallace's tree is still pointed out near the turnpike on the road.

Before arriving at Stirling it is necessary to pass St. Ninian, an elegant town, the environs of which are daily enriched by cultivation. A mile farther, and we beheld Stirling-" the barrier of the North," as Sir Walter Scott calls it. Placed on a black, basaltic rock, which projects with a bold, almost perpendicular, escarpment towards the west, and which descends by a gentle and gradual slope towards the east, the town and castle of Stirling at first surprise the traveller by their resemblance to the old town and castle of Edinburgh.

"It is Dunedin in miniature," say the Scotch; the city is sombre and irregular; but the eye is never tired of the numerous points of view,

discovered from the height. Charles F-e waited for me two days there; he shall be my cicerone; but I might almost manage with the Lady of the Lake. It is here that this poem commences and ends.

The castle is extensive. It contains a chapel converted into an hospital, and a palace built by James V. the irregular architecture of which is adorned with grotesque statues. Stirling Castle was a royal residence as early as James I.; James II. was born there; and the hall is still shewn where the latter prince poignarded Douglas with his own hand. James V. left more auspicious reminiscences to Stirling. That prince, the FitzJames of the Lady of the Lake, cheerful and brave, haughty and gallant, affable and courteous, discovered many features of analogy to our Henry IV. Popular, like the Bearnese king, he was proud of the title of King of the Commons, which his courtiers gave him through derision. He departed as gaily to perform a chivalrous exploit, as to terminate an amorous adventure. When he disguised himself in order to supervise the administration of justice, or pay incognito court to some Gabrielle, James called himself the Farmer of Ballangiceh.

A thousand interesting localities are discovered from the heights of Stirling. Immediately beneath the citadel, is the Theatre of the Tournaments. A portion of the basalt escarpement, on which Stirling is built, has preserved the name of the Ladies Rock. These doubtless were the privileged

places. A girdle of green trees, rising one behind the other, form on that side a kind of amphitheatre, the semi-circular steps of which are little paths shaded by foliage. We stopped there for hours together to breath the pure atmosphere; but on the esplanade of the castle where nothing confines the view, an imperious feeling of admiration transports the spectator out of the inaction of reverie. The eye greedily surveys the rich details of a picture, which every where produces the grandest effect. The waters of the Forth are seen to double back repeatedly towards their source, like a serpent sporting on a meadow. The whole plain is thus partitioned into an infinitude of little peninsulas. On one arise the ruins of the Abbey of Cambus-Kenneth ; on another the eminence is crowned with foliage alone. Towards the south, the green hills of Campsie; to the north, the azure summits of the Ochill mountains; and to the north west, the gloomy and majestic Grampian mountains form the imperfect frame-work of the prospect.

From Stirling to Callander we travelled aristocratically; that is to say, in a post-chaise; but we have no right to boast of it. For a shilling a mile we were supplied with postilion, chaise, and horses. We, moreover, had resolved to travel on foot, on quitting the Trosachs; our baggage is of a portable description; our trunks precede us to Glasgow.

We next surveyed Doune, another royal castle, less remarkable now as a fortress, than as being associated with the memory of the poor Queen Mary Stuart again!-Here are the approaches of

Benvorlichand Uavar, where the stag, in the Lady of the Lake, sought an asylum on hearing the first cry of the pack. In the neighbourhood it is recollected that Sir Walter used to make frequent sojourns and excursions in these parts. We are now about to apply one of his most boasted paintings to the test of examination. We are at the foot of Ben Ledi, in the village of Callander.

The river which waters the valley of Callander bears the name of Teath; it originates a little above the village, from the union of two large brooks, one derived from Lake Voil, and the other from Lake Vennachar. The rapidity of its course appears to testify its double origin from mountains. Teath signifies in Gaelic boiling water. In fact, the Teath hurries and foams through the windings of the plain, like that part of its waters which descended, in cascade after cascade, the defiles of Leny. Its sinuosities so well delineate the circumvallations of a camp, that all antiquarians have attributed these pretended traces of castrametation to the sojourn of the Romans. The irregular breaks on the banks of the Teath are partially indicated by a curtain of trees; the country houses scattered here and there, and the cottage of the shepherd also adorn the vale. The village itself, sheltered by rocks in the form of an amphitheatre, is situated in the farther distance of the landscape where its pointed steeple gracefully displays itself. The physiogof the inhabitants begins to assume a nomy striking character. In the costume of the villagers