is said that he married, about the year 1296, Marion Braidfoot, the heiress of Lamington; anyhow, it is certain that at one time the national hero* held this ancient barony. The spot is still pointed out where, descending from the heights above the Wandel Burn, a feeder of the Clyde, he cut off and captured a body of English soldiers.

The Clyde, which has here become a broad and rapid stream, turns suddenly to the north, nearly opposite the little town of Biggar. Here again we have a tradition, for it is little more, although it is not unnoticed by "Blind Harry," that a great victory was gained by Wallace on the plain through which runs the Biggar

Water. Wallace had been encamped on the side of Tinto, whose conical summit overlooks all this district. Before the fight he had entered

DOUGLAS CASTLE.

the enemy's camp disguised as a "cadger" (a seller of provisions), and in this manner. ascertained well their strength and position. But he was suspected and followed, and when he came to a bridge over the Biggar Water at the end of the town, he was compelled to turn on his pursuers. The foremost he killed, and then made good his escape. The bridge is still known as the "Cadger's Brig."

There is a broad plain which here extends between the valleys of the Clyde and the Tweed, and is traversed by the Biggar Water, a feeder of the latter river. But in flood-time the

"Of Wallace himself, of his life or temper, we know little or nothing; the very traditions of his gigantic stature and enormous strength are dim and unhistorical. But the instinct of the Scotch people has guided it aright in choosing Wallace for its national hero. He was the first to sweep aside the technicalities of feudal law, and to assert freedom as a national birthright. Amidst the despair of nobles and priests he called the people itself to arms, and his discovery of the military value of the stout peasant foot-man, who had till then been scorned by baronage and knighthood, gave a death-blow to the system of feudalism, and changed in the end the face of Europe." (J. R. Green: "Short History of the English People.")

Clyde widely overflows its banks, and much of its water is conveyed by the Biggar into the Tweed, thus connecting the two river systems. We are still surrounded by the low, grassy hills which are the special feature of all this district. But over them, on the left bank of the Clyde, towers Tinto, with its broad base, passing into a range of lower heights, and its sharply-pointed crest. Everywhere throughout Clydesdale, Tinto, the "hill of fire," as the name has been explained, is conspicuous. It is a grand beacon-height, rising to 2,432 feet above the sea, and overtopping all its neighbours. From it the eye ranges to the hills of Arran on one side and to the Bass Rock on the other. The Cheviots are, it is said, sometimes visible, and even certain prominent mountains in the north of Ireland. But

it is rarely that a northern climate allows such claims as those to be tested. The local rhyme which tells how

"On Tinto-top there is a mist,

And in the mist there is a kist,"

which kist is full of gold mysteriously guarded, is more true to the usual condition of the hill. To carry a stone to the top of Tinto was an old form of penance in this district, and the ascent of its rough and craggy sides is not altogether easy, especially if the penitent were enjoined to choose midwinter for the time of his pilgrimage. The Clyde winds and bends round the great hill, though at a considerable distance from its foot, and a line drawn across Tinto from the Kirk of Lamington would encounter the river again near its meeting with the Douglas Water :

The Maidwan Water has already joined the Clyde, but the Douglas attracts us more The old Castle of Douglas rises somewhat more than half-way up the dale;

strongly.

and here we may accept the guidance of Sir Walter himself, who visited this district before completing his last novel, "Castle Dangerous "-the name which, in the days of the Good Lord James of Douglas, had been given to the Douglas Tower-and who, in spite of failing health and power, has described the scenery with perfect accuracy.

"The remains of the old Castle of Douglas," he writes in the introduction to the story, "are inconsiderable. They consist indeed of but one ruined tower, standing at a short distance from the modern mansion, which itself is only a fragment of the design on which the Duke of Douglas meant to reconstruct the edifice after its last accidental destruction by fire. His Grace had kept in view the ancient prophecy, that as often as Douglas Castle might be destroyed it should rise again in enlarged dimensions and improved splendour; and projected a pile of building which, if it had been completed, would have much exceeded any nobleman's residence then existing in Scotland. . . . The situation is commanding, and though the duke's successors have allowed the mansion to continue as he left it, great expense has been lavished on the environs, which now present a vast sweep of richly undulated woodland, stretching to the borders of the Cairn-table mountains, repeatedly mentioned as the favourite retreat of the great ancestor of the family" (the Good Lord James) "in the days of his hardship and persecution. There remains at the head of the adjoining bourg the choir of the ancient Church of St. Bride, having beneath it the vault which was used, till lately, as the burial-place of this princely race. . . . Here a silver case, containing the dust of what was once the brave heart of Good Sir James, is still pointed out; and in the dilapidated choir above appears, though in a sorely ruinous state, the once magnificent tomb of the warrior himself."

We return to the Clyde. Before its junction with the Douglas Water more and more wood has gathered along the banks of the river, and has fringed the entrances of the tributary burns. Above, in its higher course, the banks have the true Scottish character, with broad, quiet, pastoral holms, here and there sprinkled with golden broom and with bracken, while in the hollows rise the silvery stems of a group of young birches, and on the more open hill-side the scanty relics of a once thicker wood:

"And birks, saw I three or four,

Wi' grey moss bearded o'er,

The last that are left o' the birken shaw,

Whar mony a simmer e'en

Fond lovers did convene,

Thae bonny, bonny gloamins that are lang awa.''

Now we encounter deeper wood, much of which is of comparatively recent growth; and above the coppices and plantations look in the rounded hill-masses rising gradually toward the foot of Tinto. Then, as the river bends again northward, the music of its rippling is mingled with a deeper sound. We are near Bonnington Linn, the first of the three great falls which may have given its Celtic name to the Clyde. They are truly "far heard," and in time of flood justify the verses of the ballad :

"As he rode ower yon high, high hill,

Down by yon dowie den,

The roar that was in Clyde Watèr

Wad feared five hunerd men.

THE FALLS OF THE CLYDE.

"O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud,
Your streams seem wonder strang;
Mak me your prey as I come back,
But spare me as I gang."

147

The height of the fall at Bonnington is said to be thirty feet. The river, after widening into a more extended channel, sweeps round suddenly, and flings itself over the bar of rock in two distinct falls. There is an island in the midst of the channel, reached by a light bridge. Near the fall is a "Wallace's Cave;" and in the house of Bonnington are preserved certain traditional relics of Wallace himself. There is a portrait, not more or less authentic than other so-called "presentments" of the hero; there is a broad oaken seat called "Wallace's Chair;" besides a small oaken cup, known as "Wallace's Quaigh," which indeed, judging from the verse inscribed on the silver hoop encircling the edge, hardly professes to be a personal relic:

"At Torwood I was cut from that known tree,
Where Wallace from warres toyls took sanctarie.
For Mar's sonnes I'm only now made fitt,

When with the sonnes of Bacchus they shall sitt."

The Torwood Oak has long perished. Sir Walter Scott, in his "Tales of a Grandfather," says that he had at one time made a pilgrimage to the roots of the tree.

The Bonnington Fall is highly picturesque; but it is exceeded in dignity by that of Corra Linn, which is at no great distance below it. Between the two falls the Clyde passes through a deep chasm, the sides of which are from seventy to one hundred feet high, and equidistant except where they overhang, "a stupendous natural masonry," writes Pennant. Woods stretch away from the cliffs on either side; and at Corra the stream forms three separate leaps, and then resumes its course at a level eightyfour feet below the highest fall. It is a difficult matter to get an uninterrupted view of the three falls, but from the edge of the stream this is possible, and the scene is wonderfully grand. A huge mass of broken rock projects at the side of the river. The walls of the chasm, bare and dark on one side, are on the other hung with ivy and brushwood; and their broken, irregular summits are crested with wild coppice, from which statelier trees rise at intervals. On the left bank, and almost hanging over the fall, is the ruined Tower of Corra, giving that touch of antique, human feeling to the scene, without which, in Sir Walter's judgment, the grandest natural prospect is somewhat imperfect. In the centre of the landscape foams the great white-robed waterfall, its sheets of spray contrasted sharply with the black, mysterious linn into which the waters descend. The many and very distinct sounds sent forth at the same time by a mountain cataract, are nowhere to be heard more plainly than at these falls of the Clyde. The roar is repeated, echoing and re-echoing, along the rocky walls of the ravine; and the contribution of the more slender threads of water to the general sound may sometimes be separately followed; just as in a great orchestra the ear, if it chooses, may follow the contribution of each instrument to the general harmony.

There is a slighter fall, known as Dundaff Linn, a little below Corra. The river

banks then slope more gently, sometimes covered with natural wood, sometimes cultivated to the edge, until passing Lanark on the right, the Clyde reaches its third great fall, that of Stonebyres, about four miles from Corra. As at Corra Linn, the river at Stonebyres descends in three successive falls, making together a height of seventy-six feet. The general scene is not unlike that at Corra; but after all, each of these great waterfalls has its own beauty and its own distinction. Before the Stonebyres Fall is reached, the Mouse Water has

joined the Clyde on the right bank, passing through the narrow ravine of the Cartland Crags, a deep fissure in the old red sandstone. A very picturesque view of the ravine is gained from the bottom of the steep hill above Old Lanark, where the light and beautiful bridge, constructed by the engineer Telford, forms part of the picture. The parapet of this bridge is 129 feet above the surface of the water below. There are three arches. The narrowness of the pass, the broken rock, and the contrast of its colouring with the trees and brushwood that find a support in every crevice, give unusual charm and interest to the whole of this ravine, which, with its rocky sides rising sometimes to nearly 400 feet, affords a new scene at every bend of the river. There are walks along the top of the cliffs, but a scramble by the side, and now and then along the bed of the Mouse Water, will introduce the visitor to quiet nooks and recesses of which he can see little from above; and he must as a matter of course descend to the cave, overhung with rough coppice-wood, in which, according to the story, Wallace lay for some time concealed.

CORRA LINN.

There is but little to detain us in the town of Lanark, an ancient borough, no doubt, which in the days of William the Lion could boast of its royal castle. But the castle has entirely disappeared; and the town displays few marks of antiquity. Hardly more interesting is New Lanark, a village about one mile distant from the old borough, completely surrounded by wooded hills. This is the Lanark associated with the visionary schemes of Robert Owen, and now rich in thriving cotton manufactories. But if the place itself has few points of interest, the country is full of beauty. This is the orchard district of "fruitful Clydesdale." The river widens and sparkles onward through green meadows, among