On the north side of the majestic river, there is a sodded plain, broad and unbroken, gradually rising from the water’s edge. As we view this wooded landscape o’er, we see, here and there, farmhouses, which are as picturesque and beautiful as they are quaint and old, with the smoke from their ivy-covered chimneys coiling up and ascending on high like incense from the altar of burnt offering. Turning our eyes southward, we behold, hard by the stream, a long chain of towering mountains, whose gently sloping sides are carpeted with green grass, and girt around with budding trees. The heavy rain-drops on the grass and leaves are sparkling in the light of the new-risen sun. The mountains are echoing the merry tune which comes from the whistling plowman on the opposite shore. Now, between these two prospects, on the broad and unruffled bosom of this flowing river, our heavily-laden vessel, as though she were weary because of her long journey, moves slowly, gracefully, noiselessly, with the stars and the stripes proudly streaming from her mast-head. Indeed so motionless and queenly is our goodly vessel in her onward course, that she is apparently standing still while the mountains and plains are passing in review before her. A little farther up the stream, we see Dumbarton Castle standing in the river. This historic rock measures a mile in circumference, and rises three hundred feet above the water. This castle was at one time the prison of Sir William Wallace, and afterwards the stronghold of Robert Bruce. From here on to Glasgow the Clyde is lined on both sides with iron-foundries and ship-building yards. The voyage ends at Glasgow. The passengers are glad once more to press _terra firma_ under their feet. I would write something about Glasgow, but I am like the more hopeful one of two Irishmen who went to America. Landing in New York, they started up town. They had gone only a few paces, when one of them saw a ten dollar gold piece lying on the sidewalk, and stooped to pick it up. The other said: “Oh, don’t bother to get that little coin; we will foind plenty of pieces larger than that.” CHAPTER III. THE LAND OF BURNS. English Railway Coaches—Millionaires, Crowned Heads, and Fools—A Conductor Caught on a Cow-catcher—Last Rose of Summer—Off on Foot to the Land of Burns—Appearance of Country and Condition of People—Destination Reached—Doctor Whitsitt and Oliver Twist—The Ploughman Poet—His Cottage—His Relics—His Work and Worth—His Grave and Monument—A Broad View of Life.