"But even in the darkest ages of Popery, in Scotland, their labors were not lost; and their perseverance and example, there can be little doubt, afterwards, contributed to hasten on the reformation in Scotland. “Though noticed by various writers, ashaving existed all over Britain at a very early period, the first definite accounts that can be depended Columba, generally understood to be a native of Ireland, and of royal extraction, reached Iona, or island of waves, on the west of Scotland, having perforined his perilous voyage in a curach, a wicker boat, covered with hides. He had taken with him twelve companions, who afterwards formed the council of the college of Iona; and it deserves notice that, when the Culdees formed new colleges, they uniformly adhered to the same number in imitation of the primitive apostolic number of twelve. On his first landing, he ascended several hills, to ascertain whether he could see his native country; on each of these hills he erected a heap of stones, most of which are still pointed on, of the Culdees, tell us that, in the year 662, out to tourists. And the last of these hills which he ascended is still called by the people of the island, Carnau chet reh Eirinn, or the height of the back turned to Ireland. There he founded the college, or abbey, so well known by his name; and which, considering the situation of the island, the remote period when the buildings were erected, as well as the disadvantage under which they had been undertaken, may justly be considered the greatest curiosities of the kind in the British empire. Of the interest taken in them by travellers, two remarkable examples of individuals in several respects, of not uncongenial minds, may serve as specimens: | I measured the old parish church in sight of it, some 20 feet by 12, with two windows and one door, large enough one hundred and twenty years ago, for all the pious in the environs. I also read some of the humble and dilapidated monuments around it, sculptured over with coarse symbols of departed husbands, parents, and children, indicative of more feeling than taste, of more natural affection than faith, and of more sorrow for the dead than of hope in a future and better life. In Dunfermline we had a pleasant meeting with many brethren both of the Scotch Baptists and disciples, at a love-feast, too often in modern Scotch style called a soiree. We enjoyed it much. After which we repaired to a large Relief meetinghouse, crowded to overflowing. After a few allusions to the placards, we succeeded in having a most concentrated attention till a late hour of the evening, and were glad to learn that our discourse was heard with much candour; and if it did not fully convince many, at least propitiated a more candid hearing of our plea for reformation. After enjoying the Christian hospi"We are now treading,' says Dr. Johnson, tality of brother White and his kind in his Journey to the Hebrides, that illustrious family, and on the next morning an island, which was once the luminary of the interview with some of the Elders of Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of know- the people, I made a call at the Bruce ledge and the blessings of religion. To abstract church, then in the progress of imthe mind from all local emotion would be improvement-scanned its magnificent possible, if it were endeavored, and would be pulpit, raised over the bones of King foolish, if it were possible. Whatever with- Robert Bruce-read its learned superdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future, scription, surveyed its magnificent predominate over the present, advances us in structure, and hasted to the boat the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me about to sail for Falkirk, on my way and from my friends be such frigid philosophy to Glasgow, where I arrived in due as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over time to address a congregation in the any ground, which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be evening, and to enjoy a pleasant inenvied, whose patriotism would not gain force terview with some brethren of the upon the plains of Marathon, or whose piety vicinity, amongst whom was brother would not grow warmer among the ruins of Ebenezer Allan, of Linlithgow, and other choice spirits, there being no church in the place. Next day I reached the city of Glasgow, and found myself quite at home in the Iona.' After repeatedly casting my eyes over this beautiful lake, its lonely tower, and the surrounding country, hospitable residence of brother Alexander Paton and family. Our course of lectures in Glasgow commenced in a large Presbyterian meeting-house, I know not of what denomination, on the evening of the 27th August. A large audience was in attendance. I do not wish again to allude to the tumultuous characters of the first assembly I addressed in that highly cultivated seat of learning and of the arts of modern and Christian civilization. I am, however, constrained to say it was too Ephesian for my taste; and that had the town clerk of the Asiatic metropolis been present in his official spirit and character, he would, in my opinion, doubtless, as on a former occasion, have dismissed the assembly. After the tumult ceased, however, I had an attentive congregation to the end of my series, interrupted only by my imprisonment, to which I need not again advert. On the 29th I visited Paisley, where there is a large church of intelligent and highly respectable brethren, greatly devoted to apostolic Christianity and zealous observers of the ordinances formerly delivered to the saints. We had a very pleasant day with the brethren in Paisley on my first visit. The basement story of their meetinghouse is arranged for a large diningroom. Every Lord's day the church dines together, so that from town and country all meet as one family. This custom has much to commend it. Their Lord's day dinners are thus converted into love-feasts. It would cost a church much less to dine in common, gentle and simple, rich and poor, together thus, than in their respective houses, and certainly is much more social and hospitable. There are, indeed, no sumptuous tables spread, no rich and varied courses of oppressive luxury, furnished; but there is a good substantial meal, and a few courses of thanksgiving and praise, with a little speech or report of news from some strange brother, who is always heard with interest and pleasure. We heard several of these table speeches of brethren from a distance, and were pleased with their straight forward simplicity and godly sincerity. Having been introduced to brother Ivie Campbell, Esq. of Dalzig, Cumnock, Ayrshire, then in attendance at Paisley and his excellent lady, I proposed to take an excursion with him for health to the town of Ayr, after delivering a discourse at Kilmarnock, some twenty miles from Glasgow. Brother Campbell is a fruit of the "Rice Debate." Educated in the University of Glasgow a Presbyterian and for a Presbyterian minister, the class-mate, friend, and companion of Pollok, author of the "Course of Time," he was wholly Presbyterian in spirit, education, and connections. But having got hold of that discussion, he got into the spirit of it, and could not lay it down till he fully comprehended it on every point. The result was his renunciation of Presbyterianism and his immersion in the original faith delivered by the Apostles. Farming, as he does, in patriarchal style, feeding his flocks of twelve thousand sheep, and his large herds of several hundred cattle, on some ten or twelve thousand acres, he has been able to build up a church on his own premises, of his own tenantry-shepherds and farmers. He is, indeed, altogether in earnest in contending for the faith formerly delivered to the saints-and does it very successfully for the time. Few men of his age have drunk more deeply into the spirit of original Christianity, and few are more deeply interested in its propagation and spread in the world. During a very interesting ride with him to the town of Ayr and to Burns' Monument, I learned much of Pollok, the youthful author of that very popular poem, THE COURSE OF TIME. On calling my attention to the island of Arran, as we passed in sight of it, he informed me of a Soliloquy written by Pollok while sojourning in that island, in the earlier ages of that consumption which carried him hence. The Soliloquy never having been printed, on hearing him repeat it I requested a copy of it, and having very promptly and kindly received it from him a few days afterwards, I here present it, for the first time in print, to our readers. Pollok being much alone on the mountain island of Arran, and oft dejected amid the alternations of his disease, gave utterance to a fit of melancholy, in the following words : "My soul is ill at ease, my thoughts disordered; Tortured with pain, convulsed with doubt and passion. As when against a hapless bark billows tremenduous dash, And tempest rolls on her all the fury of conflicting elements. Baffled his ev'ry plan, and stupified, the sea man's Hardy soul sinks careless down, and heedless waits The yawning desolation; so 'mid the evils which Beset my soul, she flounders on unheedful of her fate. Earth, death, and hell are conquered by Him 66 AULD We visited the town of AYR;" crossed both the old and new bridge of the "BONNY DOON;" walked round the "KIRK ALLOWAY;" and spent half an hour at Burns' Monument, standing in the midst of the beauties of Nature and Art. While there, the wind blew strong and loud, and shower succeeded shower in quick succession, so that we could not much enjoy the scene. Some familiar mementos of the poet are preserved in it :-A lock of his hair; his Testament, presented to a sister; and some specimens of his writings. The monument is neat and chaste rather than magnificent, and the grounds around it are in keeping with the monument. We also visited the cottage, and even the antique little room, some eight feet by ten, in which our poet was born, and even noted the four And must I let her thus be toss'd and scourg'd light window through which he first By the dread billows of this nether world? not be: saw the light of day. This humble cottage is still much frequented; and is, therefore, kept in its ancient neatness and simplicity. There is ever present a presiding mistress, with something to sell touching the poeta picture or a poem, as an apology for a sixpence or a shilling. The yet too much frequented Inn, bearing the motto of "Tam o'Shanter," where Burns conceived the bright idea of " John Barleycorn," yet stands in Ayr, and many an unlucky toast is yet offered to the memory of one whose genius to himself, we fear, and to many an admirer, was a misfortune, or a curse, rather than a blessing. Prostituted talent or genius is more to be regretted than financial bankruptcy and ruin, and is a greater curse to mankind than a pestilence or a famine. When we think of the many spiritual odes and sweet lyric strains of devotion-what psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs a Pindar, an Anacreon, a Horace, or a Burns, guided by the light from above, might have given to the world-what pious and joyful emotions they might have excited in disconsolate bosoms what sentiments of grateful adoration, wonder, love, and praise, they might have inspired into the minds of youth; we cannot but deplore the alienation of their minds and the prostitution of their genius to themes so ignoble, so mean, so demoralizing as those which seem to have engrossed their every thought; or, at least, to have tinctured every thing they wrote with the poison of irreverence, profanity, and licentiousness. The occasional apparently devout and beautifully expressed moral sentiments which sparkle in their lines, are but to delude more fatally and to corrupt more effectually the minds of youth, than were they never to have alluded to any thing beyond the revelry of mirth, animal passion, the arts of Cupid, the charms of Venus, or the joys of Bacchus. I could not, then, visit the monument of a Shakspere, a Scott, or a Burns, as I could those of a Milton, a Newton, a Locke, a Beattie, a Cowper, a Campbell, or a Watt. I have, indeed, great respect for human greatness, for men of great genius and great talents; but much more for great goodness, great'moral excellence. But unfortunately these are not the world's great favorites. I never read of a monument to Mary who bathed the Saviour's feet with her tears, nor to a widow that gave her two mites to the treasury of the Lord. I have seen a statue of Howard the Philanthropist, a picture of William Penn, and one of Roger Williams; but no splendid pillar nor grand monument celebrates their praise. The Duke of Wellington has more of England's glory than all the saints of the realm, and France has done more to honor Napoleon than she has done for all her moral and spiritual benefactors of a thousand years. The world needs no new lessons on the subject of honoring and rewarding its own. We had a pleasant meeting and love-feast with the brethren of Kilmarnock, and a fine audience of its citizens. On our return from Ayr we visited Irvine, dined with brother Rollo, uncle of Lord Rollo, an excellent brother, an amateur in the fine arts, greatly devoted to the cause of reformation. While in Irvine, he had the presence of mind to call my attention to the birth-place of James Montgomery, high in the list of British poets, as a religious and moral poet, and well known to many of our readers in this country as the author of "The Wanderer of Switzerland." Brother Rollo conducted me to the spot of his birth-to the room, humble, indeed, it was, as the natal spot of many a poet has been, where first he breathed the vital air, and learned the poetry of youth. Like all great poets and all great men, Montgomery was fond of liberty: hence his sympathy with the Swiss, and his beautiful verses put into the mouth of the Wanderer :— In the twilight of my day, I am hastening to the West, There my weary limbs to lay, Where the sun returns to rest. Stretch'd beneath the ev'ning sky. Silent since the world began, Unbetray'd by faithless man! Where a slave was never known; In their native land repose; Soft on mine the turf shall close. Though the mould that wraps my clay, When the storm of life is o'er, Never since creation lay On a human breast before; Yet in sweet communion there, Her poor husband's lowly bed. Through the wintry waste of years! I looked around the room, and at the old nurse who kept possession of it, with all the interest that the memory of Montgomery could awaken, and also some reminiscences of Moravian history could inspire. From Irvine we returned to Glasgow to prosecute our lectures in the city, which we did till the memorable 6th of September. On the morning of the 6th, accompanied by a few brethren and sisters, we made a visit to the Necropolis, to which we learned when entering our names at the gate, almost a million of persons had paid a visit during the preceding year. This is a vast burial field, where stands many a splendid monument, and lies many of the sainted dead. We spent a forenoon, one of the most beautiful and happy I had spent in Scotland, in conversing with the living, and yet communing with the dead. Passing over the "Bridge of Sighs," beyond the old cathedral, we reached the city of the dead. A bold and splendid arch spans Molendinar Burn, whose waters, when collected into a small dam or lake, dash violently over an artificial cascade, down a steep ravine, affording a sort of melancholy cheerfulness to the scenes around us. The statue of Knox on the summit first arrests and absorbs our attention; then those of William M'Gavin, Dr. Dick of Glasgow, and Charles Tennant of St. Rollox. The statue of Knox, on the summit, looks down upon the old cathedral, 250 feet below, in which, in my youthful days, I sometimes sat in admiration of the living doctors of that day. Around this venerable cathedral lie the crumbling memorials of five and twenty generations, amongst N which, by light of moon, I sometimes rambled, some forty years ago, at the dead hour of night, in communion with the dead. This, it is alledged, is the oldest Gothic cathedral in Scotland. The splendid gateway and delightful shrubbery every where surrounding the sculptured walks, solemnly adorned with monumental columns, greatly enhance the melancholy pleasures of a visit to this capacious and much adorned garden of the dead. If any can lift his eyes from the scenes immediately around him, either to survey the vast city of three hundred thousand inhabitants, or the surrounding country, he can have a feast of the eye of the most interesting variety, as well as of the very richest and grandest dimensions. Intersected by the broad and gently flowing Clyde, the city stretches, "in long perspective," on every sidewhile a country, beautiful and romantic, reaching to the uplands of the four shires of Lanark, Renfrew, Dumbarton, and Argyle, completes the picture, and leaves little to be added either to diversify or adorn the scene. But there was one object which more than any other interested me within these solemn and greatly ornamented precincts. It was the walledoff corner allotted to the Jews, at whose gate I sat and transcribed with my pencil these truthful and hearttouching lines, engraven on the entrance of their burial ground : Oh! weep for those who wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell; Mourn, where their God hath dwelt, the god less dwell! And where shall Zion's songs again seem sweet, |