title upon the comrades of Julian in his Persian | most fearful lesson extant of the great moral, expedition than the Surena's master. And there that crime propagates crime, and violence inherits are many cases extant in which the word angel violence; nay, a lesson on the awful necessity which strikes a deeper key, cases where power is con- exists at times, that one tremendous wrong should templated as well as beauty or mysterious exis- blindly reproduce itself in endless retaliatory tence, than the word archangel, though confessedly wrongs. To have resisted the dread temptation, higher in the hierarchies of Heaven. would have needed an angel's nature: to have yielded, is but human; should it, then, plead in vain for pardon? and yet, by some mystery of evil, to have perfected this human vengeance, is, finally, to land all parties alike, oppressor and oppressed, in the passions of hell. Let me now draw the reader's attention to Count Julian, a great conception of Mr. Landor's. The fable of Count Julian (that is, when comprehending all the parties to that web, of which he is the centre) may be pronounced the grandest which modern history unfolds. It is, and it is not, scenical. In some portions (as the fate so mysterious of Roderick, and in a higher sense of Julian) it rises as much above what the stage could illustrate, as does Thermopylæ above the petty details of narration. The man was mad that, instead of breathing from a hurricane of harps some mighty ode over Thermopyla, fancied the little conceit of weaving it into a metrical novel or succession of incidents. Yet, on the other hand, though rising higher, Count Julian sinks lower: though the passions rise far above Troy, above Marathon, above Thermopylæ, and are such passions as could not have existed under Paganism; in some respects they condesend and preconform to the stage. The characters are all different, all marked, all in position; | who speaks:-Tarik, the gallant Moor, having by which, never assuming fixed attitudes as to said that at last the Count must be happy; for purpose and interest, the passions are deliriously that complex, and the situations are of corresponding "Delicious calm grandeur. Metius Fuffetius, Alban traitor! that Follows the fierce enjoyment of revenge." vert torn limb from limb by antagonist yet con- Hernando replies thus:-federate chariots, thy tortures, seen by shuddering armies, were not comparable to the unseen tortures in Count Julian's mind; who-whether his treason prospered or not, whether his dear traged daughter lived or died, whether his king were trampled in the dust by the horses of infidels, or escaped as a wreck from the fiery struggle, whether his dear native Spain fell for ages under misbelieving hounds, or, combining her strength, tossed off them, but then also him Mr. Landor, who always rises with his subject, and dilates like Satan into Teneriffe or Atlas, when he sees before him an antagonist worthy of his powers, is probably the one man in Europe that has adequately conceived the situation, the stern self-dependency and the monumental misery of Count Julian. That sublimity of penitential grief, which cannot accept consolation from man, cannot hear external reproach, cannot condescend to notice insult, cannot so much as see the curiosity of by-standers; that awful carelessness of all but the troubled deeps within his own heart, and of God's spirit brooding upon their surface, and searching their abysses, never was so majestically described as in the following lines; it is the noble Spaniard, Hernando, comprehending and loving Count Julian in the midst of his treasons, lf, with one loathing from her shores-saw, as he looked out into the mighty darkness, and stretched out his penitential hands vainly for pity or for pardon, nothing but the blackness of rain, and rain that was too probably to career through centuries. "To this pass," as Cæsar said to his soldiers at Pharsalia, "had his enemies reduced him;" and Count Julian might truly say, as he stretched himself a rueful suppliant before the Cross, listening to the havoc that was driving onwards before the dogs of the Crescent, "My enemies, because they would not remember that I was a man, forced me to forget that I was a Spaniard :-to forget thee, oh native Spain, and, alas! thee, oh faith of Christ!" The story is wrapt in gigantic mists, and looms upon one like the Grecian fable of Edipus; and there will be great reason for disgust, if the deep Arabic researches now going on in the Escurial, or at Vienna, should succeed in stripping it of its grandeurs. For, as it stands at present, it is the "That calm was never his; no other will be, In the cold light above the dews of morn." Beyond the arrows, shouts, and views of men”were transferred to the secondary object, the eagle, placed after what is now the last line, it would give a fuller rhythmus to the close of the entire passage; it would be more literally applicable to the majestic and solitary bird, than to the majestic and solitary man; whilst a figurative expression even more impassioned might be found for the utter self-absorption of Count Julian's spirit-too grandly sorrowful to be capable of disdain. It completes the picture of this ruined prince, that Hernando, the sole friend (except his daughter) still cleaving to him, dwells with yearning desire upon his death, knowing the necessity of this consummation to his own secret desires, knowing the forgiveness which would settle upon his memory after that last penalty should have been paid for his errors, comprehending the peace that would then swallow up the storm: For his own sake I could endure his loss, It is no satisfaction to Hernando that Julian should" yearn for death with speechless love," but Julian does so: and it is in vain now, amongst these irreparable ruins, to wish it otherwise. "Tis not my solace that 'tis his desire: Of all who pass us in life's drear descent We grieve the most for those who wish'd to die." How much, then, is in this brief drama of Count Julian, chiseled, as one might think, by the hands of that sculptor who fancied the great idea of chiseling Mount Athos into a demigod, which almost insists on being quoted; which seems to rebuke and frown upon one for not quoting it: passages to which, for their solemn grandeur, one raises one's hat as at night in walking under the Coliseum; passages which, for their luxury of loveliness, should be inscribed on the phylactories of brides, or upon the frescoes of Ionia, illustrated by the gorgeous allegories of Rubens. "Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus, Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore.' Yet, reader, in spite of time, one word more on the subject we are quitting. Father Time is certainly become very importunate and clamo *"'Tis":-Scotchmen and Irishmen (for a reason which it may be elsewhere worth while explaining) make the same mistake of supposing 'tis and 'twas admissible in prose: which is shocking to an English ear, for since 1740 they have become essentially poetic forms, and cannot, without a sense of painful affectation and sentimentality, be used in conversation or in any mode of prose. Mr. Landor does not make that mistake, but the reduplication of the 'tis in this line, will he permit me to say? is dreadful. He is wide awake to such blemishes in other men of all nations: so am I. He blazes away all day long against the trespasses of that class, like a man in spring protecting corn-fields against birds. So do I at times. And if ever I publish that work on Style, which for years has been in preparation, I fear that, from Mr. Landor, it will be necessary to cull some striking flaws in composition, were it only that in his works must be sought some of its most striking brilliancies. rously shrill since he has been fitted up with that horrid railway whistle; and even old Mother Space is growing rather impertinent, when she speaks out of monthly journals licensed to carry but small quantities of bulky goods; yet one thing I must say in spite of them both. com gr ** It is, that although we have had from men of memorable genius, Shelley in particular, both direct and indirect attempts (some of them powerful attempts) to realise the great idea of Prometheus, which idea is so great, that (like the primeval majesties of Human Innocence, of avenging Deluges that are past, of Fiery visitations yet to come) it has had strength to pass through many climates, and through many religions, without essential loss, but surviving, without tarnish, every furnace of chance and change; so it is that, after all has been done which intellectual power could do since Eschylus (and since, Milton in his Satan), no embodiment of the Promethean situation, none of the Promethean character, fixes the attentive eye upon itself with the same secret feeling of fidelity to the vast archetype, as Mr. Landor's Count Julian." There is in this modern aerolithe the same jewelly lustre, which cannot be mistaken; the same "non imitabile fulgur," and the same character of " fracture," or cleavage, as mineralogists speak, for its beaming iridescent grandeur, redoubling under the crush of misery. The colour and the coruscation are the same when splintered by violence; the tones of the rocky* harp are the same when swept by sorrow. There is the same spirit of heavenly persecution against his enemy, persecution that would have hung upon his rear, and "burn'd after him to the bottomless pit, though it had yawned for both; there is the same gulf fixed between the possibilities of their reconciliation, the same immortality of resistance, the same abysmal anguish. Did Mr. Landor consciously cherish this schylean ideal in composing "Count Julian?" I know not: there it is. SKETCHES IN CITIES.-No. I. GLASGOW-PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. * LONDON is not inaptly dubbed a wilderness of brick. Glasgow may be called by a name more wonderful-a mighty maze of Portland stone. At Abbotsford, Sir Walter Scott constructed a romance of stone and lime. The merchant princes of Glasgow have built up a great fact of ashlar and mortar. Substantiality is the extraordinary feature in the greatness of our Scotch cities. There is no city in the world *Glasgow, even at the close of last century, enjoyed the distinction of being pronounced by the fastidious Pennant "the best built of any second-rate city I ever saw; the houses of stone, and, in general, well built, plain, and unaffected."-Pennant's Tour. like Edinburgh, save only St. Petersburgh, where the polished marble of the ranges of palaces transcends the beauty of the granular blocks of Craigleith quarry. The time is not far distant when there was nothing in Glasgow like the modern parts of Edinburgh, excepting Blytheswood Square. Woodside Crescent was not as yet. "Will you go to Kelvin Grove, bonnie lassie, O!" was certainly a popular air, Riding up the Newski Perspective, the most magnificent street in that magnificent city, I felt the stories of its splendour were not exaggerated, and that this was indeed entitled to the proud appellation of the "Palmyra of the North."-Stephens's Incidents of Travel. T but not in its glory. We can hardly hope to satisfy such persons that the real Glasgow of which we speak is the Glasgow of their imaginations, so unparalleled has been its progression in beauty and in bounds. Unhappily, the architectural advances of cities do not cure the evils they conceal. On the contrary, the houses abandoned by the affluent for abodes of greater magnificence, are immediately parcelled out into single rooms amongst the swelling herds of the poor. Whilst the splendour of palaces alone appears to be adding grandeur to the new extent, another addition of fearful magnitude is silently accumulating at a city's core unseen! Think, that for every single edifice whose aspect ornaments the magical extension of the New Parliamentary Boundary of Glasgow,* a house of misery, it may be a den of thieves, a haunt of midnight revelry, a houff of vice, is somewhere or other within the pent-up precincts of the city, added also to its evils! Think, and exclaim with Cowper→→→ "God made the country, and man made the town!". Such is Glasgow, seen at a bird's eye glance. But, in the ancient times-so little distant, that their antiquity is nearly an anomaly it was far different. We have only to go back to the twelfth century, and consider what Glasgow was then an ecclesiastical hamlet, 'hanging on the verge of the romantic Molendinar, in clustered repose, at the base of the gigantic Cathedral. Perhaps there might have been a row of fisher bat never, at that time, executed on a keyed bugle from the top of the Royal Crescent omnibus. The sacred seclusion of that classic grove, and, eke, its pear-tree well, uninvaded by the petrifying approach of its elegant rival, "Ring Grove" (a handsome stone crescent), was only accessible by the dangerous pass of a rickety eld wooden bridge, crumbling into visible decay. Now, things are greatly altered. The Great Western Road, traversing, like a huge Roman Way, the lands of Woodside; and spanning, with massive arch, the blue stream of the Kelvin, sends off, in radiations, its incipient lines of architectural splendour. The New Parliamentary Road, stretching its interminable length with more plebeian pretensions in an opposite direction, adds mass upon mass to the municipal structures. Railways penetrate on gigantie viaducts, or through subterranean passages, towards the great civic centre; whilst canals, as if conscious of their slow-going qualities being in arrear of the age, peer in about the suburbs. At the centre of the city itself, an absolutely new frontage is rapidly superseding the old familiar aspect of Old Glasgow if aught in Glasgow be subject to be termed old, save the Cathedral and the College. The latter edifice, with its quaint monastic-like quadrangles-not excepting the magnificent Grecian pile of the Hunterian Museum--is about to be numbered with the things that were, by a transference of the College to the lands of Woodside, and the conversion of its area, by Act of Parliament, into a railway ter-men's huts along the Broomielaw-for clerks in minus! The boast of Augustus, that he had found Rome built of brick and left it of marble, will, in short, ere long, be paralleled in Glasgow. But rebuilding, like knowledge, would seem to be a pursuit sometimes attended with difficulties. How lovely must have been that scene, at the We have heard of a foreign wren which, to elude close of that century, when St. Kentigern's was the mischievous pranks of the monkey, builds its newly rebuilt, after its destruction by fire. Loompendant nest downwards from the bough of a ing through the thin mists that struggled with tree. We actually observed a tall thin tenement the early sunshine of summer, might be descried in the Trongate of Glasgow in process of being the huge bulk of the long nave and choir, surbuilt downwards, in the same fashion, in the mounted by the centre tower and spire charactergap betwixt other two houses, to please, we pre-istic of the Gothic structures of the period, emersume, the Lord Dean of Guild! Those who have known Glasgow only from the novel of "Rob Roy," who have never perused the broadsheet of expanded masonry it now outspreads over many square miles of a densely crowded area who have heard but of the Salt-Market, the Briggate, the Goosedubs, and the Gorbals, as its leading localities-will hardly imagine that there can be such a region as a fashionable west-end in Glasgow, with its Clarendon Places,, and its Apsley Places, where, till recently, the suburban squalor of the Cowcaddens was alone The subsisting railways comprehend only the Garnkirk (Wishaw and Coltness), the Ayrshire and the Greenock, the Edinburgh and Glasgow, the Pollock and Govan, and some other coal lines; although a multitude more, including the Neilston and Barrhead Direct, the Caledonian, and the General Terminus lines are advancing, and about to come into operation. The Canals include the Union Canal, a branch of the Forth and Clyde Canal; the Monkland Canal; and the Paisley and Johnstone Canal. cathedral stalls were fond as cats of fish! The rich ruddy salmon of the Clyde were certain to have hugely tickled their palates, 7 "On Fridays when they fasted.” ging on the eye in the full bold definition of its bulk. The Molendinar, lovely mill-stream of By a recent Act of Parliament, the City of Glasgow now embraces, in one united municipality, the whole sixteen city districts lying on either side of the Clyde; but which may, in general terms, be described as extending from the bends of the Clyde upon the east to the course of the Kelvin on the west, and as including, along with Glasgow proper, the suburbs of Calton and Milend, Port Dundas, and Anderston, on the north of the river; with Hutchesontown, Gorbals, Laurieston, Tradeston, and Kingston, on the south-all under the government of a "local parliament," or municipal council of 48, and one general system of police, over which the election of a superintendent is pending. Glasgow is now, therefore, owing to the existence of separate municipal governments in and around London, the largest municipality in the three kingdoms, considerably exceeding Manchester, both in population and extent. +John Murdo, the great Scotch master-mason, who had "Melros in kepying," is said to have been the builder of the pile dedicated by John Achains to St. Mungo, in 1136. It stands 100 feet above the level of the river, is 319 feet long from west to east, 63 feet broad, 90 feet high in the choir, and 63 in the nave; is supported by 147 pillars; yore! whatever it may be now (and be that | Where is it now? The Danes, probably, denameless), swept bye, over beds of pearl, betwixt overhanging cliffs, romantically precipitous. Woods upon the heights, already vocal with the murmurs of feathered nature, concerted with the unsophisticated, hydraulic strains amidst the pebbles below! They had a decided taste for the picturesque, those polished minions of ancient priestcraft! And it will always be a sufficient answer to every one who denies (as some do) the existence of a site of beauty in or around Glasgow, that they selected this for the site of a cathedral dome, out of all the lovely spots that lie along the vale of Clyde, from Stonebyres to Kelvin. stroyed it; for of its subsequent fate we know The literal signification of the word or words, "Glas-gow" the Grey Smith-has given rise to the belief that the name originated with some son of Vulcan, who blazed away upon the spot prior to its becoming the site of any church. Upon the principles, probably, which served to transmogrify the initial letters of "Aiken Drum's Lang Ladle" into a Roman inscription, the site of the Grey Smith's forge, near that of the Bishop's Castle, has even been traced by the antiquary! The very natural interpretation of "a dark glen" from the British language, and, even from the Celtic, the not improbable one of "the greyhound ferry," have also been given the words, "Glas-gow." There is evidently scope here for traditionary legends; but if any ever hung on the name of Glasgow, they are irrecoverably lost.sonal discipline; for, amongst the relics removed The history of Glasgow commences with the fact of its having been one of the stations on the Clyde of the Roman province of Valentia, till A.D. 426, when the Romans finally retired from this island to defend their own imperial city from the inroads of the Goths. Two centuries after their removal, Saint Mungo, or, to speak more politely, Saint Kentigern is said (by Spottiswood) to have founded here " a stately church. lighted by 157 windows; but never assumed the perfect crucial form from the south transept (as happened in the neighbouring instance of Paisley Abbey Church), never having been completed, although founded. The altitude of the exquisite central tower is 225 feet. The roofing of the cathedral with lead, by Bishop Spottiswood, previous to 1615, has been the means of retaining it in excellent preservation; although one portion of the unfinished transept is characteristically known as "the dripping aisle." Government having, some time ago, proposed to contribute £10,000, provided a like sum should be contributed by the citizens of Glasgow, for the restoration and preservation of this ancient fabric, to which the community evinced so fervent an attachment as to save it from destruction at the Reformation, the most judicious repairs have, for a length of time past, been proceeding for the renovation of the massive pile. The castle, or residence of the Bishop, adjoined the cathedral; but its remains were removed about fifty years since, and the Glasgow Royal Infirmary erected on the site. Sir Walter Scott's description of the cathedral crypt, the reputed burial place of St. Mungo, the founder of the cathedral, is too well known to be here repeated. This crypt is a dense colonnade of 65 pillars, Alexander Rodger, a poet, whose powers, if not in the some of which are 18 feet in circumference; and, although sublime, were at least in the pathetic and ridiculous equally 18 feet in height, are buried some five or six feet in mortal manifested, has taken the liberty to insinuate that Saint monld, so that its extensive range of low-browed, dark and Mungo was not a member of the temperance society:→→ twilight vaults are exactly such as are used for sepulchres. "Sanet Mungo wals ane famous Sanet, Whilst used as a church, for two centuries and a half And ane cantye carle wals hee; after the Reformation, this must have continued to be one Hee drank o' ye Molendiuar Burne of the most singular places of worship in Europe, recalling Quhan bettere hee coukina prie.”—de, the churches in the catacombs of ancient Rome and early The poor bard himself has lately passed into that land Christianity. Pennant observes, that the congregation" from whose bourne no traveller returns." It is paying, might truly say, Clamavi ex profundis. perhaps, a poor tribute to his memory to say that the carol to Paris by the last Archbishop, Beaton, left by him to the Scots College and Carthusian Monastery of Paris, to be restored to the people of Glasgow on their return to the bosom of the Church of Rome, and awaiting that consummation since 1839, in the Roman Catholic College of Blairs, Aberdeenshire!-there is, “in a square silver coffin, part of the scourges of St. Kentigern, our patron.' He probably felt that this discipline "mended his manners," and hence did not "mind the pain." His holy life must, doubtless, have assisted to correct such frailties of his age as that to which he himself traced his being. His solitary asceticism, and his foundation of monasteries in Wales, are less open to approval. His return to Glasgow, establishment of its church, and production of some disciples of celebrity, more immediately concern our present purpose yet not much more immediately. His burial spot, and even his monument, have been pretendedly indicated in the crypt of the Cathedral; but over his grave a gloom, protracted throughout a space of five hundred years, settles down, impenetrable to the antiquarian gaze. Of the character of Saint Mungo* there is not much recorded, even by the veracious chroniclers who, in the indolence of lettered ease, have favoured the world with those marvellous relations of the Scottish Breviary, that fully equal the thousand and one nights' recitations which Shahrazád, the Wezeer's daughter, made unto King Shahriyár. The only trace that has descended to us of his being a miracle-worker is couched in St. Mungo's enigma, in the far-famed emblazonry of the Glasgow Civic Arms, thus celebrated in the flowing verse of Zachary Boyd: * This is the tree that never grew; This is the bird that never flew ; This is the bell that never rang; This is the fish that never swam." t To the churchmen of that elegant and artistical era, the twelfth century, must be assigned the merit of imparting to Glasgow its first impulse towards civic honours. To do these venerable voluptuaries justice, in taking care of their own particular ease and comfort, they carried with them, and spread around them, wherever they settled, the arts of peace. With an instinctive taste for the most beautiful localities, they snatched the loveliest spots of our native land from the jaws of desolation, which extraneous feud and intestine faction kept for ever distended to devour and to destroy. Hence the busy mill clacked incessantly below the ancient chimes of matin and of even song, in constant and inseparable concord. Industry found protection beneath the wing of the church alone. Thus, the Molendinar, or mill stream, of "Sanet Mungo" is one of his happiest effusions. Yet we suspect that, upon the principle that they who have the ballads of a country to make, need not care who write its history, the whimsical anachronisms, imputing to the Saint the fact of being frequently "prymed with barleye bree," and staining "his whyte vesture wi' dribblands o' ye still," will serve to mar Saint Mungo's popular reputation. • Zachary Boyd was a Protestant benefactor of Glasgow College, who, entertaining a lofty opinion of his own rhyming powers, coupled his bequest in favour of that institution, with the condition that the Senatus should undertake the printing of a metrical version of the Bible, of which he was the author. The College authorities evaded the conditions to a certain extent, by producing only two or three copies of Zachary Boyd's Bible, one of which, whereof scraps and quotations float traditionally amongst the students, is preserved in the library. The image of Zachary himself adorns one of the old College quadrangles. + Mr. Andrew Park, a modern Glasgow poet, dissatisfied with the perpetual infringement on the public dignity of Glasgow, occasioned by the appropriation of the air of "Caller Herrin'" to give eclat to the healths of the Magistrates, on festive occasions, has produced a much more elegant and really appropriate version of this rythmical legend, adapted to the popular air of "Maggie Picken":"Let Glasgow flourish by the Word, And might of every merchant lord, And institutions, which afford Good homes the poor to nourish! Hurra! let Glasgow Flourish! &c. "Let Glasgow flourish-by the preaching of the Word," is the modern motto superinduced upon the city arms. The words of the air "Caller Herrin'" unfortunately refer to "bonnie fish," "new drawn frae the Forth." We regard the substitution of "caller salmon," therefore, which, singular to relate, continue to this day to be drawn from some of the busiest portions of the Clyde, below the Broomielaw, as exceedingly apposite-besides that the heraldic fish is decidedly a salmon in size and proportion! is the only name by which the flood that laves the banks of the Cathedral grounds, and of the modern Necropolis,* (anciently the Fir Park) is known to fame. The pitch of prosperity and grandeur to which the ecclesiastics of Glasgow raised the place, may be judged of by the circumstance of Bishop Cameron, after building himself a castle, causing each of the thirty-two rectors under him to embellish the town with a manse. The town, notwithstanding, was, till long after the Reformation, confined to the ridge extending from the cathedral; for, in promoting the power and wealth of the see, the ecclesiastics were by no means ambitious to diffuse the enjoyment of its enormous revenues far beyond their own immediate circle. Their spiritual jurisdiction extended into Dumbartonshire, Renfrewshire, Stirlingshire, Lanarkshire, and Ayrshire. bishops and (after 1500) archbishops were tempo-" ral as well as spiritual lords of the royalties and barony of Glasgow, and held, besides, eighteen baronies in Lanarkshire, Dumbartonshire, Ayrshire, Renfrewshire, Peeblesshire, Selkirkshire, Roxburghshire, and the Stewartries of Dumfries and Annandale, extending over two hundred and forty parishes. Their possessions in Cumberland were termed "the spiritual dukedom." Buchanan, however, tells the story of the check which, at the summit of their pride and power, was, shortly after 1426, put upon John Cameron, the bishop (who is described as a good and great There is a contrast betwixt these adjoining cities of the dead, parted, as remarked in a local publication, by this Lethe, the Molendinar, which evinces, in a striking manner, the change of public sentiment respecting these last abodes of humanity. The cathedral churchyard is literally flagged over with flat monumental stones, and though roofed only by the heavens," "its precincts," as Sir Walter Scott says, "resemble the floor of one of our old English churches, where the floor is covered with sepulchral inscriptions;" reminding him of the roll of the prophet, which was "written within and without, and there was written therein lamentations, and mourning, and woe." This is not exactly conform to the specimen Pennant gives of the inscriptions: Stay, passenger, and view this stone, Yea, when his physick's force oft failed, To live in mirth and die in peace. Doctor Peter Low, 1612. It is within the cathedral that fragments of the more ancient tombs vainly invite the passenger in obsolete language to the obsolete act of prayer for the souls of the departed. The only rich tomb spared at the Reformation was that belonging to the ancient family of Stewart of Minto, who, from the period of James 1. downwards, enjoyed the dignity of the Provostship of Glasgow. The modern Necropolis, on the opposite bank of the Molendinar, approached by a handsome stone bridge, not improperly designated "the Bridge of Sighs," is laid out in the style of Pere la Chaise, and surprises the wanderer amongst the tombs at every step with monumental sculpture, creditable to the state of British art. Amongst the tombs are the public monuments to John Knox, the Reformer, and Wilfiam M'Gavin, the Protestant, surmounted by full-length statues; the burial-place of the Jews, with a column copied from the tomb of Absalom in the valley of Jehosaphat, and the inscription from Byron, "Oh! weep for those who wept by Babel's stream." &c. the monuments of William Motherwell and Dugald Moore, the Glasgow poets, with busts by Fillans, &c. &c. |