ith of Forth, and, as we steamed rapidly on our course,
all the passengers forgot their afflictions, and gazed with delight on
the sloping sward and woodland, the picturesque villages, and romantic
old castles that decorate the shores of this magnificent sheet of
water.

Our destination was Grangemouth, where we arrived early on Sunday
morning. A few sailors belonging to some vessels in the docks, a
custom-house inspector, and three small boys, comprised the entire
visible population of the place. Judging by the manner in which the
Sabbath is kept in Scotland, the Scotch must be a profoundly moral
people. The towns are like grave-yards, and the inhabitants bear a
striking resemblance to sextons, or men who spend much of their lives
in burying the dead.

I was very anxious to get a newspaper containing the latest
intelligence from America, but was informed that none could be had on
Sunday. I wanted to go up to Edinburg: it was not possible on Sunday.
I asked a man where could I get some cigars? he didna ken; it was
Sunday. The depressed expression of the few people I met began to prey
like a nightmare on my spirits. Doubtless it is a very good thing to
pay a decent regard to the Sabbath, but can any body tell me where we
are commanded to look gloomy? The contrast was certainly very striking
between the Scotch and the Danes. Of course there is no such thing as
drunkenness in Scotland, no assaults and batteries, no robberies and
murders, no divorces, no cheating among the merchants of Glasgow or
the bankers of Edinburg, no sympathizing with rebellion and the
institution of slavery--for the Scotch are a sober and righteous
people, much given to sackcloth and ashes, manufactures of iron, and
societies for the insurance of property against fire.

The _Arcturus_ was detained several days discharging and taking in
freight. I availed myself of the first train to visit Edinburg. A day
there, and an excursion to Glasgow and Loch Lomond, agreeably occupied
the time. I must confess the scenery--beautiful as it is, and fraught
with all the interest that history and genius can throw over
it--disappointed me. It was not what I expected. It was a damp, moist,
uncomfortable reality, as Mantalini would say--not very grand or
striking in any respect. A subsequent excursion to the Trosachs, Loch
Katrine, Loch Long, and the Clyde, afforded me a better opportunity of
judging, yet it all seemed tame and commonplace compared with the
scener