, rejoicing in thy bright past, thy glorious
present, and in vivid hope of a triumphant future! Flow on, beautiful
one!--which of the world's streams canst thou envy, with thy beauty and
renown? Stately is the Danube, rolling in its might through lands
romantic with the wild exploits of Turk, Polak, and Magyar! Lovely is
the Rhine! on its shelvy banks grows the racy grape; and strange old
keeps of robber-knights of yore are reflected in its waters, from
picturesque crags and airy headlands!--yet neither the stately Danube,
nor the beauteous Rhine, with all their fame, though abundant, needst
thou envy, thou pure island stream!--and far less yon turbid river of
old, not modern, renown, gurgling beneath the walls of what was once
proud Rome, towering Rome, Jupiter's town, but now vile Rome, crumbling
Rome, Batuscha's town, far less needst thou envy the turbid Tiber of
bygone fame, creeping sadly to the sea, surcharged with the abominations
of modern Rome--how unlike to thee, thou pure island stream!

And, as I lay on the bank and wept, there drew nigh to me a man in the
habiliments of a fisher. He was bare-legged, of a weather-beaten
countenance, and of stature approaching to the gigantic. "What is the
callant greeting for?" said he, as he stopped and surveyed me. "Has ony
body wrought ye ony harm?"

"Not that I know of," I replied, rather guessing at than understanding
his question; "I was crying because I could not help it! I say, old one,
what is the name of this river?"

"Hout! I now see what you was greeting at--at your ain ignorance, nae
doubt--'tis very great! Weel, I will na fash you with reproaches, but
even enlighten ye, since you seem a decent man's bairn, and you speir a
civil question. Yon river is called the Tweed; and yonder, over the
brig, is Scotland. Did ye never hear of the Tweed, my bonny man?"

"No," said I, as I rose from the grass, and proceeded to cross the bridge
to the town at which we had arrived the preceding night; "I never heard
of it; but now I have seen it, I shall not soon forget it!"

CHAPTER VII.

It was not long before we found ourselves at Edinburgh, or rather in the
Castle, into which the regiment marched with drums beating, colours
flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons behind. The Castle was, as I
suppose it is now, a garrison for soldiers. Two other regiments were
already there; the one an Irish, if I remember right, the other a small
Highland corps.