mind, and I had almost said, every human heart, that even the humblest of the peasants and shepherds will come from afar, or go far out of their way, to see the Rumbling Bridge and the Caldron Linn.

The Rumbling Bridge consists in one arch, thrown over the horrible chasm just described; at this spot, near one hundred feet deep, and very narrow. At the time I viewed it, it had only one parapet, and that not above three feet high. The other had fallen down, I understood, a long time before, and had not then been rebuilt. It is not every one, I fancy, that would like to pass over it, especially on horseback, which is frequently done, with one on each side. But, at this I ceased to wonder, when I was told, that at one place, above this, where the opposite sides of the lengthened chasm almost meet, and embrace one another, there is a wooden bridge thrown over, by which the hardy rustics cross the Devon, without any parapet at all, or even a handrail. This, after all, is not more wonderful than the feats performed by sailors, slaters, tylers, and glaziers, every day. The apprehension of danger is wonderfully diminished by familiarity and custom.

But the turbulence of the waters, at the Rumbling Bridge, dashing from rock to rock, or gushing between fragments of rocks, lying at the bottom, ceases to produce its awful effect, when you view the Caldron Linn, where the whole river is precipitated, in one sheet, from a height of eighty feet, upon huge stones torn from the face of the rock. The smoke arising from the water, which, at the bottom appears white as snow, exhibits at the top

and above the fall, all the colours of the rainbow.

This cataract is still more enchanting when observed from below. For this purpose the spectator goes down by the north-west side of the dell, where the descent is easy. The immense sheet of water pouring like liquid chrystal from the rock, and receiving after its fall a cloud of white vapour, is contrasted with the dark brown face of the rock, in some parts naked, in others presenting shrubs and pendulous trees. Herons, plovers, wood-pigeons, ravens, crows, daws, swallows, and other birds, are seen over head; but their noise is lost in that of the rushing waters.

The side of the glen opposite to the cataract is of an opposite nature. It is a gentle acclivity, covered with verdant and flowery turf, and strewed, towards the bottom, with mossy stones and fragments of rock, from the sides of which spring wild rose bushes, and other shrubs. The mind does not easily bear continued intensity of application, or weight of impression. It is not very long therefore till you are inclined to turn from the majestic and terrific to the soft and tranquil side of the glen, and to stroll down by the side of the river, which, in the course of three or four hundred yards, sinks into a calm, and steals silently along its softened banks.

I was told that a gentleman, lately gazing at the tremendous chasm through which the Devon runs, a little above the Rumbling Bridge, felt his head grow giddy, and, after having fallen above fifty feet, (but that height not quite perpendicular, I presume) was carried by the white and roaring waters in a dark

hollow, near a mile, over broken rocks and precipices, sometimes standing, and sometimes driven. headlong, while his alarmed acquaintance, who saw him as they ran along the side of the chasm, were unable to afford him any assistance. I was told that the gentleman, after all this, coming at last to a place where he caught hold of the root of a tree, was enabled to stop his rapid career down the Tartarean stream, to the inexpressible joy of his companions, who pulled him up, by ropes, about sixty feet, nearly perpendicular, without his having received any injury. However, when the ropes reached him, he was so exhausted and weak, that he was scarcely able to put them under his arms.

There is another great cataract below the Caldron Linn, at a place called the Deills, that is, the Devil's Mill, where the water falls forty feet; but, having seen the former, I had not any curiosity to see the latter.

It is reported, in Sir John Sinclair's Statistical Account, that a plan was given in, by Mr. James Watt, to the board of police in Scotland, in 1776, for making the Devon navigable for several miles. The expense by his estimate would not have exceeded two thousand pounds. "Had this plan been carried into execution (says the Rev. Mr. Moodie) a tract of more than ten thousand acres of coal, at present entirely locked up from the sea sale, would have been exposed to the public market; besides many other advantages of trade that must have accrued to the neighbouring country. The extensive iron works begun by the Devon Company, in 1794, on the banks of this river, render it highly

probably that the plan will still be executed." That it has not hitherto been executed, seems to be a proof that there is no apprehension that the coal mines, nearer to the sea-ports on the Forth, will be soon exhausted.

Musing on the wonders of the Devon, and on different systems of geology, I returned to the inn at Kinross.

Next morning, early, I rode leisurely across a plain of sandy soil, or a light gravelly loam, to the village of Milnathort, commonly pronounced the Mills of Forth. I observed, on my right, near this, the ruins of a castle, surrounded with a number of uncommonly large trees. I learned, afterwards, that this was Burleigh Castle, the antient seat of the Balfours, Lords of Burleigh. The large trees that drew my attention, I understand, are many of them hollow with age, particularly one called Burleigh's Hole. In this tree, the last lord Burleigh, in the early part of the last century, concealed himself from justice, after he had murdered a schoolmaster, for marrying, without his consent, a favourite female servant. Under a fit of phrenzy, he rode, armed with loaded pistols, to the schoolmaster's house, at Innerkeithing, desired to speak with him at the door, shot him, without dismounting from his horse, and rode back to Burleigh Castle, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. By and by, recollecting his crime, and his danger, he hid himself for some time in the hollow of an old tree; a faithful domestic, who had compassion on him, supplying him with sustenance. Being apprehended, and tried for the murder at Edinburgh, he was condemned to