The old rhyme has it that three of the finest rivers in Scotland set out to run a race, with varying fortunes:—

As an actual fact those three rivers find their head waters within a very narrow space. Annan, with the shortest course, falls into the Solway Firth; Tweed, getting many famous waters to strengthen its current, the Gala, the Yarrow, the Ettrick and the Teviot, rolls its noble course to the Border city of Berwick, and runs into the German Ocean. The Clyde, after surviving its leap over Corra Linn and other falls, becomes the great highway for ships at Glasgow, and has the most useful, as well as the most romantic career of the three.

Before it breaks its neck o'er Corra Linn, the Clyde has already met with an accident at Bonnington Linn, and rushes over rocks and gullies of the most hazardous kind, so that it reaches the greater fall in a condition of turmoil and agitation far removed from the gentle character of its earlier course. Above Bonnington,

but when it approaches Corra Linn, the water is alive and tumultuous, and plunges over really as if it would break its neck in its mad career.

To reach this fall, the visitor leaves the burgh of Lanark at its lower end, proceeds to Kirkfieldbank, and there obtains a card of admission to the grounds of Corehouse. The river is crossed at Kirkfieldbank, but long ere reaching this the water has quieted down, and flows gently along. The roar of Corra Linn may however be heard, especially if the Clyde be in flood. The walk after entering the grounds is not long, when, following the course indicated by cards (though the sound of the water indicates the way pretty well,) we reach the ruins of Corra Castle, just overhanging the fall. A little roadway,—quite safe, for it is on the solid rock—leads down to a projecting cliff from which, seated on the benches placed there for the purpose, the splendid sight can be viewed at leisure.

In the sun, tiny rainbows form, as different points of view are taken. The deafening roar of this grand cataract rises and falls in a singular way, as if every slight inequality in the volume of the river could be detected. The note is low and grand, so that the sound of the human voice, shrilly set above its deep diapason, is easily heard, and conversation can be quietly carried on. As in all great waterfalls, the impression is deepened and strengthened by familiarity. For one minute the feeling may arise 'is that all'—the next, the grandeur of the scene has won its way to the mind and taken captive the imagination. Sit for an hour and the feeling will grow, while to revisit it day after day for a week will intensify wonder and admiration at the marvellous scene. Does it plunge and roar thus, year in, year out, day and night, continuously? Is there no pause, no rest, for the tost and troubled water—no quietness for those reverberating rocks that stand around in awe of the ceaseless and giant power that has so eaten its way into their hearts?

Everyone who visits Corra Linn walks through the ground to Bonnington Linn, which from the Corehouse side is seen in face, the water plunging over in two streams divided by an island. If these falls are approached on the Bonnington side, the visitor sees Corra Linn in face, can descend (by a steep descent) to the bed right under the fall, visits the Wallace Cave where the river roars through a gulley only a few feet wide, and may cross by an iron bridge to the island in the middle of Bonnington Linn.