City of Glasgow—Spirit of the place—Trade and Manufactures—The Broomielaw—Steam—George's Square—Monuments to Sir Walter Scott, Sir John Moore, and James Watt—Sketch of the Life of Watt—Glasgow University—Reminiscences—Brougham—Sir D. K. Sandford—Professor Nichol and others—High Kirk, or Glasgow Cathedral—Martyrdom of Jerome Russel and John Kennedy.

Taking the steam-cars from Edinburgh, we arrive at Glasgow, a distance of forty-four miles, in a couple of hours. As Edinburgh is the representative of Scottish literature and refinement, Glasgow is the representative of its commerce and manufactures. It is an immense city, and contains a prodigious number of inhabitants. At the period of the Union it had a population of only twelve thousand: since which time it has doubled this number twelve or thirteen times, and now contains nearly three hundred thousand inhabitants. It owes this unprecedented increase to its trade, domestic and foreign, which is almost unparalleled in its extent. There is probably not a single inland town in Great Britain, with the exception of London, which can show such a shipping list.

Glasgow has ever been distinguished for its mechanical ingenuity, its industry and enterprise. Its situation doubtless is highly favorable, but without an intelligent, ingenious and active population, it could never have reached such a height of prosperity.

But it is not our intention to visit this commercial city as tourists. There are enough such to describe her agreeable situation, and handsome public edifices, her long and elegant streets, her beautiful "green," and magnificent river. At present we shall not fatigue ourselves with visiting the Royal Exchange, the Royal Bank, the Tontine and the Assembly Rooms. Neither shall we trouble our readers to go with us through Queen street, St. Vincent street, Greenhill Place, or Woodside Crescent.

It might be worth while however, to look into some of those immense factories; from which rise innumerable huge chimnies, some of which overtop the steeples and towers of the churches, and reach far up into the heavens.[124] Thousands and thousands of spindles and power looms, with thousands and thousands of human hands and heads are moving there from morn to night, and from night to morn. What masses of complicated and beautiful machinery! What prodigious steam-engines, great hearts of power in the centres of little worlds, giving life energy and motion to the whole. Here is a single warehouse, as it is called, for the sale of manufactured goods, containing no less than two hundred clerks. What piles of silks and shawls, cottons and calicoes! The productions of Glasgow reach every part of the world. You will find them in India, China, and the United States, in the wilds of Africa and the jungles of Burmah, amid the snows of Labrador, and the savannahs of Georgia.

But let us go down to the Broomielaw, and take a look at the river Clyde. That mile of masts, and those immense steamers, plying up and down the river, connect Glasgow with every part of the British Empire and the world.

What grand agency has accomplished all this? Steam!—steam, under the guidance and control of genius and enterprise. The extended prosperity of Glasgow commenced with the inventions of Watt, the greatest mechanical genius of the age, and the first man that constructed a steam-engine of much practical use. Steam has raised all those huge factories which we have been admiring, and keeps their innumerable wheels and pistons, spindles and power looms in motion. Steam it is which brings untold masses of coal and iron from the bowels of the earth, and converts them into machinery and motive power. Yonder it comes, rolling and dashing, in a long train of cars and carriages filled with the produce and population of the land. Here it gives life and energy to a cotton mill with a thousand looms! There it casts off, from day to day, the myriads of printed sheets which spread intelligence through the country. All around us it moves the cranks and pullies, ropes and wires, wheels and tools, which work such wonders in beating and grinding, cutting and carving, polishing and dyeing. Steam has added thousands, nay millions to the annual income of Glasgow. It has augmented the resources of Great Britain to such an extent that it saves seventy millions of dollars annually in the matter of motive power alone! No pen can describe the additions which it has made in other parts of the world to their manufactures and commerce. It has brought all nations into more intimate relations, and is yet destined, in many respects, to revolutionize the world.

Let us go then to George's Square, near the centre of the city, and look at Chantrey's monument of the man who has done so much to bring about such a change. The Square contains also a fine monument of Sir Walter Scott, in the form of a fluted Doric column, about eighty feet high, surmounted by a colossal statue of "the great magician of the north." He is represented standing in an easy attitude, with a shepherd's plaid thrown half around his body. The likeness is said to be remarkably good. It has that expression of shrewdness, honesty and good nature for which he was distinguished, but none of that ideal elevation which graces the countenances of Schiller, Goethe and Shakspeare. Immediately in front of this monument, is a beautiful pedestrian statue in bronze, by Flaxman, of Sir John Moore, the subject of Wolfe's exquisite lyric,—

Sir John Moore was a citizen of Glasgow, and his townsmen have erected this statue as expressive of their veneration for his memory. To the right of this monument, in the south-west angle of the square, you see in bronze, and of colossal magnitude, the noble figure of James Watt. He is represented in a sitting posture on a circular pedestal of Aberdeen granite. It is considered one of the happiest productions of the distinguished Chantrey. The fine meditative features of the great inventor are strikingly developed. Watt was born in Greenock, on the 19th of January, 1736, but conducted his experiments chiefly in Glasgow. He came thither in 1757, first as a mathematical instrument maker to the college, and subsequently as an engineer. In early life he gave indications of his peculiar genius, by various little mechanical contrivances. At the age of six years, he was occasionally found stretched on the floor, delineating with chalk the lines of a geometrical problem. At other times he greatly obliged his young companions by making and repairing their toys; and before he had reached his seventeenth year he had amused them with the wonders of an electrical machine of his own construction. He had also instructed himself by making experiments on the steam of a tea-kettle. He subsequently stored his mind with the wonders of physics, chemistry and medicine.

In the University of Glasgow, Watt was employed to fit up the instruments of the Macfarlane Observatory, which gave him an opportunity of becoming acquainted with Adam Smith, Joseph Black, and Robert Simson, names immortal in the scientific annals of Scotland. Here also he formed an intimacy with John Robinson, then a student at college, and subsequently the celebrated Dr. Robinson, who first called the attention of Watt to the subject of steam engines, and threw out the idea of applying them to steam carriages and other purposes.

The steam-engine had existed before this time, but it was extremely imperfect, and, moreover, of no great practical use. Hence Mr. Watt was not, properly speaking, the inventor but the improver of the steam-engine. Still his improvement was equal to an invention of the highest order. It made the instrument available for the highest practical purposes. "He found the crazy machines of Savery and Newcomen laboring and creaking at our mine heads, and occupying the same rank as prime movers with the wind-mill and the water-wheel; and by a succession of inventions and discoveries, deduced from the most profound chemical knowledge, and applied by the most exquisite mechanical skill, he brought the steam-engine to such a degree of perfection as to stamp it the most precious gift which man ever bequeathed to his race."[125]

Watt had "a sore fight of existence," at least in the early part of his career, and he came near being deprived of the emolument which was his just due as a benefactor of his race. But he eventually triumphed over all opposition, retired from business, and continued to reside during the rest of his life on his estate at Heathfield Soho. He was exceedingly happy in his domestic relations, though called, in 1804, to suffer a painful bereavement in the loss of his youngest son Gregory, who had given high promise of literary and scientific eminence. In 1808 he was elected a corresponding member of the Institute of France; and in 1814, he was nominated by the Academy of Sciences as one of its eight foreign correspondents. In 1819 his health suffered a rapid decline, and he himself felt that this was his last illness. "Resigned, himself, he endeavored to make others resigned. He pointed out to his son the topics of consolation which should occupy his mind; and expressing his sincere gratitude to Providence for the length of days he had enjoyed, for his exemption from most of the infirmities of age, and for the serenity and cheerfulness which marked the close of his life; he expired at Heathfield on the 25th of August, 1819." He was interred in the parish church of Handsworth; and over his tomb his son erected an elegant Gothic chapel, containing a beautiful marble bust by Chantrey. Another bust by the same artist has been placed in one of the halls of Glasgow College. A colossal statue of Carrara marble, procured at great expense by public subscription, graces the recesses of Westminster Abbey.

The most useful memorial of Watt, however, exists in Greenock, in the form of a large and handsome building for a public library, erected by his son, in which the citizens have caused to be placed a handsome marble statue, with an inscription from the pen of Lord Jeffrey. Lord Brougham concluded an eloquent speech on the merits of Mr. Watt, in the following striking terms:—"If in old times the temples of false gods were appropriately filled with the images of men who had carried devastation over the face of the earth, surely our temples cannot be more worthily adorned with the likenesses of those whose triumphs have been splendid indeed, but unattended by sorrow to any—who have achieved victories, not for one country only, but to enlarge the power and increase the happiness of the whole human race."

Passing up High Street, we come to an arched gateway, and find ourselves in a quadrangular court, with antique looking buildings on each side. Beyond this we come to another quadrangle, also surrounded by buildings of perhaps more recent date. Passing straight on we reach a handsome edifice of polished freestone, directly in front of us, and standing alone, which is nothing less than the Hunterian museum. These then are the buildings of Glasgow University. Beyond us is the college-green, ornamented with trees, and divided into two parts by a sluggish stream which passes through the centre. A number of the students, having laid aside their scarlet gowns, are playing at football, a violent but delightful and invigorating exercise.

The University of Glasgow was founded in 1450, in the time of James the Second. Bishop Turnbull was then in possession of the see, and his successors were appointed chancellors. The history of the institution has been various; but, generally speaking, it has enjoyed a high degree of prosperity. Of late years the number of students has declined, from what cause we know not. The number, in all the departments, does not exceed a thousand, whereas, in 1824, when the writer was a student in Glasgow, there were from fourteen to fifteen hundred. Well does he remember the enthusiasm with which they welcomed their popular candidate for rector, Henry Brougham, Esq., M. P., as he was then termed, and the eager interest with which they listened to his inaugural discourse. Sir James McIntosh, a fine hearty looking man, with bland expressive eyes, and two of the sons of Robert Burns, tall, good looking young men, but with no particular resemblance to their illustrious father, were present, with others, to grace the occasion. Brougham was in the maturity of his strength, and the hey-day of his fame. Tall, muscular, and wiry, with searching visage, dark complexion, keen piercing eyes, ample forehead, and long outstretched finger, he stood up the very personification of strength and eloquence. But Brougham has been frequently described, and we therefore pass him by. The next rector that was chosen was Thomas Campbell, the poet, once a member of the college, and one of its most distinguished ornaments. A large portion, if not the whole of the "Pleasures of Hope" was written while he was a student at college.

Many distinguished men have been professors in this institution. Among these Dr. Reid and Dr. Hutcheson, Dr. Simpson and Dr. Moore, Adam Smith, and Professor Sandford stand pre-eminent. Well does the writer remember the accomplished, but unfortunate Sandford, and the profound enthusiasm for the Greek classics which he inspired in his students. He was a son of the venerable Bishop Sandford, a distinguished graduate of Oxford, and a man of the highest attainments in Greek and English literature. Of small stature, he yet possessed an elegant and commanding form. His pale face, finely chiselled mouth, dark eyes, and marble forehead are before me now. I hear his clear, musical voice, rolling out, ore rotundo, the resounding periods of Homer, or the energetic lines of Eschylus. No man ever recited Greek with such enthusiasm and energy. It was a perfect treat to hear him read the odes of Anacreon or the choral hymns of Eschylus; to say nothing of his elegant translations, or his fine critical remarks. He was created a baronet by the government, and bade fair to be one of the most distinguished and influential literary men in the country. But he was seduced into party politics, was sent as the representative of Glasgow to parliament, and failed—failed utterly and forever; for his want of success in the House of Commons preyed upon his spirits, and caused his death.

Among the distinguished men now occupying places in this university we find Mr. Lushington, of Trinity College, Cambridge, professor of Greek, and Dr. Nichol, author of the popular Lectures on the Wonders of the Heavens, professor of practical astronomy. Mr. Mylne, professor of moral philosophy, and Mr. Buchanan, professor of logic, are acute and learned men.

Leaving the college, we ascend High Street, and after reaching the top of the hill, a little to the right, we see before us the "High Kirk," or rather the old cathedral of Glasgow, one of the finest remains of antiquity, surrounded by a vast church-yard, containing many rich and ancient monumental tombs, and the mouldering bones of many by-gone generations. It has a superb crypt, "equalled by none in the kingdom,"—once used as a place of worship, but now as a place for burying the dead. The author of Waverley has invested it with additional interest by making it the scene of a striking incident in Rob Roy. The whole edifice has a most commanding appearance.

At the north-east end of the cathedral the spot is yet to be seen where papal bigotry and superstition lighted the fires of religious persecution. There in the year 1538, Jerome Russel, a member of the convent of Franciscan friars, in Glasgow, a man of considerable talents, and John Kennedy, a young man from Ayr, of high family, only about eighteen years of age, were burned for having embraced the doctrines of the infant Reformation. They sustained the terrible ordeal through which they passed to glory with a becoming dignity and fortitude. "This is your hour and power of darkness," said Russel, "now you sit as judges, and we are wrongfully condemned, but the day cometh which will clear our innocency, and you shall see your own blindness to your everlasting confusion—go on and fulfil the measure of your iniquity." Is it surprising that the reaction of reform which followed such proceedings should occasionally have gone to unjustifiable lengths, and that the people should have torn down "the rookeries," which sheltered those birds of prey, as the papal tyrants of that day might well be termed? Never were a nobler or more heroic set of men than the martyrs and confessors of that trying time! Knox, Melville, and Wishart might be stern, but they were men of godlike temper and heroic zeal, of whom the world was not worthy; and whatever poetasters and novelists, sentimental journalists, and infidel historians may say of them, they will be found at last, occupying an honored place, at God's right hand.