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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.

STONEBYRES FALL.

In this cataract, the Clyde leaps a greater distance than in either of the falls above, and by many it is considered the finer of the two great waterfalls. It lies about three miles below Lanark, and is reached from the public road. It is difficult of access, for the visitor must either content himself with a distant view, or take his heart in his hand and descend a precipitous and dangerous path, where at times to hang on by the eyelids may seem the only resource. In speaking of Corra Linn, nothing has been said of the extreme beauty of the scene through which the river flows. From Hamilton to some distance above Lanark, the Clyde valley is a famous fruit district, itself a testimony to the richness and mildness of the locality. It would be vain to dwell on the sylvan splendours of the reach of the river from Bonnington to below Corra Linn. High banks overhang the whole way, sometimes running to bold cliffs, crowned with woody knolls, with shining snatches of verdure in every crevice; at other points wooded to the water's edge. Standing on the bridge at Kirkfieldbank the river is seen pleasantly flowing on towards its third leap, the greatest of the series. Before passing by the road to this scene a detour should be made, on the opposite bank, to the Cartland Crags, where a lofty bridge crosses the river Mouse, and amongst whose lofty cliffs the hero William Wallace found refuge after his famous exploit in slaying Haselrig the English Sheriff.

Approaching Stonebyres, the war of troubled waters is again heard. The stream is not far off the road, and only a short walk is necessary before the scene bursts upon the view. Of course glimpses of the waterfall can be obtained from many points, but the choice aspect is to reach the bed of the stream below, and gaze upwards on the mighty rush of waters. To one who is bold and sure-footed there is no great difficulty in approaching pretty near the fall, unless the river should be in spate, when of course the difficulty is increased, and may indeed become too dangerous to be possible. Supposing the fall approached within several score of yards, what a splendid scene, and how thrilling is that on which we gaze!

The entire descent is about ninety feet, in several distinct leaps. This broken character of the two great falls gives them a great deal of their distinctive beauty. Doubtless, if the flood had plunged in one sheer leap, the turmoil below would have been greater, but the picturesque aspects of the scene would have been lessened. The jutting rocks and ragged edges by which the fall is broken, give to the face of the waterfall an ever varying feature, and with the undulating flow and gamut of sound here, as at Corra Linn, it presents at each moment some new point for admiration. Then the triple and repeated leaps churn the water into the snowiest foam and spray, so that the falls have great brightness and lightness in spite of the quantity of water plunging over. The combination of tones of colour is indeed notable, and when to the greens and browns of rock and tree, and the white foam of the fall, there is added a brilliant sunshine and cerulean sky flecked with light clouds, anyone standing here may well exclaim that

LOCH LEVEN.

This loch has at the present day a two-fold attraction—historical and piscatorial. Like most other places of interest in Scotland, the story of Loch Leven and its castle clings round the chequered career of Mary Queen of Scots. Here, for eleven months, the beautiful Stuart Queen lay a prisoner, and eventually her escape was arranged with all the romantic devotion and quiet daring with which she was ever able to inspire all who fell under the spell of her charms or the pity of her fate. Here, as Burns has taught us to believe, she uttered that sad 'Lament on the Approach of Spring' which forms one of the most touching bits of the national poet's writings,

The waters encompassing the castle form a loch of an irregular square form, with a maximum length of four miles, and over two miles wide. The island on which the castle stands is not the largest, there being, at the eastern end, a large island named after St. Serf, and still showing the remains of a priory, originally Culdee, and of which Wyntoun, author of the Orygynale Cronykil, was once the head. The castle, a massive square keep, with a quadrangle of fortified buildings around it, is