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This Canal will not only be of very considerable advantage to the agricultural and commercial interests of the western counties of Scotland, but will afford to Government facilities for the transport of troops from Glasgow to Ireland, with more expedition than at present
Our favourite route to Paisley is, of course, the longest one, which is that by the margin of the Canal. Taking our start from Port-Eglinton, a short walk brings us to Shields Bridge, at which point, on the south side of the water, the picturesque little village of Pollokshields has recently sprung into existence, with a degree of rapidity which fairly rivals the go-a-head Yankee system of town development. This miniature community is composed of elegant cottages and villas, each edifice having its own belt of garden ground walled in, and tastefully planted in front with flowers and shrubs, and in the rear with kitchen vegetables.
The greatest variety of architectural taste, moreover, seems to prevail in this rising suburban settlement. Some two score or so of tenements are already erected, or are in process of erection, and scarcely two of them are similar in design or construction. Each individual proprietor seems to have had his own ideal in " stone and lime," and every man's house is as unlike his neighbour's as possible. Should the same determined diversity of style continue to prevail, Loudon's Encyclopedia of Cottage Architecture must soon become a dead letter, so far as Glasgow is concerned, as a walk through Pollokshields will be as instructive to the student as a perusal of that ponderous though valuable volume, with its endless disquisitions on projecting porches, ornamental chimney-stalks, peaked gables, rustic arcades, and mullioned windows. It must be admitted, however, that so tar as it has gone, this variety has, on the whole, an exceedingly pleasing and picturesque effect, and that we know few places in the vicinity of our city where we would more readily wish for a snug cottage home, if "the lamp of Alladin" were for a brief period ours.
The banks of the canal between Glasgow and Paisley, artificial though they be, are as rich in natural beauty as the winding margin of many a river. In various places they are finely wooded, while throughout their entire length they are fringed with a profusion of our sweetest wild flowers. Every here and there, also, glimpses of the surrounding country are obtained—in some cases extending for many miles around, and embracing scenes of great fertility and loveliness. As we pass along, the reapers in picturesque groups are busy in the bright yellow fields. Occasionally, also, the voices of juvenile strollers from the purlieus of the city are heard on the tangled and bosky banks, where they come in search of tie hips and haws and the blackboyds, which, however, have scarcely yet attained the necessary degree of ripeness.
At intervals, "few and far between," one of the Company's boats passes lazily to its destination; while every now and again a solitary angler gazes despairingly at his float, and mutters "Nothing doing" to our passing inquiries concerning his piscatorial success.
HollowHorn wrote:Viceroy, can you PM me a larger copy of that map?
A search was immediately made, and in the dusk of the morning the coat of the poet was found lying at the side of the Maxwelton Burn, there the Glasgow, Paisley & Johnstone Canal crosses, by an
Aqueduct. Peter Burnet dived into the pool and, to the intense grief of all, brought up the lifeless body of Tannahill. Thus died, 17th May, 1810, the poet in his thirty-sixth year.
Peter Burnet, or Black Peter as he was called in the district, was an American Negro, and an acquaintance of one of Tannahill's brothers. The relations of the poet ever afterwards showed him many attentions.
PETER BURNET; OR, BLACK PETER.
Peter was a handsome youth some fifty years ago
As scribe John has told us, he was a swelling beau
As a jovial weaver when they were in their pride
A Paisley weaver in those days could swell wi' fashion's tide.
Peter came to Paisley when he was plump and young
Was as curious a kid as ever yet was sung
First exploit was when he cut to tip the Yankee war
Jumped on board the Fencastle, a little sooty tar.
When Peter came among us first he swore the devil was white
White men in Virginia did lash with devil's might
On his crown he wore a tuft of sacred reared hair
The Great Spirit to lift him up to Heaven through the air.
Had you seen Black Peter when he was our Paisley buck
You’d think dandyism nothing now, or that it was done up
Silver buckles on his knees, his ruffles great and small
His nankin breeches — oh 1 you\l laugh were I to tell you all.
His coat was black or brown, as the fashion then might be
His velvet vest was spangled, like any lord's, d’ye see
His stockings, too, of pure white thread, for that was all the go
And his hat so smartly check- a-gee — all trig from top to toe.
Oh ! Peter was a gleesome chiel, good fun was all his study
His wit was bright, his laugh was loud, care could not make him muddy
Had you seen him in those days playing at the ball.
How he jump'd and frolick'd round about the smartest of them all.
But Peter's dancing days were closed, for Peter fell in love
With a pretty lass, call'd Peggy, so he ceas'd at once to rove
For she turned him to a Christian, tho' he was always civil
But now he saw new light, and knew the colour of the devil.
Alas ! alas ! poor Peter, his pretty Peggy died
And Peter was disconsolate, both day and night he cried
But time wore Peter's grief away, and he once more was gay.
And laugh'd or joked as he was wont, when love was out the way.
Now he turned to fortune hunting, and when on the scent for game.
Two thousand pounds was in the wind, with a spruce Mulatto dame
But, oh ! ho ! Peter reckoned without his precious host
For somehow, tho' we never knew, this precious hit was lost.
To tell all Peter's rigs and loves would take a whole night's chatter.
For after this he married twice, 'twas all for love, no matter
And now, alas ! for Peter, he's grown old and poor also
But he's still a fine old fellow, as ever you saw go.
Our gifted " Duncan Grant, “whose name is here "scribe John" *
Has written Peter's life in full, for threepence 'tis your own
Poor Peter is the vendor, and when calling at your door.
He looks like an old gentleman, and laughs away tho' poor.**
John Campbell, Poet
* This refers to John Parkhill, who, as already stated, wrote,- in 1841, a biographical sketch of Peter, extending to twenty- four pages. When Peter became too feeble to work at the loom, and the weaving trade was bad, Peter, to aid him in earning a livelihood, went about the town and sold this publication.
** It was Peter who took the dead body of Tannahill out of the Canal
tunnel of Maxwelton burn, on the morning of the 17th of May, 1810.
Peter died on 1st August, 1847, aged 83 years.
sjclancy wrote:Have to agree with everyone - good work! I've been doing a lot of research on the canal over the past few years. I live about 1/2 mile from the Half time school, and ended up working on the reseach for the M74 Extension Archaeology which included work on the Canal at Port Eglington. Got some pics of the Port Eglington site somewhere, will put them up when I find them. I've got a talk coming up in Paisley on the 8th April - "Renfrewshires connection to Glasgow" which will feature the canal a few other things!
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