'How glorious from the loopholes of retreat To peep at such a world.'
And this concisely expresses the feeling with which a wearied man may seek his holiday in such an island as this. True it is, that Rothesay has a telegraph, and a post office, and a newspaper, and that in two hours' time one can be set down in the heart of Glasgow. But the insular charm is a great one.
'The promises of blooming spring live here, And all the blessings of the ripening year.'
Those lines were formerly inscribed at Mount Stuart House, the residence of the Marquis of Bute, recently burnt and rebuilt. It lies on the Clyde shore of the island, at no great distance from Rothesay,--indeed there are no _great_ distances anywhere in the island--and forms one of the many beautiful drives through the island.
On the way thither the village of Ascog is passed, where on a rocky point jutting out into the river there is a little church, and at its end a monument to Montagu Stanley, poet, actor, artist, at one time well known in Edinburgh society. From Mount Stuart and Ascog, and the other houses on this side of the island, there is an extensive view of the Frith of Clyde, on the broad waters of which there is a never-ending panorama of steamers, yachts, and gallant vessels.
LOCH LOMOND.
Justly termed the Queen of the Scottish Lochs, this magnificent sheet of water presents an almost infinite variety of scenery. It has on the eastern side one of Scotland's notable mountains, Ben Lomond, and around are hills of lesser, though still great altitude, over which the giant mountain towers as a monarch amidst his courtiers. There are on the loch several excellent steamers, and as the distance from the pier at Balloch to the landing place at Ardlui is upwards of twenty miles, a day can be delightfully spent in going and returning, giving the charms of Highland scenery without the ordinary fatigues of travelling, and the delights of an excursion on a wide expanse of water without the attendant risk of sea-sickness.
There are on the bosom of Loch Lomond several large islands, and many small islets, adding greatly to the beauty and variety of its scenery.
Some of the islands are clad in oak; one is called Inchlonaig, or yew-tree island; some display the silvery leafage of the birch, others are covered with the hardier fir, and here again the element of variety comes in to charm the sense. Our view shews the loch before it has narrowed to the lesser channel between Inversnaid and Ardlui, and before it has lost the charm of those wooded islands that beautify the southern and wider part. The bulky form of Ben Lomond fills up the scene, and the sun shining amidst clouds is significant of the varied weather that may be encountered in one day. The wide reaches and more lowland aspects of the southern end may be passed in all the enjoyment of a noon-day summer sun, but ere the upper part of the loch is reached clouds may gather, and a sudden torrent of rain or a sullen blast of wind may overtake the voyager. But again, in an hour all is peaceful and beautiful, and the rain has served to augment and enhance the burns, rivulets, and streams, whose crystal waters feed the loch from every shore. On several of the islands are ruins of old castles, and all around the scene is redolent of memories of old feuds, violent strifes, and fierce clan struggles. To-day all this is changed, and we revel only in the grandeur and beauty of the scene. Those caves hide no caterans to rob us, the cattle and sheep on hill or island are safe from the foray, and the dwellers around pay no black mail to save themselves from the attentions of stout and bare-legged ruffians.
At Rowardennan Inn are guides and ponies, and although the stalwart man may dispense with the latter, it is not safe to attempt the ascent of Ben Lomond without a guide familiar with the road, for sudden mists may envelop the climber, and a mistake in the road may lead to death.
What is to be seen from the top? Rather ask what is not seen? Right away to 'the back of the North Wind' stretch the innumerable hills. To the west the mountain ranges of Argyleshire, to the south-west the long peninsula of Cantyre, with the waters of the Atlantic seen beyond; to the east the castles of Stirling and Edinburgh may be picked out, to the south the busy Clyde, and in the foreground the splendid loch itself. Ben Lomond stands as a sentinel or outer-guard to the Highlands, and hence the range of view from it is of unusual extent. All that is to be seen from it cannot be described, so rich, so extensive, so varied are the prospects presented.
It is said that last century a visitor wrote some lines on a window-pane at Tarbet Inn, on the ascent of Ben Lomond, and a few words of his advice may fitly close our essay:--
Rest, oh! rest--long, long upon the top, There 'hale the breezes, nor with toilsome haste Down the rough slope thy youthful vigour waste.
So shall thy wondering sight at once survey, Woods, lakes and mountains, valleys, rocks and sea, Huge hills that heaped in crowded order stand, Stretched o'er the western and the northern land.
FALLS OF INVERSNAID.
An essential part of the Trosachs tour is the coach drive between Inversnaid on Loch Lomond, and Stronachlacher pier, where the steamer on Loch Katrine begins (or ends) her journey. There is one little loch on the way, from which emerges the Arklet, which runs into Loch Lomond, and forms the fine series of cascades of which the upper fall is shown in our view. There is almost no need to waste words in any description of this delightful scene, so well does the picture we present describe itself. We may say of it, in lines that Wordsworth has linked indissolubly with the place
'A very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower
These trees, a veil just half withdrawn, This fall of water, that doth make A murmur near the silent lake.
In truth together do ye seem Like something fashioned in a dream.'
It may well be doubted whether the Highland girl, with her 'twice seven consenting years,' and her 'homely ways and dress,' would have enchained the sympathetic poet, had he seen her in some place less lovely, or less provocative of a feeling of poetic contentment. Be that as it may, it will be confessed that the scene, with or without a 'Highland Girl' to stir the strings of the heart, will remain impressed on the mind of every one who is sensible of the beautiful.
And so we can join with Wordsworth, in the conclusion he arrives at, always excepting, if necessary, his passion for the girl of fourteen--
'For I, methinks, till I grow old As fair before me shall behold, As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall, And thee, the spirit of them all!'
There are many remembrances of Rob Roy, truthful some of them, fanciful the rest, in the vicinity of Inversnaid. Not far off is Rob Roy's Cave, the entrance scarcely visible, while within there is a vast cavern, whence in fancy we may descry
'The wild Macgregor's savage clan Emerging at their chieftain's call To foray or to festival.'
On the road between Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine is seen Inversnaid Fort, now in ruins, having in itself a chequered history. Built in 1713 to check the Macgregors, it is said to have been at one time resided in by General Wolfe. Now, like some doomed city of old, 'the cormorant and the bittern possess it,' for the Macgregors are at peace, their name and tartan are no longer proscribed, and now no black-mail is levied on any one in the district but the strangers, and for their protection the government has no need to provide. It is at times a costly thing to travel in the Highlands, when beds are at a ransom, and all the wealth of Ind will not secure the coveted box seat of the coach. But a Macgregor who levies black-mail in a Scottish city has put the thing in a nutshell, for when remonstrated with about his charges he said, 'What for should I charge less?--my hoose is fu'
every nicht!' There is true political economy shaking hands with the plunderer of the Saxon!
LOCH KATRINE.
The most brilliant gem in the loch scenery of Scotland is unquestionably Loch Katrine or Ketturin, and it is needful, however attractive or deserving of praise other waters may have proved, to avoid exhausting upon them the vocabulary of praise, lest no words of greater admiration should be left for this, the loveliest of them all.
Even if Scott had not superadded to Loch Katrine the witchery of his genius, and made Ellen's Isle as famous among the abodes of heroines as the Fountain of Vaucluse, this water would have asserted its claim to public regard. True, it was Scott that gave the impetus for touring in Scotland--or Scott-land as some have called it!--and Loch Katrine thus obtained a first hold upon the admiration of the world. But spite of all rivals, it maintains first rank, and although it cannot cope with Loch Lomond or Loch Maree in point of size, neither of those great lochs command the same admiration.
Scott in _The Lady of the Lake_, has depicted the scene in words of fire; taking sunset for the time. The 'gallant grey' has fallen,--the guides still point out the very spot!--and the huntsman pursues his way till the end of the glen is reached, and Loch Katrine bursts on his view,
'An airy point he won, Where, gleaming with the setting sun One burnished sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled, In all her length far winding lay With promontory, creek and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.'
In pointing to 'promontory, creek, and bay,' as the characteristics of the loch, Scott has depicted its most charming attributes, while the islands, of which Ellen's Isle is the largest, help to enhance the effect. As the little steamer breaks the still waters into drops that glance like gems in the sunlight, the scene changes every moment,--changes in detail, but never in degree of beauty, for the loch is lovely throughout, and never fails to enchant the eye.
The chief attraction of the loch itself is the lovely wooded isle that fills the foreground of our view,
'The wild rose, eglantine, and broom, Wasted around their rich perfume.
The birch trees wept in fragrant balm, The aspens slept beneath the calm, The silver light, with quivering glance Play'd on the water's still expanse.'
Seldom indeed will the casual visitor have the opportunity of viewing this scene thus, by the silvery moonlight. But in sunlight it is not less beautiful, and the description is complete. Next to the island, the point of attraction is the 'silver strand,' from whence one of the many fine views of Ben Venne may be had.
While Loch Katrine thus ministers to our love for the beautiful, its waters have learned to combine the _utile_ with the _dulce_, and here, in October 1859, came Queen Victoria to turn on the water for the supply of Glasgow. Many and fierce were the controversies as to this scheme. But Lord Provost Stewart, who was mercilessly assailed for upholding such a costly scheme of water supply, is now commemorated in Glasgow by a splendid fountain in the West-End Park, and staticians and sanitary reformers are able to show that the death rate amongst the half million crowded workers in Glasgow has manifestly lessened since the city acquired the right to drink the sparkling waters of Loch Katrine.
LOCH LUBNAIG.
Turning aside from the formal round of the Trosachs and Loch Lomond, to penetrate into that wonderful district which the Callander and Oban railway has opened up, we reach, at no great distance from Callander, Loch Lubnaig, 'the crooked lake,' so called from its bent form, which is almost identical with the form of the boomerang. The river Leny, which drains the lake, passes through the Pass of Leny, once famous as a gateway defending the entrance to the Highlands. Here, whether viewed from the train or the road, the river is seen to rush over huge rocks, tearing, roaring, and tumbling, in a manner calculated to terrify the timid entrant to this wild district.
The lake itself lies clear, black, and deep, a somewhat sullen, yet always beautiful sheet of water. On the left the dark masses of Ben Ledi cast their shadows upon the water, intensifying the depth of its tone, and giving the loch its distinctive character. Near the water the banks are in many places full of gentle woodland beauty, but as a rule the impression made by the overhanging bulk and the dusky-hued rocks of Ben Ledi, absorb the sense, and the loch ever presents an idea of grandeur and desolation. The railway line follows the edge of the loch over its whole length, and the construction of this track formed a most difficult engineering task, which at some stages of its progress was nigh abandoned in despair. To get round the hard and unyielding shoulders of the mountain, where they impinged direct upon the water, embankments had to be made across a number of bays and arms of the loch. In one case the task of throwing rocks and stones into the water was persevered in for nine months without perceptible result, but by continued labour a footing above water level was at last obtained. As the train pursues its course along the bank of the lovely loch,--the eye the while rejoicing in the dark and placid beauty of the water, and the charm of the hill scenery beyond,--there will at times come the feeling that the distance between the carriage window and the treacherously pellucid depths of the loch is all too little. The fear is unfounded, for no sign of subsidence has been shewn--the mass of stones thrown in was too solid for that. But this is a feature in the case that no traveller will fail to notice, and the impression thus made by Loch Lubnaig makes it a water which once seen will never be forgotten.
Near the debouchure of the river is St. Bride's Chapel, where Angus thrust the fiery cross into the hands of Norman, as described in _The Lady of the Lake_. About half-way up the loch is Ardchullary farmhouse, which was at one time the retreat of Bruce the traveller in Abyssinia, who here wrote the volumes on which a century ago such keen controversies arose. On the opposite side, where the railway runs, is Laggan, said to have been the abode of Helen Macgregor, whom Rob Roy carried off from here by force and married. In the veritable histories of Rob Roy, however, his wife's name is given as Mary, daughter of Macgregor of Comar.
LOCH EARN.