TOUR IN SCOTLAND.
It was in the months of August and September, in the year following that
of his marriage, that Wordsworth and his sister made their memorable six
week's tour in Scotland. The character of this tour, as well as the
remarkable memorial of it given to the world after a lapse of seventy
years, render it, in this place, deserving of more than a mere passing
notice. Of the daily incidents of this journey, and the impressions and
reflections caused by it, Miss Wordsworth kept a minute journal.
Although not intended as a literary production, and written only for the
perusal and information of friends, the style is not only pleasing but
elegant; and it is a matter for congratulation that the family of the
writer at length consented to its publication. This was done in 1874,
under the able editorship of Principal Shairp, of St. Andrews, and the
work rapidly passed through several editions. Not only is it of much
value to those taking an interest in the lives of the poet and his
sister; but, containing as it does descriptions at once graceful and
graphic of the scenes through which they passed, it cannot fail to
afford pleasure to the general reader. The Editor, in his preface, says
of it, that he does not remember any other book "more capable of
training heart and eye to look with profit on the face of Nature, as it
manifests itself in our northern land."
Mrs. Wordsworth was not of the party, being detained at home by maternal
duties. For the first fortnight the Wordsworths were accompanied by
Coleridge, who does not, however, on this occasion, seem to have been
the desirable companion of old. Wordsworth has said of him that he was
at the time "in bad spirits, and somewhat too much in love with his own
dejection."
The manner of their travelling was altogether in keeping with the humble
character of their lives. The Irish car, and the ancient steed--which,
from his various wayward freaks, and the difficulty with which he was on
certain occasions managed by the poets, must have been somewhat of a
screw--were not calculated to afford much luxury or ease. But the object
of the tourists was not to make a fashionable holiday. The very love of
Nature drew them to her wildest solitudes, and to woo her in her varied
moods, as well when frowning and repellant as when smiling and inviting.
As they were harvesting for future memories the deep experiences and
lingering harmonies which are reaped and garnered by a loving
companionship with Nature, it mattered little to them that these were
frequently obtained at the cost of weariness and discomfort.
It need not be repeated that for the in-gathering of Nature's most
beneficent gifts the poet could not have had a more fitting companion
than his sister. Not only did she idolise him from the depth of the warm
and tender heart of young womanhood, but she was possessed of a mind
singularly sympathetic with his own, and with a kindred enthusiasm as
to the objects in view. Her splendid health, also, at this time, and
strength of limb, made her such a comrade that this tour became to them
an enduring joy, to be remembered for all life: She was
"Fleet and strong--
And down the rocks could leap along
Like rivulets in May."
In giving a short account of this tour, it will be permissible to take
the liberty of a reviewer of quoting a few extracts. What strikes a
reader the most in Miss Wordsworth's record is her quickness of
observation. Nothing seemed to escape her notice. It was not only the
general aspect of Nature in both storm and sunshine, and the diversity
of scenes, that spoke to them; but Miss Wordsworth's eye took in objects
the most minute, she was alive to those subtle influences, which serve
so much to impart an interest to any journey or circumstance it would
not otherwise possess. She took with her her warm loving heart, so full,
for all with whom she came into contact, of the milk of human
kindness--grateful for little attentions given or favours bestowed, and
touched by those traits of humanity which make the whole world kin.
There is the constant loving remembrance of small events, to which
association sometimes lends such a charm. It was a very simple thing for
Miss Wordsworth, writing to her sister-in-law at Grasmere, at an inn by
no means remarkable for comfort, to mention that she wrote on the same
window-ledge on which her brother had written to her two years before;
but it reveals a loving heart.
On the second day of their journey we find the following entry in Miss
Wordsworth's diary: "Passed Rose Castle upon the Caldew, an ancient
building of red stone with sloping gardens, an ivied gateway, velvet
lawns, old garden walls, trim flower-borders, with stately and luxuriant
flowers. We walked up to the house and stood some minutes watching the
swallows that flew about restlessly, and flung their shadows upon the
sunbright walls of the old building; the shadows glanced and twinkled,
interchanged and crossed each other, expanded and shrunk up, appeared
and disappeared every instant; as I observed to William and Coleridge,
seeming more like living things than the birds themselves."
Going by way of Carlisle, the small party entered Scotland near Gretna,
and proceeded by Dumfries and the Vale of Nith. At Dumfries, the grave
and house of Burns had a melancholy interest for them, Miss Wordsworth
stating that "there is no thought surviving in Burns's daily life that
is not heart depressing."
On leaving the Nith, Miss Wordsworth thus describes the scenery: "We now
felt indeed that we were in Scotland; there was a natural peculiarity in
this place. In the scenes of the Nith it had not been the same as
England, but yet not simple, naked Scotland. The road led us down the
hill, and now there was no room in the vale but for the river and the
road; we had sometimes the stream to the right, sometimes to the left.
The hills were pastoral, but we did not see many sheep; green smooth
turf on the left, no ferns. On the right the heath plant grew in
abundance, of the most exquisite colour; it covered a whole hill-side,
or it was in streams and patches. We travelled along the vale, without
appearing to ascend, for some miles; all the reaches were beautiful, in
exquisite proportion, the hills seeming very high from being so near to
us. It might have seemed a valley which Nature had kept to herself for
pensive thoughts and tender feelings, but that we were reminded at every
turn of the road of something beyond by the coal-carts which were
travelling towards us. Though these carts broke in upon the tranquility
of the glen, they added much to the picturesque effect of the different
views, which indeed wanted nothing, though perfectly bare, houseless,
and treeless.
"After some time our road took us upwards towards the end of the valley.
Now the steeps were heathy all around. Just as we began to climb the
hill we saw three boys who came down the cleft of a brow on our left;
one carried a fishing-rod, and the hats of all were braided with
honeysuckles; they ran after one another as wanton as the wind. I cannot
express what a character of beauty those few honeysuckles in the hats of
the three boys gave to the place; what bower could they have come from?
We walked up the hill, met two well-dressed travellers, the woman
barefoot. Our little lads, before they had gone far, were joined by some
half-dozen of their companions, all without shoes and stockings. They
told us they lived at Wanlockhead, the village above, pointing to the
top of the hill; they went to school and learned Latin, Virgil, and some
of them Greek, Homer; but when Coleridge began to inquire further, off
they ran, poor things! I suppose afraid of being examined."
The following anecdote is related of Coleridge, when at the falls of
Cora Linn: "We sat upon a bench, placed for the sake of one of the
views, whence we looked down upon the waterfall, and over the open
country, and saw a ruined tower, called Wallace's Tower, which stands at
a very little distance from the fall, and is an interesting object. A
lady and gentleman, more expeditious tourists than ourselves, came to
the spot; they left us at the seat, and we found them again at another
station above the Falls. Coleridge, who is always good natured enough to
enter into conversation with anybody whom he meets in his way, began to
talk with the gentleman, who observed that it was a _majestic_
waterfall. Coleridge was delighted with the accuracy of the epithet,
particularly as he had been settling in his own mind the precise meaning
of the words grand, majestic, sublime, &c, and had discussed the subject
at some length with William the day before. 'Yes, sir,' says Coleridge,
'it _is_ a majestic waterfall.' 'Sublime and beautiful,' replied his
friend. Poor Coleridge could make no answer, and, not very desirous to
continue the conversation, came to us and related the story, laughing
heartily."
Of the falls of the Clyde, Miss Wordsworth observes: "We had been told
that the Cartland Crags were better worth going to see than the falls of
the Clyde. I do not think so; but I have seen rocky dells resembling
these before, with clear water instead of that muddy stream, and never
saw anything like the falls of the Clyde. It would be a delicious spot
to have near one's house; one would linger out many a day in the cool
shadow of the caverns, and the stream would soothe one by its murmuring;
still, being an old friend, one would not love it the less for its
homely face. Even we, as we passed along, could not help stopping for a
long while to admire the beauty of the lazy foam, for ever in motion,
and never moved away, in a still place of the water, covering the whole
surface of it with streaks and lines and ever-varying circles."
The Highlands were entered at Loch Lomond, of which Miss Wordsworth
writes:--"On a splendid evening, with the light of the sun diffused over
the whole islands, distant hills, and the broad expanse of the lake,
with its creeks, bays, and little slips of water among the islands, it
must be a glorious sight." ... "We had not climbed far before we were
stopped by a sudden burst of prospect, so singular and beautiful, that
it was like a flash of images from another world. We stood with our
backs to the hill of the island, which we were ascending, and which shut
out Ben Lomond entirely, and all the upper part of the lake, and we
looked towards the foot of the lake, scattered over with islands without
beginning and without end. The sun shone, and the distant hills were
visible, some through sunny mists, others in gloom with patches of
sunshine; the lake was lost under the low and distant hills, and the
islands lost in the lake, which was all in motion with travelling fields
of light, or dark shadows under rainy clouds. There are many hills, but
no commanding eminence at a distance to confine the prospect, so that
the land seemed endless as the water."
In her description of their adventures at Loch Katrine and the
Trossachs, Miss Wordsworth is very happy. Writing of the view from one
point she says:--"We saw Benvenue opposite to us--a high mountain but
clouds concealed its top; its side, rising directly from the lake, is
covered with birch trees to a great height, and seamed with innumerable
channels of torrents; but now there was no water in them, nothing to
break in upon the stillness and repose of the scene; nor do I recollect
hearing the sound of water from any side, the wind being fallen and the
lake perfectly still; the place was all eye, and completely satisfied
the sense and heart. Above and below us, to the right and to the left,
were rocks, knolls, and hills, which, wherever anything could grow--and
that was everywhere between the rocks--were covered with trees and
heather; the trees did not in any place grow so thick as an ordinary
wood; yet I think there was never a bare space of twenty yards, it was
more like a natural forest, where the trees grow in groups or singly,
not hiding the surface of the ground, which, instead of being green and
mossy, was of the richest purple. The heather was indeed the most
luxuriant I ever saw; it was so tall that a child of ten years old
struggling through it would often have been buried head and shoulders,
and the exquisite beauty of the colour, near or at a distance, seen
under the trees, is not to be conceived. But if I were to go on
describing for evermore, I should give but a faint, and very often a
false idea of the different objects and the various combinations of them
in this most intricate and delicious place; besides, I tired myself out
with describing at Loch Lomond, so I will hasten to the end of my tale.
This reminds me of a sentence in a little pamphlet written by the
minister of Callander, descriptive of the environs of that place. After
having taken up at least six closely-printed pages with the Trossachs,
he concludes thus:--'In a word, the Trossachs beggar all description,' a
conclusion in which everybody who has been there will agree with him. I
believe the word 'Trossachs' signifies 'many hills'; it is a name given
to all the eminences at the foot of Loch Ketterine, and about half a
mile beyond."
As an illustration of the expedients to which they were obliged to
resort, and the scanty accommodation afforded to them, may be quoted the
following:--"Our companion from the Trossachs, who, it appeared, was an
Edinburgh drawing-master, going, during a vacation, on a pedestrian tour
to John o'Groat's house, was to sleep in the barn with William and
Coleridge, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay. I do not believe
that the hay of the Highlands is often very dry; but this year it had a
better chance than usual. Wet or dry, however, the next morning they
said they had slept comfortably. When I went to bed the mistress,
desiring me to 'go ben,' attended me with a candle, and assured me that
the bed was dry, though not 'sic as I had been used to.' It was of
chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard, and two chests, on
one of which stood the milk in wooden vessels, covered over. I should
have thought that milk so kept could not have been sweet; but the cheese
and butter were good. The walls of the whole house were of stone
unplastered. It consisted of three apartments--the cow-house at one end;
the kitchen, or house, in the middle; and the spence at the other end.
The rooms were divided, not up to the rigging, but only to the
beginning of the roof, so that there was a free passage for light and
smoke from one end of the house to the other.
"I went to bed sometime before the family. The door was shut between us,
and they had a bright fire, which I could not see; but the light it sent
up among the varnished rafters and beams, which crossed each other in
almost as intricate and fantastic a manner, as I have seen the
under-boughs of a large beech-tree, withered by the depth of the shade
above, produced the most beautiful effect that can be conceived. It was
like what I should suppose an underground cave or temple to be, with a
dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight entering in upon it by some
means or other and yet the colours were more like melted gems. I lay
looking up till the light of the fire faded away, and the man and his
wife and child had crept into their bed at the other end of the room. I
did not sleep much, but passed a comfortable night--for my bed, though
hard, was warm and clean; the unusualness of my situation prevented me
from sleeping. I could hear the waves beat against the shore of the
lake; a little 'syke' close to the door made a much louder noise; and
when I sat up in my bed I could see the lake through an open
window-place at the bed's-head. Add to this, it rained all night. I was
less occupied by remembrance of the Trossachs, beautiful as they were,
than the vision of the Highland hut which I could not get out of my
head. I thought of the Fairyland of Spenser, and what I had read in
romance at other times, and then what a feast would it be for a London
pantomime-maker, could he but transplant it to Drury Lane, with all its
beautiful colours!"
Extracts from this admirable and fascinating book might be multiplied;
but I must resist the temptation. It is a book which must be read to be
enjoyed. The tourists received impressions not only from the natural
scenery, but also from the simple-minded and hospitable Highlanders,
with whom they from time to time met. They were so delighted with two
Highland girls, in their fresh, youthful beauty, whom they met at the
ferry at Inversneyde, that Wordsworth made them the subject of a
pleasant poem. Miss Wordsworth, after describing her pleasurable meeting
with these girls, says:--"At this day the innocent merriment of the
girls, with their kindness to us, and the beautiful figure and face of
the elder, come to my mind whenever I think of the ferry-house and
waterfall of Loch Lomond; and I never think of the two girls but the
whole image of that romantic spot is before me--a living image, as it
will be, to my dying day."
The poem of her brother, which cannot be much more poetic than the
graceful prose of the sister, is as follows:--
"Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost beauty on thy head:
And these grey rocks; that household lawn;
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent Lake;
This little Bay, a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy abode;
In truth, together do ye seem
Like something fashioned in a dream;
Such Forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
But, O fair Creature! in the light
Of common day, so heavenly bright,
I bless thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart:
God shield thee to thy latest years!
Thee neither know I, nor thy peers;
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.
"With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away:
For never saw I mien or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here, scattered like a random seed,
Remote from men, Thou dost not need
Th' embarrass'd look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness;
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer;
A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech:
A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life!
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind--
Thus beating up against the wind.
"What hand but would a garland cull
For thee, who art so beautiful?
O, happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways, and dress,
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess!
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality:
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea: and I would have
Some claim upon thee if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder Brother I would be,
Thy Father--anything to thee.
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place!
Joy have I had; and going hence
I bear away my recompence.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes;
Then, why should I be loth to stir?
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl, from thee to part;
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."
In a somewhat primitive way, and having to contend with bad roads,
accidents to their car, and sometimes hard lodging and scanty fare, they
managed to traverse a great part of the country which has since become
so familiar to tourists, taking on their way Inverary, Glen Coe, Loch
Tay, the Pass of Killicrankie, Dunkeld, Callander, back by the Trossachs
to Loch Lomond, and eventually to Edinburgh. Approaching Loch Lomond for
the second time, Miss Wordsworth remarks that she felt it much more
interesting to visit a place where they had been before than it could
possibly be for the first time. By the lake they met two women, without
hats but neatly dressed, who seemed to have been taking their Sunday
evening's walk. One of them said, in a soft, friendly voice, "What! you
are stepping westward?" She adds: "I cannot describe how affecting this
simple expression was in that remote place, with the western sky in
front, yet glowing with the departed sun." Wordsworth himself some time
afterwards, in remembrance of the incident, wrote the following poem:--
"'_'What! you are stepping westward?_' '_Yea._'
--'Twould be a _wildish_ destiny,
If we, who thus together roam
In a strange Land, and far from home,
Were in this place the guests of Chance;
Yet who would stop or fear to advance,
Though home or shelter he had none,
With such a sky to lead him on?
"The dewy ground was dark and cold,
Behind all gloomy to behold,
And stepping westward seem'd to be
A kind of _heavenly_ destiny;
I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
Of something without place or bound;
And seemed to give me spiritual right
To travel through that region bright.
"The voice was soft; and she who spake
Was walking by her native lake;
The salutation was to me
The very sound of courtesy;
Its power was felt, and while my eye
Was fix'd upon the glowing Sky,
The echo of the voice enwrought
A human sweetness, with the thought
Of travelling through the world that lay
Before me in my endless way."
With Edinburgh Miss Wordsworth was delighted. She says; "It was
impossible to think of anything that was little or mean, the goings on
of trade, the strife of men, or every-day city business; the impression
was one, and it was visionary; like the conceptions of our childhood of
Bagdad or Balsora, when we have been reading the 'Arabian Nights'
Entertainments.'"
Not the least memorable part of their tour was a visit to Sir--then
Mr.--Walter Scott, who was then unknown to fame as a novelist, but who,
as Sheriff of Selkirk, and considered a very clever and amiable man, was
universally respected. With him they visited Melrose and other places of
interest. Miss Wordsworth writes: "Walked up to Ferniehurst--an old
hall, in a secluded situation, now inhabited by farmers; the
neighbouring ground had the wildness of a forest, being irregularly
scattered over with fine old trees. The wind was tossing their branches,
and sunshine dancing among the leaves, and I happened to exclaim, 'What
a life there is in trees!' on which Mr. Scott observed that the words
reminded him of a young lady who had been born and educated on an island
of the Orcades, and came to spend a summer at Kelso, and in the
neighbourhood of Edinburgh. She used to say that in the new world into
which she was come nothing had disappointed her so much as trees and
woods; she complained that they were lifeless, silent, and, compared
with the grandeur of the ever-changing ocean, even insipid. At first I
was surprised, but the next moment I felt that the impression was
natural. Mr. Scott said that she was a very sensible young woman, and
had read much. She talked with endless rapture and feeling of the power
and greatness of the ocean; and, with the same passionate attachment,
returned to her native island without any probability of quitting it
again. The Valley of the Jed is very solitary immediately under
Ferniehurst; we walked down the river, wading almost up to the knees in
fern, which in many parts overspread the forest-ground. It made me think
of our walks at Alfoxden, and of _our own_ park--though at Ferniehurst
is no park at present--and the slim fawns that we used to startle from
their couching-places, among the fern at the top of the hill."
The journal contains many short passages which might be quoted to show
its poetic character. The following are selected almost at random: "I
can always walk over a moor with a light foot; I seem to be drawn more
closely to Nature in such places than anywhere else; or, rather, I feel
more strongly the power of Nature over me, and am better satisfied with
myself, for being able to find enjoyment in what, unfortunately to many
persons, is either dismal or insipid." "The opposite bank of the river
is left in its natural wildness, and nothing was to be seen higher up
but the deep dell, its steep banks being covered with fine trees, a
beautiful relief or contrast to the garden, which is one of the most
elaborate old things ever seen--a little hanging garden of Babylon."
Again, she writes: "The greatest charm of a brook or river is in the
liberty to pursue it through its windings; you can then take it in
whatever mood you like--silent or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties
of the brook or river must be sought, and the pleasure is in going in
search of them; those of the lake or of the sea come to you of
themselves." "The sky was grey and heavy--floating mists on the
hillsides, which softened the objects, and where we lost sight of the
lake it appeared so near to the sky that they almost touched one
another, giving a visionary beauty to the prospect." From the reflection
of the crimson clouds the water appeared of a deep red, like melted
rubies, yet with a mixture of a grey or blackish hue; the gorgeous light
of the sky, with the singular colour of the lake, made the scene
exceedingly romantic; yet it was more melancholy than cheerful. With all
the power of light from the clouds there was an overcasting of the gloom
of evening--a twilight upon the hills."
This tour was rich in its results, not only in the sister's journal but
also in the poems of the brother, to which it gave birth. Alluding to
these a contributor to _Blackwood_, so long ago as 1835, says:
"Wordsworth in Scotland as in England and Switzerland, and Italy and the
Tyrol, is still Wordsworth. Here, too, he reaps:--
'The harvests of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.'"
His thoughts, and feelings, and visions, and dreams, and fancies, and
imaginations, are all his own, by some divine right which no other
mortal shares along with him; and, true as they all are to nature, are
all distinguished by some indefinable, but delightful charm peculiar to
his own being, which assuredly is the most purely spiritual that ever
was enshrined in human dust. Safe in his originality he fears not to
travel the same ground that has been travelled by thousands--and
beaten, and barren, and naked as it may seem to be--he is sure to detect
some loveliest family of wild flowers that had lurked unseen in some
unsuspected crevices--to soothe his ears with a transient murmur, the
spirit of the wilderness awakens--the bee that had dropped on the moss
as if benumbed by frost--the small moorland bird revivified by sunshine,
sent from heaven for the poet's sake, goes twittering in circles in the
air above his head, nor is afraid that its nest will be trodden by his
harmless feet; and should a sudden summer shower affront the sunshine,
it is that a rainbow may come and go for his delight, and leave its
transitory splendours in some immortal song. On the great features of
Nature--lochs and mountains, among which he has lived his days--he looks
with a serene but sovereign eye, as if he held them all in fee, and they
stood there to administer to the delight--we must not say the pride--of
him, 'Sole king of rocky Cumberland;' and true it is that from the
assemblage of their summits, in the sunset, impulses of deeper mood have
come to him in solitude than ever visited the heart of any other
poet.... The true Highland spirit is there; but another spirit, too,
which Wordsworth carries with him wherever he goes in the sanctuary of
his own genius, and which colours all it breathes on--lending lovelier
light to the fair, and more awful gloom to the great, and ensouling what
else were but cold death."