May 10th.--Last Friday, May 2d, I took the rail, with Mr. Bowman, from
the Lime Street station, for Glasgow. There was nothing of much interest
along the road, except that, when we got beyond Penrith, we saw snow on
the tops of some of the hills. Twilight came on as we were entering
Scotland; and I have only a recollection of bleak and bare hills and
villages dimly seen, until, nearing Glasgow, we saw the red blaze of
furnace-lights at frequent iron-founderies. We put up at the Queen's
Hotel, where we arrived about ten o'clock; a better hotel than I have
anywhere found in England,--new, well arranged, and with brisk
attendance.
In the morning I rambled largely about Glasgow, and found it to be
chiefly a modern-built city, with streets mostly wide and regular, and
handsome houses and public edifices of a dark gray stone. In front of
our hotel, in an enclosed green space, stands a tall column surmounted by
a statue of Sir Walter Scott,--a good statue, I should think, as
conveying the air and personal aspect of the man. There is a bronze
equestrian statue of the Queen in one of the streets, and one or two more
equestrian or other statues of eminent persons. I passed through the
Trongate and the Gallow-Gate, and visited the Salt-Market, and saw the
steeple of the Tolbooth, all of which Scott has made interesting; and I
went through the gate of the University, and penetrated into its enclosed
courts, round which the College edifices are built. They are not Gothic,
but of the age, I suppose, of James I.,--with odd-looking, conical-roofed
towers, and here and there the bust of a benefactor in niches round the
courts, and heavy stone staircases ascending from the pavement, outside
the buildings, all of dark gray granite, cold, hard, and venerable. The
University stands in High Street, in a dense part of the town, and a very
old and shabby part, too. I think the poorer classes of Glasgow excel
even those in Liverpool in the bad eminence of filth, uncombed and
unwashed children, drunkenness, disorderly deportment, evil smell, and
all that makes city poverty disgusting. In my opinion, however, they are
a better-looking people than the English (and this is true of all
classes), more intelligent of aspect, with more regular features. I
looked for the high cheek-bones, which have been attributed, as a
characteristic feature, to the Scotch, but could not find them. What
most distinguishes them front the English is the regularity of the nose,
which is straight, or sometimes a little curved inward; whereas the
English nose has no law whatever, but disports itself in all manner of
irregularity. I very soon learned to recognize the Scotch face, and when
not too Scotch, it is a handsome one.
In another part of the High Street, up a pretty steep slope, and on one
side of a public green, near an edifice which I think is a medical
college, stands St. Mungo's Cathedral. It is hardly of cathedral
dimensions, though a large and fine old church. The price of a ticket of
admittance is twopence; so small that it might be as well to make the
entrance free. The interior is in excellent repair, with the nave and
side aisles, and clustered pillars, and intersecting arches, that belong
to all these old churches; and a few monuments along the walls. I was
going away without seeing any more than this; but the verger, a friendly
old gentleman, with a hearty Scotch way of speaking, told me that the
crypts were what chiefly interested strangers; and so he guided me down
into the foundation-story of the church, where there is an intricacy and
entanglement of immensely massive and heavy arches, supporting the
structure above. The view through these arches, among the great shafts
of the columns, was very striking. In the central part is a monument; a
recumbent figure, if I remember rightly, but it is not known whom it
commemorates. There is also a monument to a Scotch prelate, which seems
to have been purposely defaced, probably in Covenant times. These
intricate arches were the locality of one of the scenes in "Rob Roy,"
when Rob gives Frank Osbaldistone some message or warning, and then
escapes from him into the obscurity behind. In one corner is St. Mungo's
well, secured with a wooden cover; but I should not care to drink water
that comes from among so many old graves.
After viewing the cathedral, I got back to the hotel just in time to go
from thence to the steamer wharf, and take passage up the Clyde. There
was nothing very interesting in this little voyage. We passed many
small iron steamers, and some large ones; and green fields along the
river-shores, villas, villages, and all such suburban objects; neither am
I quite sure of the name of the place we landed at, though I think it was
Bowling. Here we took the railway for Balloch; and the only place or
thing I remember during this transit was a huge bluff or crag, rising
abruptly from a river-side, and looking, in connection with its vicinity
to the Highlands, just such a site as would be taken for the foundation
of a castle. On inquiry it turned out that this abrupt and double-headed
hill (for it has two summits, with a cleft between) is the site of
Dumbarton Castle, for ages one of the strongest fortresses in Scotland,
and still kept up as a garrisoned place. At the distance and point of
view at which we passed it, the castle made no show.
Arriving at Balloch, we found it a small village, with no marked
features, and a hotel, where we got some lunch, and then we took a stroll
over the bridge across the Levers, while waiting for the steamer to take
us up Loch Lomond. It was a beautiful afternoon, warm and sunny; and
after walking about a mile, we had a fine view of Loch Lomond, and of the
mountains around and beyond it,--Ben Lomond among the rest. It is vain,
at a week's distance, to try to remember the shapes of mountains; so I
shall attempt no description of them, and content myself with saying that
they did not quite come up to my anticipations. In due time we returned
to our hotel, and found in the coffee-room a tall, white-haired,
venerable gentleman, and a pleasant-looking young lady, his daughter.
They had been eating lunch, and the young lady helped her father on with
his outside garment, and his comforter, and gave him his stick, just as
any other daughter might do,--all of which I mention because he was a
nobleman; and, moreover, had engaged all the post-horses at the inn, so
that we could not continue our travels by land, along the side of Loch
Lomond, as we had first intended. At four o'clock the railway train
arrived again, with a very moderate number of passengers, who (and we
among them) immediately embarked on board a neat little steamer which was
waiting for us.
The day was bright and cloudless; but there was a strong, cold breeze
blowing down the lake, so that it was impossible, without vast
discomfort, to stand in the bow of the steamer and look at the scenery.
I looked at it, indeed, along the sides, as we passed, and on our track
behind; and no doubt it was very fine; but from all the experience I have
had, I do not think scenery can be well seen from the water. At any
rate, the shores of Loch Lomond have faded completely out of my memory;
nor can I conceive that they really were very striking. At a year's
interval, I can recollect the cluster of hills around the head of Lake
Windermere; at twenty years' interval, I remember the shores of Lake
Champlain; but of the shores of this Scottish lake I remember nothing
except some oddly shaped rocks, called "The Cobbler and his Daughter," on
a mountain-top, just before we landed. But, indeed, we had very
imperfect glimpses of the hills along the latter part of the course,
because the wind had grown so very cold that we took shelter below, and
merely peeped at Loch Lomond's sublimities from the cabin-windows.
The whole voyage up Loch Lomond is, I think, about thirty-two miles; but
we landed at a place called Tarbet, much short of the ultimate point.
There is here a large hotel; but we passed it, and walked onward a mile
or two to Arroquhar, a secluded glen among the hills, where is a new
hotel, built in the old manor-house style, and occupying the site of what
was once a castle of the chief of the MacFarlanes. Over the portal is a
stone taken from the former house, bearing the date 1697. There is a
little lake near the house, and the hills shut in the whole visible scene
so closely that there appears no outlet nor communication with the
external world; but in reality this little lake is connected with Loch
Long, and Loch Long is an arm of the sea; so that there is water
communication between Arroquhar and Glasgow. We found this a very
beautiful place; and being quite sheltered from all winds that blew, we
strolled about late into the prolonged twilight, and admired the outlines
of the surrounding hills, and fancied resemblances to various objects in
the shapes of the crags against the evening sky. The sun had not set
till nearly, if not quite, eight o'clock; and before the daylight had
quite gone, the northern lights streamed out, and I do not think that
there was much darkness over the glen of Arroquhar that night. At all
events, before the darkness came, we withdrew into the coffee-room.
We had excellent beds and sleeping-rooms in this new hotel, and I
remember nothing more till morning, when we were astir betimes, and had
some chops for breakfast. Then our host, Mr. Macregor, who is also the
host of our hotel at Glasgow, and has many of the characteristics of an
American landlord, claiming to be a gentleman and the equal of his
guests, took us in a drosky, and drove us to the shore of Loch Lomond, at
a point about four miles from Arroquhar. The lake is here a mile and a
half wide, and it was our object to cross to Inversnaid, on the opposite
shore; so first we waved a handkerchief, and then kindled some straw on
the beach, in order to attract the notice of the ferryman at Inversnaid.
It was half an hour before our signals and shoutings resulted in the
putting off of a boat, with two oarsmen, who made the transit pretty
speedily; and thus we got across Loch Lomond. At Inversnaid there is a
small hotel, and over the rock on which it stands a little waterfall
tumbles into the lake,--a very little one, though I believe it is
reckoned among the other picturesque features of the scene.
We were now in Rob Roy's country, and at the distance of a mile or so,
along the shore of the lake, is Rob Roy's cave, where he and his
followers are supposed to have made their abode in troublous times.
While lunch was getting ready, we again took the boat, and went thither.
Landing beneath a precipitous, though not very lofty crag, we clambered
up a rude pathway, and came to the mouth of the cave, which is nothing
but a fissure or fissures among some great rocks that have tumbled
confusedly together. There is hardly anywhere space enough for half a
dozen persons to crowd themselves together, nor room to stand upright.
On the whole, it is no cave at all, but only a crevice; and, in the
deepest and darkest part, you can look up and see the sky. It may have
sheltered Rob Roy for a night, and might partially shelter any Christian
during a shower.
Returning to the hotel, we started in a drosky (I do not know whether
this is the right name of the vehicle, or whether it has a right name,
but it is a carriage in which four persons sit back to back, two before
and two behind) for Aberfoyle. The mountain-side ascends very steeply
from the inn door, and, not to damp the horse's courage in the outset, we
went up on foot. The guide-book says that the prospect from the summit
of the ascent is very fine; but I really believe we forgot to turn round
and look at it. All through our drive, however, we had mountain views in
plenty, especially of great Ben Lomond, with his snow-covered head, round
which, since our entrance into the Highlands, we had been making a
circuit. Nothing can possibly be drearier than the mountains at this
season; bare, barren, and bleak, with black patches of withered heath
variegating the dead brown of the herbage on their sides; and as regards
trees the hills are perfectly naked. There were no frightful precipices,
no boldly picturesque features, along our road; but high, weary slopes,
showing miles and miles of heavy solitude, with here and there a highland
hut, built of stone and thatched; and, in one place, an old gray, ruinous
fortress, a station of the English troops after the rebellion of 1715;
and once or twice a village of hills, the inhabitants of which, old and
young, ran to their doors to stare at us. For several miles after we
left Inversnaid, the mountain-stream which makes the waterfall brawled
along the roadside. All the hills are sheep-pastures, and I never saw
such wild, rough, ragged-looking creatures as the sheep, with their black
faces and tattered wool. The little lambs were very numerous, poor
things, coming so early in the season into this inclement region; and it
was laughable to see how invariably, when startled by our approach, they
scampered to their mothers, and immediately began to suck. It would seem
as if they sought a draught from the maternal udder, wherewith to fortify
and encourage their poor little hearts; but I suppose their instinct
merely drove them close to their dams, and, being there, they took
advantage of their opportunity. These sheep must lead a hard life during
the winter; for they are never fed nor sheltered.
The day was sunless, and very uncomfortably cold; and we were not sorry
to walk whenever the steepness of the road gave us cause. I do not
remember what o'clock it was, but not far into the afternoon, when we
reached the Baillie Nicol-Jarvie Inn at Aberfoyle; a scene which is much
more interesting in the pages of Rob Roy than we found it in reality.
Here we got into a sort of cart, and set out, over another hill-path, as
dreary as or drearier than the last, for the Trosachs. On our way, we
saw Ben Venue, and a good many other famous Bens, and two or three lochs;
and when we reached the Trosachs, we should probably have been very much
enraptured if our eyes had not already been weary with other mountain
shapes. But, in truth, I doubt if anybody ever does really see a
mountain, who goes for the set and sole purpose of seeing it. Nature
will not let herself be seen in such cases. You must patiently bide her
time; and by and by, at some unforeseen moment, she will quietly and
suddenly unveil herself, and for a brief space allow you to look right
into the heart of her mystery. But if you call out to her peremptorily,
"Nature! unveil yourself this very moment!" she only draws her veil the
closer; and you may look with all your eyes, and imagine that you see all
that she can show, and yet see nothing. Thus, I saw a wild and confused
assemblage of heights, crags, precipices, which they call the Trosachs,
but I saw them calmly and coldly, and was glad when the drosky was ready
to take us on to Callender. The hotel at the Trosachs, by the by, is a
very splendid one, in the form of an old feudal castle, with towers and
turrets. All among these wild hills there is set preparation for
enraptured visitants; and it seems strange that the savage features do
not subside of their own accord, and that there should still be cold
winds and snow on the top of Ben Lomond, and rocks and heather, and
ragged sheep, now that there are so many avenues by which the commonplace
world is sluiced in among the Highlands. I think that this fashion of
the picturesque will pass away.
We drove along the shore of Lake Vennachar, and onward to Callender,
which I believe is either the first point in the Lowlands or the last in
the Highlands. It is a large village on the river Teith. We stopped
here to dine, and were some time in getting any warmth into our benumbed
bodies; for, as I said before, it was a very cold day. Looking from the
window of the hotel, I saw a young man in Highland dress, with bare
thighs, marching through the village street towards the Lowlands, with a
martial and elastic step, as if he were going forth to conquer and occupy
the world. I suppose he was a soldier who had been absent on leave,
returning to the garrison at Stirling. I pitied his poor thighs, though
he certainly did not look uncomfortable.
After dinner, as dusk was coming on and we had still a long drive before
us (eighteen miles, I believe), we took a close carriage and two horses,
and set off for Stirling. The twilight was too obscure to show many
things along the road, and by the time we drove into Stirling we could
but dimly see the houses in the long street in which stood our hotel.
There was a good fire in the coffee-room, which looked like a
drawing-room in a large old-fashioned mansion, and was hung round with
engravings of the portraits of the county members, and a master of
fox-hounds, and other pictures. We made ourselves comfortable with some
tea, and retired early.
In the morning we were stirring betimes, and found Stirling to be a
pretty large town, of rather ancient aspect, with many gray stone houses,
the gables of which are notched on either side, like a flight of stairs.
The town stands on the slope of a hill, at the summit of which, crowning
a long ascent, up which the paved street reaches all the way to its gate,
is Stirling Castle. Of course we went thither, and found free entrance,
although the castle is garrisoned by five or six hundred men, among whom
are barelegged Highlanders (I must say that this costume is very fine and
becoming, though their thighs did look blue and frost-bitten) and also
some soldiers of other Scotch regiments, with tartan trousers. Almost
immediately on passing the gate, we found an old artillery-man, who
undertook to show us round the castle. Only a small portion of it seems
to be of great antiquity. The principal edifice within the castle wall
is a palace, that was either built or renewed by James VI.; and it is
ornamented with strange old statues, one of which is his own. The old
Scottish Parliament House is also here. The most ancient part of the
castle is the tower, where one of the Earls of Douglas was stabbed by a
king, and afterwards thrown out of the window. In reading this story,
one imagines a lofty turret, and the dead man tumbling headlong from a
great height; but, in reality, the window is not more than fifteen or
twenty feet from the garden into which he fell. This part of the castle
was burned last autumn; but is now under repair, and the wall of the
tower is still stanch and strong. We went up into the chamber where the
murder took place, and looked through the historic window.
Then we mounted the castle wall, where it broods over a precipice of many
hundred feet perpendicular, looking down upon a level plain below, and
forth upon a landscape, every foot of which is richly studded with
historic events. There is a small peep-hole in the wall, which Queen
Mary is said to have been in the habit of looking through. It is a most
splendid view; in the distance, the blue Highlands, with a variety of
mountain outlines that I could have studied unweariably; and in another
direction, beginning almost at the foot of the Castle Hill, were the
Links of Forth, where, over a plain of miles in extent the river
meandered, and circled about, and returned upon itself again and again
and again, as if knotted into a silver chain, which it was difficult to
imagine to be all one stream. The history of Scotland might be read from
this castle wall, as on a book of mighty page; for here, within the
compass of a few miles, we see the field where Wallace won the battle of
Stirling, and likewise the battle-field of Bannockburn, and that of
Falkirk, and Sheriffmuir, and I know not how many besides.
Around the Castle Hill there is a walk, with seats for old and infirm
persons, at points sheltered from the wind. We followed it downward, and
I think we passed over the site where the games used to be held, and
where, this morning, some of the soldiers of the garrison were going
through their exercises. I ought to have mentioned, that, passing
through the inner gateway of the castle, we saw the round tower, and
glanced into the dungeon, where the Roderic Dhu of Scott's poem was left
to die. It is one of the two round towers, between which the portcullis
rose and fell.