was close to the water, and a hill, bare, rocky, or with scattered copses
rose above it. A deep shade hung over the road, where some little boys
were at play; we expected a dwelling-house of some sort; and when we came
nearer, saw three or four thatched huts under the trees, and at the same
moment felt that it was a paradise. We had before seen the lake only as
one wide plain of water; but here the portion of it which we saw was
bounded by a high and steep, heathy and woody island opposite, which did
not appear like an island, but the main shore, and framed out a little
oblong lake apparently not so broad as Rydale-water, with one small
island covered with trees, resembling some of the most beautiful of the
holms of Windermere, and only a narrow river's breadth from the shore.
This was a place where we should have liked to have lived, and the only
one we had seen near Loch Lomond. How delightful to have a little shed
concealed under the branches of the fairy island! the cottages and the
island might have been made for the pleasure of each other. It was but
like a natural garden, the distance was so small; nay, one could not have
forgiven any one living there, not compelled to daily labour, if he did
not connect it with his dwelling by some feeling of domestic attachment,
like what he has for the orchard where his children play. I thought,
what a place for William! he might row himself over with twenty strokes
of the oars, escaping from the business of the house, and as safe from
intruders, with his boat anchored beside him, as if he had locked himself
up in the strong tower of a castle. We were unwilling to leave this
sweet spot; but it was so simple, and therefore so rememberable, that it
seemed almost as if we could have carried it away with us. It was
nothing more than a small lake enclosed by trees at the ends and by the
way-side, and opposite by the island, a steep bank on which the purple
heath was seen under low oak coppice-wood, a group of houses
over-shadowed by trees, and a bending road. There was one remarkable
tree, an old larch with hairy branches, which sent out its main stem
horizontally across the road, an object that seemed to have been singled
out for injury where everything else was lovely and thriving, tortured
into that shape by storms, which one might have thought could not have
reached it in that sheltered place.
We were now entering into the Highlands. I believe Luss is the place
where we were told that country begins; but at these cottages I would
have gladly believed that we were there, for it was like a new region.
The huts were after the Highland fashion, and the boys who were playing
wore the Highland dress and philabeg. On going into a new country I seem
to myself to waken up, and afterwards it surprises me to remember how
much alive I have been to the distinctions of dress, household
arrangements, etc. etc., and what a spirit these little things give to
wild, barren, or ordinary places. The cottages are within about two
miles of Luss. Came in view of several islands; but the lake being so
very wide, we could see little of their peculiar beauties, and they,
being large, hardly looked like islands.
Passed another gentleman's house, which stands prettily in a bay, {67}
and soon after reached Luss, where we intended to lodge. On seeing the
outside of the inn, we were glad that we were to have such pleasant
quarters. It is a nice-looking white house, by the road-side; but there
was not much promise of hospitality when we stopped at the door: no
person came out till we had shouted a considerable time. A barefooted
lass showed me up-stairs, and again my hopes revived; the house was clean
for a Scotch inn, and the view very pleasant to the lake, over the top of
the village--a cluster of thatched houses among trees, with a large
chapel in the midst of them. Like most of the Scotch kirks which we had
seen, this building resembles a big house; but it is a much more pleasing
building than they generally are, and has one of our rustic belfries, not
unlike that at Ambleside, with two bells hanging in the open air. {68}
We chose one of the back rooms to sit in, being more snug, and they
looked upon a very sweet prospect--a stream tumbling down a cleft or glen
on the hill-side, rocky coppice ground, a rural lane, such as we have
from house to house at Grasmere, and a few outhouses. We had a poor
dinner, and sour ale; but as long as the people were civil we were
contented.
Coleridge was not well, so he did not stir out, but William and I walked
through the village to the shore of the lake. When I came close to the
houses, I could not but regret a want of loveliness correspondent with
the beauty of the situation and the appearance of the village at a little
distance; not a single ornamented garden. We saw potatoes and cabbages,
but never a honeysuckle. Yet there were wild gardens, as beautiful as
any that ever man cultivated, overgrowing the roofs of some of the
cottages, flowers and creeping plants. How elegant were the wreaths of
the bramble that had 'built its own bower' upon the riggins in several
parts of the village; therefore we had chiefly to regret the want of
gardens, as they are symptoms of leisure and comfort, or at least of no
painful industry. Here we first saw houses without windows, the smoke
coming out of the open window-places; the chimneys were like stools with
four legs, a hole being left in the roof for the smoke, and over that a
slate placed upon four sticks--sometimes the whole leaned as if it were
going to fall. The fields close to Luss lie flat to the lake, and a
river, as large as our stream near the church at Grasmere, flows by the
end of the village, being the same which comes down the glen behind the
inn; it is very much like our stream--beds of blue pebbles upon the
shores.
We walked towards the head of the lake, and from a large pasture field
near Luss, a gentle eminence, had a very interesting view back upon the
village and the lake and islands beyond. We then perceived that Luss
stood in the centre of a spacious bay, and that close to it lay another
small one, within the larger, where the boats of the inhabitants were
lying at anchor, a beautiful natural harbour. The islands, as we look
down the water, are seen in great beauty. Inch-ta-vanach, the same that
framed out the little peaceful lake which we had passed in the morning,
towers above the rest. The lake is very wide here, and the opposite
shores not being lofty the chief part of the permanent beauty of this
view is among the islands, and on the near shore, including the low
promontories of the bay of Luss, and the village; and we saw it under its
dullest aspect--the air cold, the sky gloomy, without a glimpse of
sunshine.
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.
Up the lake there are no islands; Ben Lomond terminates the view, without
any other large mountains; no clouds were upon it, therefore we saw the
whole size and form of the mountain, yet it did not appear to me so large
as Skiddaw does from Derwent-water. Continued our walk a considerable
way towards the head of the lake, and went up a high hill, but saw no
other reach of the water. The hills on the Luss side become much
steeper, and the lake, having narrowed a little above Luss, was no longer
a very wide lake where we lost sight of it.
Came to a bark hut by the shores, and sate for some time under the
shelter of it. While we were here a poor woman with a little child by
her side begged a penny of me, and asked where she could 'find quarters
in the village.' She was a travelling beggar, a native of Scotland, had
often 'heard of that water,' but was never there before. This woman's
appearance, while the wind was rustling about us, and the waves breaking
at our feet, was very melancholy: the waters looked wide, the hills many,
and dark, and far off--no house but at Luss. I thought what a dreary
waste must this lake be to such poor creatures, struggling with fatigue
and poverty and unknown ways!
We ordered tea when we reached the inn, and desired the girl to light us
a fire; she replied, 'I dinna ken whether she'll gie fire,' meaning her
mistress. We told her we did not wish her mistress to give fire, we only
desired her to let her make it and we would pay for it. The girl brought
in the tea-things, but no fire, and when I asked if she was coming to
light it, she said 'her mistress was not varra willing to gie fire.' At
last, however, on our insisting upon it, the fire was lighted: we got tea
by candlelight, and spent a comfortable evening. I had seen the landlady
before we went out, for, as had been usual in all the country inns, there
was a demur respecting beds, notwithstanding the house was empty, and
there were at least half-a-dozen spare beds. Her countenance
corresponded with the unkindness of denying us a fire on a cold night,
{70} for she was the most cruel and hateful-looking woman I ever saw.
She was overgrown with fat, and was sitting with her feet and legs in a
tub of water for the dropsy,--probably brought on by whisky-drinking.
The sympathy which I felt and expressed for her, on seeing her in this
wretched condition--for her legs were swollen as thick as
mill-posts--seemed to produce no effect; and I was obliged, after five
minutes' conversation, to leave the affair of the beds undecided.
Coleridge had some talk with her daughter, a smart lass in a cotton gown,
with a bandeau round her head, without shoes and stockings. She told
Coleridge with some pride that she had not spent all her time at Luss,
but was then fresh from Glasgow.
It came on a very stormy night; the wind rattled every window in the
house, and it rained heavily. William and Coleridge had bad beds, in a
two-bedded room in the garrets, though there were empty rooms on the
first floor, and they were disturbed by a drunken man, who had come to
the inn when we were gone to sleep.
* * * * *
_Thursday_, _August_ 25_th_.--We were glad when we awoke to see that it
was a fine morning--the sky was bright blue, with quick-moving clouds,
the hills cheerful, lights and shadows vivid and distinct. The village
looked exceedingly beautiful this morning from the garret windows--the
stream glittering near it, while it flowed under trees through the level
fields to the lake. After breakfast, William and I went down to the
water-side. The roads were as dry as if no drop of rain had fallen,
which added to the pure cheerfulness of the appearance of the village,
and even of the distant prospect, an effect which I always seem to
perceive from clearly bright roads, for they are always brightened by
rain, after a storm; but when we came among the houses I regretted even
more than last night, because the contrast was greater, the slovenliness
and dirt near the doors; and could not but remember, with pain from the
contrast, the cottages of Somersetshire, covered with roses and myrtle,
and their small gardens of herbs and flowers. While lingering by the
shore we began to talk with a man who offered to row us to
Inch-ta-vanach; but the sky began to darken; and the wind being high, we
doubted whether we should venture, therefore made no engagement; he
offered to sell me some thread, pointing to his cottage, and added that
many English ladies carried thread away from Luss.
Presently after Coleridge joined us, and we determined to go to the
island. I was sorry that the man who had been talking with us was not
our boatman; William by some chance had engaged another. We had two
rowers and a strong boat; so I felt myself bold, though there was a great
chance of a high wind. The nearest point of Inch-ta-vanach is not
perhaps more than a mile and a quarter from Luss; we did not land there,
but rowed round the end, and landed on that side which looks towards our
favourite cottages, and their own island, which, wherever seen, is still
their own. It rained a little when we landed, and I took my cloak, which
afterwards served us to sit down upon in our road up the hill, when the
day grew much finer, with gleams of sunshine. This island belongs to Sir
James Colquhoun, who has made a convenient road, that winds gently to the
top of it.
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.
What I had heard of Loch Lomond, or any other place in Great Britain, had
given me no idea of anything like what we beheld: it was an outlandish
scene--we might have believed ourselves in North America. The islands
were of every possible variety of shape and surface--hilly and level,
large and small, bare, rocky, pastoral, or covered with wood.
Immediately under my eyes lay one large flat island, bare and green, so
flat and low that it scarcely appeared to rise above the water, with
straggling peat-stacks and a single hut upon one of its out-shooting
promontories--for it was of a very irregular shape, though perfectly
flat. Another, its next neighbour, and still nearer to us, was covered
over with heath and coppice-wood, the surface undulating, with flat or
sloping banks towards the water, and hollow places, cradle-like valleys,
behind. These two islands, with Inch-ta-vanach, where we were standing,
were intermingled with the water, I might say interbedded and interveined
with it, in a manner that was exquisitely pleasing. There were bays
innumerable, straits or passages like calm rivers, landlocked lakes, and,
to the main water, stormy promontories. The solitary hut on the flat
green island seemed unsheltered and desolate, and yet not wholly so, for
it was but a broad river's breadth from the covert of the wood of the
other island. Near to these is a miniature, an islet covered with trees,
on which stands a small ruin that looks like the remains of a religious
house; it is overgrown with ivy, and were it not that the arch of a
window or gateway may be distinctly seen, it would be difficult to
believe that it was not a tuft of trees growing in the shape of a ruin,
rather than a ruin overshadowed by trees. When we had walked a little
further we saw below us, on the nearest large island, where some of the
wood had been cut down, a hut, which we conjectured to be a bark hut. It
appeared to be on the shore of a little forest lake, enclosed by
Inch-ta-vanach, where we were, and the woody island on which the hut
stands.
Beyond we had the same intricate view as before, and could discover
Dumbarton rock with its double head. There being a mist over it, it had
a ghost-like appearance--as I observed to William and Coleridge,
something like the Tor of Glastonbury from the Dorsetshire hills. Right
before us, on the flat island mentioned before, were several small single
trees or shrubs, growing at different distances from each other, close to
the shore, but some optical delusion had detached them from the land on
which they stood, and they had the appearance of so many little vessels
sailing along the coast of it. I mention the circumstance, because, with
the ghostly image of Dumbarton Castle, and the ambiguous ruin on the
small island, it was much in the character of the scene, which was
throughout magical and enchanting--a new world in its great permanent
outline and composition, and changing at every moment in every part of it
by the effect of sun and wind, and mist and shower and cloud, and the
blending lights and deep shades which took place of each other,
traversing the lake in every direction. The whole was indeed a strange
mixture of soothing and restless images, of images inviting to rest, and
others hurrying the fancy away into an activity still more pleasing than
repose. Yet, intricate and homeless, that is, without lasting
abiding-place for the mind, as the prospect was, there was no perplexity;
we had still a guide to lead us forward.
Wherever we looked, it was a delightful feeling that there was something
beyond. Meanwhile, the sense of quiet was never lost sight of; the
little peaceful lakes among the islands might make you forget that the
great water, Loch Lomond, was so near; and yet are more beautiful,
because you know that it is so: they have their own bays and creeks
sheltered within a shelter. When we had ascended to the top of the
island we had a view up to Ben Lomond, over the long, broad water without
spot or rock; and, looking backwards, saw the islands below us as on a
map. This view, as may be supposed, was not nearly so interesting as
those we had seen before. We hunted out all the houses on the shore,
which were very few: there was the village of Luss, the two gentlemen's
houses, our favourite cottages, and here and there a hut; but I do not
recollect any comfortable-looking farm-houses, and on the opposite shore
not a single dwelling. The whole scene was a combination of natural
wildness, loveliness, beauty, and barrenness, or rather bareness, yet not
comfortless or cold; but the whole was beautiful. We were too far off
the more distant shore to distinguish any particular spots which we might
have regretted were not better cultivated, and near Luss there was no
want of houses.
After we had left the island, having been so much taken with the beauty
of the bark hut and the little lake by which it appeared to stand, we
desired the boatman to row us through it, and we landed at the hut.
Walked upon the island for some time, and found out sheltered places for
cottages. There were several woodman's huts, which, with some scattered
fir-trees, and others in irregular knots, that made a delicious murmuring
in the wind, added greatly to the romantic effect of the scene. They
were built in the form of a cone from the ground, like savages' huts, the
door being just large enough for a man to enter with stooping. Straw
beds were raised on logs of wood, tools lying about, and a forked bough
of a tree was generally suspended from the roof in the middle to hang a
kettle upon. It was a place that might have been just visited by new
settlers. I thought of Ruth and her dreams of romantic love:
'And then he said how sweet it were,
A fisher or a hunter there,
A gardener in the shade,
Still wandering with an easy mind,
To build a household fire, and find
A home in every glade.'
We found the main lake very stormy when we had left the shelter of the
islands, and there was again a threatening of rain, but it did not come
on. I wanted much to go to the old ruin, but the boatmen were in a hurry
to be at home. They told us it had been a stronghold built by a man who
lived there alone, and was used to swim over and make depredations on the
shore,--that nobody could ever lay hands on him, he was such a good
swimmer, but at last they caught him in a net. The men pointed out to us
an island belonging to Sir James Colquhoun, on which were a great
quantity of deer.
Arrived at the inn at about twelve o'clock, and prepared to depart
immediately: we should have gone with great regret if the weather had
been warmer and the inn more comfortable. When we were leaving the door,
a party with smart carriage and servants drove up, and I observed that
the people of the house were just as slow in their attendance upon them
as on us, with one single horse and outlandish Hibernian vehicle.
When we had travelled about two miles the lake became considerably
narrower, the hills rocky, covered with copses, or bare, rising more
immediately from the bed of the water, and therefore we had not so often
to regret the want of inhabitants. Passed by, or saw at a distance,
sometimes a single cottage, or two or three together, but the whole space
between Luss and Tarbet is a solitude to the eye. We were reminded of
Ulswater, but missed the pleasant farms, and the mountains were not so
interesting: we had not seen them in companies or brotherhoods rising one
above another at a long distance. Ben Lomond stood alone, opposite to
us, majestically overlooking the lake; yet there was something in this
mountain which disappointed me,--a want of massiveness and simplicity,
perhaps from the top being broken into three distinct stages. The road
carried us over a bold promontory by a steep and high ascent, and we had
a long view of the lake pushing itself up in a narrow line through an
avenue of mountains, terminated by the mountains at the head of the lake,
of which Ben Lui, if I do not mistake, is the most considerable. The
afternoon was showery and misty, therefore we did not see this prospect
so distinctly as we could have wished, but there was a grand obscurity
over it which might make the mountains appear more numerous.
I have said so much of this lake that I am tired myself, and I fear I
must have tired my friends. We had a pleasant journey to Tarbet; more
than half of it on foot, for the road was hilly, and after we had climbed
one small hill we were not desirous to get into the car again, seeing
another before us, and our path was always delightful, near the lake, and
frequently through woods. When we were within about half a mile of
Tarbet, at a sudden turning looking to the left, we saw a very
craggy-topped mountain amongst other smooth ones; the rocks on the summit
distinct in shape as if they were buildings raised up by man, or uncouth
images of some strange creature. We called out with one voice, 'That's
what we wanted!' alluding to the frame-like uniformity of the
side-screens of the lake for the last five or six miles. As we
conjectured, this singular mountain was the famous Cobbler, near
Arrochar. Tarbet was before us in the recess of a deep, large bay, under
the shelter of a hill. When we came up to the village we had to inquire
for the inn, there being no signboard. It was a well-sized white house,
the best in the place. We were conducted up-stairs into a sitting-room
that might make any good-humoured travellers happy--a square room, with
windows on each side, looking, one way, towards the mountains, and across
the lake to Ben Lomond, the other.
There was a pretty stone house before (_i.e._ towards the lake) some
huts, scattered trees, two or three green fields with hedgerows, and a
little brook making its way towards the lake; the fields are almost flat,
and screened on that side nearest the head of the lake by a hill, which,
pushing itself out, forms the bay of Tarbet, and, towards the foot, by a
gentle slope and trees. The lake is narrow, and Ben Lomond shuts up the
prospect, rising directly from the water. We could have believed
ourselves to be by the side of Ulswater, at Glenridden, or in some other
of the inhabited retirements of that lake. We were in a sheltered place
among mountains; it was not an open joyous bay, with a cheerful populous
village, like Luss; but a pastoral and retired spot, with a few single
dwellings. The people of the inn stared at us when we spoke, without
giving us an answer immediately, which we were at first disposed to
attribute to coarseness of manners, but found afterwards that they did
not understand us at once, Erse being the language spoken in the family.
Nothing but salt meat and eggs for dinner--no potatoes; the house smelt
strongly of herrings, which were hung to dry over the kitchen fire.