_Tuesday, August 23rd._--A cold morning. Walked to the

bleaching-ground,[87] a large field bordering on the Clyde, the banks of

which are perfectly flat, and the general face of the country is nearly

so in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. This field, the whole summer

through, is covered with women of all ages, children, and young girls

spreading out their linen, and watching it while it bleaches. The scene

must be very cheerful on a fine day, but it rained when we were there,

and though there was linen spread out in all parts, and great numbers of

women and girls were at work, yet there would have been many more on a

fine day, and they would have appeared happy, instead of stupid and

cheerless. In the middle of the field is a wash-house, whither the

inhabitants of this large town, rich and poor, send or carry their linen

to be washed. There are two very large rooms, with each a cistern in the

middle for hot water; and all round the rooms are benches for the women

to set their tubs upon. Both the rooms were crowded with washers; there

might be a hundred, or two, or even three; for it is not easy to form an

accurate notion of so great a number; however, the rooms were large, and

they were both full. It was amusing to see so many women, arms, head,

and face all in motion, all busy in an ordinary household employment, in

which we are accustomed to see, at the most, only three or four women

employed in one place. The women were very civil. I learnt from them the

regulations of the house; but I have forgotten the particulars. The

substance of them is, that "so much" is to be paid for each tub of

water, "so much" for a tub, and the privilege of washing for a day, and,

"so much" to the general overlookers of the linen, when it is left to be

bleached. An old man and woman have this office, who were walking about,

two melancholy figures.

[Footnote 87: Glasgow Green.--J. C. S.]

The shops at Glasgow are large, and like London shops, and we passed by

the largest coffee-room I ever saw. You look across the piazza of the

Exchange, and see to the end of the coffee-room, where there is a

circular window, the width of the room. Perhaps there might be thirty

gentlemen sitting on the circular bench of the window, each reading a

newspaper. They had the appearance of figures in a fantoccine, or men

seen at the extremity of the opera-house, diminished into puppets.

I am sorry I did not see the High Church: both William and I were tired,

and it rained very hard after we had left the bleaching-ground; besides,

I am less eager to walk in a large town than anywhere else; so we put it

off, and I have since repented of my irresolution.

Dined, and left Glasgow at about three o'clock, in a heavy rain. We

were obliged to ride through the streets to keep our feet dry, and, in

spite of the rain, every person as we went along stayed his steps to

look at us; indeed, we had the pleasure of spreading smiles from one end

of Glasgow to the other--for we travelled the whole length of the town.

A set of schoolboys, perhaps there might be eight, with satchels over

their shoulders, and, except one or two, without shoes and stockings,

yet very well dressed in jackets and trousers, like gentlemen's

children, followed us in great delight, admiring the car and longing to

jump up. At last, though we were seated, they made several attempts to

get on behind; and they looked so pretty and wild, and at the same time

so modest, that we wished to give them a ride, and there being a little

hill near the end of the town, we got off, and four of them who still

remained, the rest having dropped into their homes by the way, took our

places; and indeed I would have walked two miles willingly, to have had

the pleasure of seeing them so happy. When they were to ride no longer,

they scampered away, laughing and rejoicing. New houses are rising up in

great numbers round Glasgow, citizen-like houses, and new plantations,

chiefly of fir; the fields are frequently enclosed by hedgerows, but

there is no richness, nor any particular beauty for some miles.

The first object that interested us was a gentleman's house upon a

green plain or holm, almost close to the Clyde, sheltered by tall trees,

a quiet modest mansion, and, though white-washed, being an old building,

and no other house near it, or in connexion with it, and standing upon

the level field, which belonged to it, its own domain, the whole scene

together brought to our minds an image of the retiredness and sober

elegance of a nunnery; but this might be owing to the greyness of the

afternoon, and our having come immediately from Glasgow, and through a

country which, till now, had either had a townish taint, or at best

little of rural beauty. While we were looking at the house we overtook a

foot-traveller, who, like many others, began to talk about our car. We

alighted to walk up a hill, and, continuing the conversation, the man

told us, with something like a national pride, that it belonged to a

Scotch Lord, Lord Semple; he added, that a little further on we should

see a much finer prospect, as fine a one as ever we had seen in our

lives. Accordingly, when we came to the top of the hill, it opened upon

us most magnificently. We saw the Clyde, now a stately sea-river,

winding away mile after mile, spotted with boats and ships, each side of

the river hilly, the right populous with single houses and

villages--Dunglass Castle upon a promontory, the whole view terminated

by the rock of Dumbarton, at five or six miles' distance, which stands

by itself, without any hills near it, like a sea-rock.

We travelled for some time near the river, passing through clusters of

houses which seemed to owe their existence rather to the wealth of the

river than the land, for the banks were mostly bare, and the soil

appeared poor, even near the water. The left side of the river was

generally uninhabited and moorish, yet there are some beautiful spots:

for instance, a nobleman's house,[88] where the fields and trees were

rich, and, in combination with the river, looked very lovely. As we went

along William and I were reminded of the views upon the Thames in Kent,

which, though greatly superior in richness and softness, are much

inferior in grandeur. Not far from Dumbarton, we passed under some

rocky, copse-covered hills, which were so like some of the hills near

Grasmere that we could have half believed they were the same. Arrived at

Dumbarton before it was dark, having pushed on briskly that we might

have start of a traveller at the inn, who was following us as fast as he

could in a gig. Every front room was full, and we were afraid we should

not have been admitted. They put us into a little parlour, dirty, and

smelling of liquors, the table uncleaned, and not a chair in its place;

we were glad, however, of our sorry accommodations.

[Footnote 88: No doubt Erskine House, the seat of Lord Blantyre.

--J.C. S.]

While tea was preparing we lolled at our ease, and though the

room-window overlooked the stable-yard, and at our entrance there

appeared to be nothing but gloom and unloveliness, yet while I lay

stretched upon the carriage cushions on three chairs, I discovered a

little side peep which was enough to set the mind at work. It was no

more than a smoky vessel lying at anchor, with its bare masts, a clay

hut and the shelving bank of the river, with a green pasture above.

Perhaps you will think that there is not much in this, as I describe it:

it is true; but the effect produced by these simple objects, as they

happened to be combined, together with the gloom of the evening, was

exceedingly wild. Our room was parted by a slender partition from a

large dining-room, in which were a number of officers and their wives,

who, after the first hour, never ceased singing, dancing, laughing, or

loud talking. The ladies sang some pretty songs, a great relief to us.

We went early to bed; but poor Coleridge could not sleep for the noise

at the street door; he lay in the parlour below stairs. It is no

uncommon thing in the best inns of Scotland to have shutting-up beds in

the sitting-rooms.

_Wednesday, August 24th._--As soon as breakfast was over, William and I

walked towards the Castle, a short mile from the town. We overtook two

young men, who, on our asking the road, offered to conduct us, though it

might seem it was not easy to miss our way, for the rock rises singly by

itself from the plain on which the town stands. The rock of Dumbarton is

very grand when you are close to it, but at a little distance, under an

ordinary sky, and in open day, it is not grand, but curiously wild. The

castle and fortifications add little effect to the general view of the

rock, especially since the building of a modern house, which is

white-washed, and consequently jars, wherever it is seen, with the

natural character of the place. There is a path up to the house, but it

being low water we could walk round the rock, which we resolved to do.

On that side next the town green grass grows to a considerable height up

the rock, but wherever the river borders upon it, it is naked stone. I

never saw rock in nobler masses, or more deeply stained by time and

weather; nor is this to be wondered at, for it is in the very eye of

sea-storms and land-storms, of mountain winds and water winds. It is of

all colours, but a rusty yellow predominates. As we walked along, we

could not but look up continually, and the mass above being on every

side so huge, it appeared more wonderful than when we saw the whole

together.

We sat down on one of the large stones which lie scattered near the base

of the rock, with sea-weed growing amongst them. Above our heads the

rock was perpendicular for a considerable height, nay, as it seemed, to

the very top, and on the brink of the precipice a few sheep, two of them

rams with twisted horns, stood, as if on the look-out over the wide

country. At the same time we saw a sentinel in his red coat, walking

backwards and forwards between us and the sky, with his firelock over

his shoulder. The sheep, I suppose owing to our being accustomed to see

them in similar situations, appeared to retain their real size, while,

on the contrary, the soldier seemed to be diminished by the distance

till he almost looked like a puppet moved with wires for the pleasure of

children, or an eight years' old drummer in his stiff, manly dress

beside a company of grenadiers. I had never before, perhaps, thought of

sheep and men in soldiers' dresses at the same time, and here they were

brought together in a strange fantastic way. As will be easily

conceived, the fearlessness and stillness of those quiet creatures, on

the brow of the rock, pursuing their natural occupations, contrasted

with the restless and apparently unmeaning motions of the dwarf soldier,

added not a little to the general effect of this place, which is that of

wild singularity, and the whole was aided by a blustering wind and a

gloomy sky. Coleridge joined us, and we went up to the top of the rock.

The road to a considerable height is through a narrow cleft, in which a

flight of steps is hewn; the steps nearly fill the cleft, and on each

side the rocks form a high and irregular wall; it is almost like a long

sloping cavern, only that it is roofed by the sky. We came to the

barracks; soldiers' wives were hanging out linen upon the rails, while

the wind beat about them furiously--there was nothing which it could set

in motion but the garments of the women and the linen upon the rails;

the grass--for we had now come to green grass--was close and smooth, and

not one pile an inch above another, and neither tree nor shrub. The

standard pole stood erect without a flag. The rock has two summits, one

much broader and higher than the other. When we were near to the top of

the lower eminence we had the pleasure of finding a little garden of

flowers and vegetables belonging to the soldiers. There are three

distinct and very noble prospects--the first up the Clyde towards

Glasgow--Dunglass Castle, seen on its promontory--boats, sloops, hills,

and many buildings; the second, down the river to the sea--Greenock and

Port-Glasgow, and the distant mountains at the entrance of Loch Long;

and the third extensive and distant view is up the Leven, which here

falls into the Clyde, to the mountains of Loch Lomond. The distant

mountains in all these views were obscured by mists and dingy clouds,

but if the grand outline of any one of the views can be seen, it is

sufficient recompense for the trouble of climbing the rock of Dumbarton.

The soldier who was our guide told us that an old ruin which we came to

at the top of the higher eminence had been a wind-mill--an inconvenient

station, though certainly a glorious place for wind; perhaps if it

really had been a wind-mill it was only for the use of the garrison. We

looked over cannons on the battery-walls, and saw in an open field below

the yeomanry cavalry exercising, while we could hear from the town,

which was full of soldiers, "Dumbarton's drums beat bonny, O!" Yet while

we stood upon this eminence, rising up so far as it does--inland, and

having the habitual old English feeling of our own security as

islanders--we could not help looking upon the fortress, in spite of its

cannon and soldiers, and the rumours of invasion, as set up against the

hostilities of wind and weather rather than for any other warfare. On

our return we were invited into the guard-room, about half-way down the

rock, where we were shown a large rusty sword, which they called

Wallace's Sword, and a trout boxed up in a well close by, where they

said he had been confined for upwards of thirty years. For the pleasure

of the soldiers, who were anxious that we should see him, we took some

pains to spy him out in his black den, and at last succeeded. It was

pleasing to observe how much interest the poor soldiers--though

themselves probably new to the place--seemed to attach to this

antiquated inhabitant of their garrison.

When we had reached the bottom of the rock along the same road by which

we had ascended, we made our way over the rough stones left bare by the

tide, round the bottom of the rock, to the point where we had set off.

This is a wild and melancholy walk on a blustering cloudy day: the naked

bed of the river, scattered over with sea-weed; grey swampy fields on

the other shore; sea-birds flying overhead; the high rock perpendicular

and bare. We came to two very large fragments, which had fallen from the

main rock; Coleridge thought that one of them was as large as

Bowder-Stone,[89] William and I did not; but it is impossible to judge

accurately; we probably, without knowing it, compared them with the

whole mass from which they had fallen, which, from its situation, we

consider as one rock or stone, and there is no object of the kind for

comparison with the Bowder-Stone. When we leave the shore of the Clyde

grass begins to show itself on the rock; go a considerable way--still

under the rock--along a flat field, and pass immediately below the white

house, which wherever seen looks so ugly.

[Footnote 89: A rock in Borrowdale, Cumberland.--ED.]

Left Dumbarton at about eleven o'clock. The sky was cheerless and the

air ungenial, which we regretted, as we were going to Loch Lomond, and

wished to greet the first of the Scottish lakes with our cheerfullest

and best feelings. Crossed the Leven at the end of Dumbarton, and, when

we looked behind, had a pleasing view of the town, bridge, and rock; but

when we took in a reach of the river at the distance of perhaps half a

mile, the swamp ground, being so near a town, and not in its natural

wildness, but seemingly half cultivated, with houses here and there,

gave us an idea of extreme poverty of soil, or that the inhabitants were

either indolent or miserable. We had to travel four miles on the banks

of the "Water of Leven" before we should come to Loch Lomond. Having

expected a grand river from so grand a lake, we were disappointed; for

it appeared to me not to be very much larger than the Emont, and is not

near so beautiful; but we must not forget that the day was cold and

gloomy. Near Dumbarton it is like a river in a flat country, or under

the influence of tides; but a little higher up it resembles one of our

rivers, flowing through a vale of no extreme beauty, though prettily

wooded; the hills on each side not very high, sloping backwards from the

bed of the vale, which is neither very narrow nor very wide; the

prospect terminated by Ben Lomond and other mountains. The vale is

populous, but looks as if it were not inhabited by cultivators of the

earth; the houses are chiefly of stone; often in rows by the river-side;

they stand pleasantly, but have a tradish look, as if they might have

been off-sets from Glasgow. We saw many bleach-yards, but no other

symptom of a manufactory, except something in the houses that was not

rural, and a want of independent comforts. Perhaps if the river had been

glittering in the sun, and the smoke of the cottages rising in distinct

volumes towards the sky, as I have seen in the vale or basin below

Pillsden in Dorsetshire, when every cottage, hidden from the eye,

pointed out its lurking-place by an upright wreath of white smoke, the

whole scene might have excited ideas of perfect cheerfulness.

Here, as on the Nith, and much more than in the Trough of the Clyde, a

great portion of the ground was uncultivated, but the hills being less

wild, the river more stately, and the ground not heaved up so

irregularly and tossed about, the imperfect cultivation was the more to

be lamented, particularly as there were so many houses near the river.

In a small enclosure by the wayside is a pillar erected to the memory of

Dr. Smollett, who was born in a village at a little distance, which we

could see at the same time, and where, I believe, some of the family

still reside. There is a long Latin inscription, which Coleridge

translated for my benefit. The Latin is miserably bad[90]--as Coleridge

said, such as poor Smollett, who was an excellent scholar, would have

been ashamed of.

[Footnote 90: The inscription on the pillar was written by Professor

George Stuart of Edinburgh, John Ramsay of Ochtertyre and Dr. Samuel

Johnson; for Dr. Johnson's share in the work see Croker's Boswell, p.

392.--J. C. S.]

Before we came to Loch Lomond the vale widened, and became less

populous. We climbed over a wall into a large field to have a better

front view of the lake than from the road. This view is very much like

that from Mr. Clarkson's windows: the mountain in front resembles

Hallan; indeed, is almost the same; but Ben Lomond is not seen standing

in such majestic company as Helvellyn, and the meadows are less

beautiful than Ulswater. The reach of the lake is very magnificent; you

see it, as Ulswater is seen beyond the promontory of Old Church, winding

away behind a large woody island that looks like a promontory. The

outlet of the lake--we had a distinct view of it in the field--is very

insignificant. The bulk of the river is frittered away by small alder

bushes, as I recollect; I do not remember that it was reedy, but the

ground had a swampy appearance; and here the vale spreads out wide and

shapeless, as if the river were born to no inheritance, had no

sheltering cradle, no hills of its own. As we have seen, this does not

continue long; it flows through a distinct, though not a magnificent

vale. But, having lost the pastoral character which it had in the

youthful days of Smollett--if the description in his ode to his native

stream be a faithful one--it is less interesting than it was then.

The road carried us sometimes close to the lake, sometimes at a

considerable distance from it, over moorish grounds, or through

half-cultivated enclosures; we had the lake on our right, which is here

so wide that the opposite hills, not being high, are cast into

insignificance, and we could not distinguish any buildings near the

water, if any there were. It is however always delightful to travel by a

lake of clear waters, if you see nothing else but a very ordinary

country; but we had some beautiful distant views, one in particular,

down the high road, through a vista of over-arching trees; and the near

shore was frequently very pleasing, with its gravel banks, bendings, and

small bays. In one part it was bordered for a considerable way by

irregular groups of forest trees or single stragglers, which, although

not large, seemed old; their branches were stunted and knotty, as if

they had been striving with storms, and had half yielded to them. Under

these trees we had a variety of pleasing views across the lake, and the

very rolling over the road and looking at its smooth and beautiful

surface was itself a pleasure. It was as smooth as a gravel walk, and of

the bluish colour of some of the roads among the lakes of the north of

England.

Passed no very remarkable place till we came to Sir James Colquhoun's

house, which stands upon a large, flat, woody peninsula, looking towards

Ben Lomond. There must be many beautiful walks among the copses of the

peninsula, and delicious views over the water; but the general surface

of the country is poor, and looks as if it ought to be rich and well

peopled, for it is not mountainous; nor had we passed any hills which a

Cumbrian would dignify with the name of mountains. There was many a

little plain or gently-sloping hill covered with poor heath or broom

without trees, where one should have liked to see a cottage in a bower

of wood, with its patch of corn and potatoes, and a green field with a

hedge to keep it warm. As we advanced we perceived less of the coldness

of poverty, the hills not having so large a space between them and the

lake. The surface of the hills being in its natural state, is always

beautiful; but where there is only a half cultivated and half peopled

soil near the banks of a lake or river, the idea is forced upon one that

they who do live there have not much of cheerful enjoyment.

But soon we came to just such a place as we had wanted to see. The road

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,[91]

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. 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 out-houses. We had a

poor dinner, and sour ale; but as long as the people were civil we were

contented.

[Footnote 91: Camstraddan House and bay.--J. C. S.]

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-vannach, 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, 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 25th._--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-vannach; 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-vannach 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-vannach, 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-vannach, 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 the 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 woodmen'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.[92]

[Footnote 92: See _Ruth_, stanza xiii.--ED.]

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.

Walked in the evening towards the head of the lake; the road was steep

over the hill, and when we had reached the top of it we had long views

up and down the water. Passed a troop of women who were resting

themselves by the roadside, as if returning from their day's labour.

Amongst them was a man, who had walked with us a considerable way in the

morning, and told us he was just come from America, where he had been

for some years,--was going to his own home, and should return to

America. He spoke of emigration as a glorious thing for them who had

money. Poor fellow! I do not think that he had brought much back with

him, for he had worked his passage over: I much suspected that a bundle,

which he carried upon a stick, tied in a pocket-handkerchief, contained

his all. He was almost blind, he said, as were many of the crew. He

intended crossing the lake at the ferry; but it was stormy, and he

thought he should not be able to get over that day. I could not help

smiling when I saw him lying by the roadside with such a company about

him, not like a wayfaring man, but seeming as much at home and at his

ease as if he had just stepped out of his hut among them, and they had

been neighbours all their lives. Passed one pretty house, a large

thatched dwelling with out-houses, but the prospect above and below was

solitary.

The sun had long been set before we returned to the inn. As travellers,

we were glad to see the moon over the top of one of the hills, but it

was a cloudy night, without any peculiar beauty or solemnity. After tea

we made inquiries respecting the best way to go to Loch Ketterine; the

landlord could give but little information, and nobody seemed to know

anything distinctly of the place, though it was but ten miles off. We

applied to the maid-servant who waited on us: she was a fine-looking

young woman, dressed in a white bed-gown, her hair fastened up by a

comb, and without shoes and stockings. When we asked her about the

Trossachs she could give us no information, but on our saying, "Do you

know Loch Ketterine?" she answered with a smile, "I _should_ know that

loch, for I was bred and born there." After much difficulty we learned

from her that the Trossachs were at the foot of the lake, and that by

the way we were to go we should come upon them at the head, should have

to travel ten miles to the foot[93] of the water, and that there was no

inn by the way. The girl spoke English very distinctly; but she had few

words, and found it difficult to understand us. She did not much

encourage us to go, because the roads were bad, and it was a long way,

"and there was no putting-up for the like of us." We determined,

however, to venture, and throw ourselves upon the hospitality of some

cottager or gentleman. We desired the landlady to roast us a couple of

fowls to carry with us. There are always plenty of fowls at the doors of

a Scotch inn, and eggs are as regularly brought to table at breakfast as

bread and butter.

[Footnote 93: This distinction between the foot and head is not very

clear. What is meant is this: They would have to travel the whole

length of the lake, from the west to the east end of it, before they

came to the Trossachs, the pass leading away from the east end of the

lake.--J. C. S.]

_Friday, August 26th._--We did not set off till between ten and eleven

o'clock, much too late for a long day's journey. Our boatman lived at

the pretty white house which we saw from the windows: we called at his

door by the way, and, even when we were near the house, the outside

looked comfortable; but within I never saw anything so miserable from

dirt, and dirt alone: it reminded one of the house of a decayed weaver

in the suburbs of a large town, with a sickly wife and a large family;

but William says it was far worse, that it was quite Hottentotish.

After long waiting, and many clumsy preparations, we got ourselves

seated in the boat; but we had not floated five yards before we

perceived that if any of the party--and there was a little Highland

woman who was going over the water with us, the boatman, his helper, and

ourselves--should stir but a few inches, leaning to one side or the

other, the boat would be full in an instant, and we at the bottom;

besides, it was very leaky, and the woman was employed to lade out the

water continually. It appeared that this crazy vessel was not the man's

own, and that _his_ was lying in a bay at a little distance. He said he

would take us to it as fast as possible, but I was so much frightened I

would gladly have given up the whole day's journey; indeed not one of us

would have attempted to cross the lake in that boat for a thousand

pounds. We reached the larger boat in safety after coasting a

considerable way near the shore, but just as we were landing, William

dropped the bundle which contained our food into the water. The fowls

were no worse, but some sugar, ground coffee, and pepper-cake seemed to

be entirely spoiled. We gathered together as much of the coffee and

sugar as we could and tied it up, and again trusted ourselves to the

lake. The sun shone, and the air was calm--luckily it had been so while

we were in the crazy boat--we had rocks and woods on each side of us, or

bare hills; seldom a single cottage, and there was no rememberable place

till we came opposite to a waterfall of no inconsiderable size, that

appeared to drop directly into the lake: close to it was a hut, which we

were told was the ferry-house. On the other side of the lake was a

pretty farm under the mountains, beside a river, the cultivated grounds

lying all together, and sloping towards the lake from the mountain

hollow down which the river came. It is not easy to conceive how

beautiful these spots appeared after moving on so long between the

solitary steeps.

We went a considerable way further, and landed at Rob Roy's Caves, which

are in fact no caves, but some fine rocks on the brink of the lake, in

the crevices of which a man might hide himself cunningly enough; the

water is very deep below them, and the hills above steep and covered

with wood. The little Highland woman, who was in size about a match for

our guide at Lanerk, accompanied us hither. There was something very

gracious in the manners of this woman; she could scarcely speak five

English words, yet she gave me, whenever I spoke to her, as many

intelligible smiles as I had needed English words to answer me, and

helped me over the rocks in the most obliging manner. She had left the

boat out of good-will to us, or for her own amusement. She had never

seen these caves before; but no doubt had heard of them, the tales of

Rob Roy's exploits being told familiarly round the "ingles" hereabouts,

for this neighbourhood was his home. We landed at Inversneyde, the

ferry-house by the waterfall, and were not sorry to part with our

boatman, who was a coarse hard-featured man, and, speaking of the

French, uttered the basest and most cowardly sentiments. His helper, a

youth fresh from the Isle of Skye, was innocent of this fault, and

though but a bad rower, was a far better companion; he could not speak a

word of English, and sang a plaintive Gaelic air in a low tone while he

plied his oar.

The ferry-house stood on the bank a few yards above the landing-place

where the boat lies. It is a small hut under a steep wood, and a few

yards to the right, looking towards the hut, is the waterfall. The fall

is not very high, but the stream is considerable, as we could see by the

large black stones that were lying bare, but the rains, if they had

reached this place, had had little effect upon the waterfall; its noise

was not so great as to form a contrast with the stillness of the bay

into which it falls, where the boat, and house, and waterfall itself

seemed all sheltered and protected. The Highland woman was to go with us

the two first miles of our journey. She led us along a bye foot-path a

shorter way up the hill from the ferry-house. There is a considerable

settling in the hills that border Loch Lomond, at the passage by which

we were to cross to Loch Ketterine; Ben Lomond, terminating near the

ferry-house, is on the same side of the water with it, and about three

miles above Tarbet.

We had to climb right up the hill, which is very steep, and, when close

under it, seemed to be high, but we soon reached the top, and when we

were there had lost sight of the lake; and now our road was over a moor,

or rather through a wide moorland hollow. Having gone a little way, we

saw before us, at the distance of about half a mile, a very large stone

building, a singular structure, with a high wall round it, naked hill

above, and neither field nor tree near; but the moor was not overgrown

with heath merely, but grey grass, such as cattle might pasture upon. We

could not conjecture what this building was; it appeared as if it had

been built strong to defend it from storms; but for what purpose?

William called out to us that we should observe that place well, for it

was exactly like one of the spittals of the Alps, built for the

reception of travellers, and indeed I had thought it must be so before

he spoke. This building, from its singular structure and appearance,

made the place, which is itself in a country like Scotland nowise

remarkable, take a character of unusual wildness and desolation--this

when we first came in view of it; and afterwards, when we had passed it

and looked back, three pyramidal mountains on the opposite side of Loch

Lomond terminated the view, which under certain accidents of weather

must be very grand. Our Highland companion had not English enough to

give us any information concerning this strange building; we could only

get from her that it was a "large house," which was plain enough.

We walked about a mile and a half over the moor without seeing any other

dwelling but one hut by the burn-side, with a peat-stack and a

ten-yards-square enclosure for potatoes; then we came to several

clusters of houses, even hamlets they might be called, but where there

is any land belonging to the Highland huts there are so many

out-buildings near, which differ in no respect from the dwelling-houses

except that they send out no smoke, that one house looks like two or

three. Near these houses was a considerable quantity of cultivated

ground, potatoes and corn, and the people were busy making hay in the

hollow places of the open vale, and all along the sides of the becks. It

was a pretty sight altogether--men and women, dogs, the little running

streams, with linen bleaching near them, and cheerful sunny hills and

rocks on every side. We passed by one patch of potatoes that a florist

might have been proud of; no carnation-bed ever looked more gay than

this square plot of ground on the waste common. The flowers were in very

large bunches, and of an extraordinary size, and of every conceivable

shade of colouring from snow-white to deep purple. It was pleasing in

that place, where perhaps was never yet a flower cultivated by man for

his own pleasure, to see these blossoms grow more gladly than elsewhere,

making a summer garden near the mountain dwellings.

At one of the clusters of houses we parted with our companion, who had

insisted on bearing my bundle while she stayed with us. I often tried to

enter into conversation with her, and seeing a small tarn before us, was

reminded of the pleasure of fishing and the manner of living there, and

asked her what sort of food was eaten in that place, if they lived much

upon fish, or had mutton from the hills; she looked earnestly at me, and

shaking her head, replied, "Oh yes! eat fish--no papists, eat

everything." The tarn had one small island covered with wood; the stream

that runs from it falls into Loch Ketterine, which, after we had gone a

little beyond the tarn, we saw at some distance before us.

Pursued the road, a mountain horse-track, till we came to a corner of

what seemed the head of the lake, and there sate down completely tired,

and hopeless as to the rest of our journey. The road ended at the shore,

and no houses were to be seen on the opposite side except a few widely

parted huts, and on the near side was a trackless heath. The land at the

head of the lake was but a continuation of the common we had come along,

and was covered with heather, intersected by a few straggling

foot-paths.

Coleridge and I were faint with hunger, and could go no further till we

had refreshed ourselves, so we ate up one of our fowls, and drank of the

water of Loch Ketterine; but William could not be easy till he had

examined the coast, so he left us, and made his way along the moor

across the head of the lake. Coleridge and I, as we sate, had what

seemed to us but a dreary prospect--a waste of unknown ground which we

guessed we must travel over before it was possible for us to find a

shelter. We saw a long way down the lake; it was all moor on the near

side; on the other the hills were steep from the water, and there were

large coppice-woods, but no cheerful green fields, and no road that we

could see; we knew, however, that there must be a road from house to

house; but the whole lake appeared a solitude--neither boats, islands,

nor houses, no grandeur in the hills, nor any loveliness in the shores.

When we first came in view of it we had said it was like a barren

Ulswater--Ulswater dismantled of its grandeur, and cropped of its lesser

beauties. When I had swallowed my dinner I hastened after William, and

Coleridge followed me. Walked through the heather with some labour for

perhaps half a mile, and found William sitting on the top of a small

eminence, whence we saw the real head of the lake, which was pushed up

into the vale a considerable way beyond the promontory where we now

sate. The view up the lake was very pleasing, resembling Thirlemere

below Armath. There were rocky promontories and woody islands, and, what

was most cheering to us, a neat white house on the opposite shore; but

we could see no boats, so, in order to get to it we should be obliged to

go round the head of the lake, a long and weary way.

After Coleridge came up to us, while we were debating whether we should

turn back or go forward, we espied a man on horseback at a little

distance, with a boy following him on foot, no doubt a welcome sight,

and we hailed him. We should have been glad to have seen either man,

woman, or child at this time, but there was something uncommon and

interesting in this man's appearance, which would have fixed our

attention wherever we had met him. He was a complete Highlander in

dress, figure, and face, and a very fine-looking man, hardy and

vigorous, though past his prime. While he stood waiting for us in his

bonnet and plaid, which never look more graceful than on horseback, I

forgot our errand, and only felt glad that we were in the Highlands.

William accosted him with, "Sir, do you speak English?" He replied, "A

little." He spoke however, sufficiently well for our purpose, and very

distinctly, as all the Highlanders do who learn English as a foreign

language; but in a long conversation they want words; he informed us

that he himself was going beyond the Trossachs, to Callander, that no

boats were kept to "let"; but there were two gentlemen's houses at this

end of the lake, one of which we could not yet see, it being hidden from

us by a part of the hill on which we stood. The other house was that

which we saw opposite to us; both the gentlemen kept boats, and probably

might be able to spare one of their servants to go with us. After we had

asked many questions, which the Highlander answered with patience and

courtesy, he parted from us, going along a sort of horse-track, which a

foot-passenger, if he once get into it, need not lose if he be careful.

When he was gone we again debated whether we should go back to Tarbet,

or throw ourselves upon the mercy of one of the two gentlemen for a

night's lodging. What we had seen of the main body of the lake made us

little desire to see more of it; the Highlander upon the naked heath, in

his Highland dress, upon his careful-going horse, with the boy following

him, was worth it all; but after a little while we resolved to go on,

ashamed to shrink from an adventure. Pursued the horse-track, and soon

came in sight of the other gentleman's house, which stood on the

opposite side of the vale, a little above the lake. It was a white

house; no trees near it except a new plantation of firs; but the fields

were green, sprinkled over with hay-cocks, and the brook which comes

down the valley and falls into the lake ran through them. It was like a

new-made farm in a mountain vale, and yet very pleasing after the

depressing prospect which had been before us.

Our road was rough, and not easy to be kept. It was between five and

six o'clock when we reached the brook side, where Coleridge and I

stopped, and William went up towards the house, which was in a field,

where about half a dozen people were at work. He addressed himself to

one who appeared like the master, and all drew near him, staring at

William as nobody could have stared but out of sheer rudeness, except in

such a lonely place. He told his tale, and inquired about boats; there

were no boats, and no lodging nearer than Callander, ten miles beyond

the foot of the lake. A laugh was on every face when William said we

were come to see the Trossachs; no doubt they thought we had better have

stayed at our own homes. William endeavoured to make it appear not so

very foolish, by informing them that it was a place much celebrated in

England, though perhaps little thought of by them, and that we only

differed from many of our countrymen in having come the wrong way in

consequence of an erroneous direction.

After a little time the gentleman said we should be accommodated with

such beds as they had, and should be welcome to rest in their house if

we pleased. William came back for Coleridge and me; the men all stood at

the door to receive us, and now their behaviour was perfectly courteous.

We were conducted into the house by the same man who had directed us

hither on the other side of the lake, and afterwards we learned that he

was the father of our hostess. He showed us into a room up-stairs,

begged we would sit at our ease, walk out, or do just as we pleased. It

was a large square deal wainscoted room, the wainscot black with age,

yet had never been painted: it did not look like an English room, and

yet I do not know in what it differed, except that in England it is not

common to see so large and well-built a room so ill-furnished: there

were two or three large tables, and a few old chairs of different sorts,

as if they had been picked up one did not know how, at sales, or had

belonged to different rooms of the house ever since it was built. We sat

perhaps three-quarters of an hour, and I was about to carry down our wet

coffee and sugar and ask leave to boil it, when the mistress of the

house entered, a tall fine-looking woman, neatly dressed in a

dark-coloured gown, with a white handkerchief tied round her head; she

spoke to us in a very pleasing manner, begging permission to make tea

for us, an offer which we thankfully accepted. Encouraged by the

sweetness of her manners, I went down-stairs to dry my feet by the

kitchen fire; she lent me a pair of stockings, and behaved to me with

the utmost attention and kindness. She carried the tea-things into the

room herself, leaving me to make tea, and set before us cheese and

butter and barley cakes. These cakes are as thin as our oat-bread, but,

instead of being crisp, are soft and leathery, yet we, being hungry, and

the butter delicious, ate them with great pleasure, but when the same

bread was set before us afterwards we did not like it.

After tea William and I walked out; we amused ourselves with watching

the Highlanders at work: they went leisurely about everything, and

whatever was to be done, all followed, old men, and young, and little

children. We were driven into the house by a shower, which came on with

the evening darkness, and the people leaving their work paused at the

same time. I was pleased to see them a while after sitting round a

blazing fire in the kitchen, father and son-in-law, master and man, and

the mother with her little child on her knee. When I had been there

before tea I had observed what a contrast there was between the mistress

and her kitchen; she did not differ in appearance from an English

country lady; but her kitchen, roof, walls, and floor of mud, was all

black alike; yet now, with the light of a bright fire upon so many happy

countenances, the whole room made a pretty sight.

We heard the company laughing and talking long after we were in bed;

indeed I believe they never work till they are tired.[94] The children

could not speak a word of English: they were very shy at first; but

after I had caressed the eldest, and given her a red leather purse, with

which she was delighted, she took hold of my hand and hung about me,

changing her side-long looks for pretty smiles. Her mother lamented they

were so far from school, they should be obliged to send the children

down into the Lowlands to be taught reading and English. Callander, the

nearest town, was twenty miles from them, and it was only a small place:

they had their groceries from Glasgow. She said that at Callander was

their nearest church, but sometimes "got a preaching at the Garrison."

In explaining herself she informed us that the large building which had

puzzled us in the morning had been built by Government, at the request

of one of the Dukes of Montrose, for the defence of his domains against

the attacks of Rob Roy. I will not answer for the truth of this; perhaps

it might have been built for this purpose, and as a check on the

Highlands in general; certain it is, however, that it was a garrison;

soldiers used to be constantly stationed there, and have only been

withdrawn within the last thirteen or fourteen years. Mrs. Macfarlane

attended me to my room; she said she hoped I should be able to sleep

upon blankets, and said they were "fresh from the fauld."

[Footnote 94: She means that they stop work before they are

tired.--ED.]

_Saturday, August 27th._--Before I rose, Mrs. Macfarlane came into my

room to see if I wanted anything, and told me she should send the

servant up with a basin of whey, saying, "We make very good whey in this

country"; indeed, I thought it the best I had ever tasted; but I cannot

tell how this should be, for they only make skimmed-milk cheeses. I

asked her for a little bread and milk for our breakfast, but she said it

would be no trouble to make tea, as she must make it for the family; so

we all breakfasted together. The cheese was set out, as before, with

plenty of butter and barley-cakes, and fresh baked oaten cakes, which,

no doubt, were made for us: they had been kneaded with cream, and were

excellent. All the party pressed us to eat, and were very jocose about

the necessity of helping out their coarse bread with butter, and they

themselves ate almost as much butter as bread. In talking of the French

and the present times, their language was what most people would call

Jacobinical. They spoke much of the oppressions endured by the

Highlanders further up, of the absolute impossibility of their living in

any comfort, and of the cruelty of laying so many restraints on

emigration. Then they spoke with animation of the attachment of the

clans to their lairds: "The laird of this place, Glengyle, where we

live, could have commanded so many men who would have followed him to

the death; and now there are none left." It appeared that Mr.

Macfarlane, and his wife's brother, Mr. Macalpine, farmed the place,

inclusive of the whole vale upwards to the mountains, and the mountains

themselves, under the lady of Glengyle, the mother of the young laird, a

minor. It was a sheep-farm.

Speaking of another neighbouring laird, they said he had gone, like the

rest of them, to Edinburgh, left his lands and his own people, spending

his money where it brought him not any esteem, so that he was of no

value either at home or abroad. We mentioned Rob Roy, and the eyes of

all glistened; even the lady of the house, who was very diffident, and

no great talker, exclaimed, "He was a good man, Rob Roy! he had been

dead only about eighty years, had lived in the next farm, which belonged

to him, and there his bones were laid."[95] He was a famous swordsman.

Having an arm much longer than other men, he had a greater command with

his sword. As a proof of the length of his arm, they told us that he

could garter his tartan stockings below the knee without stooping, and

added a dozen different stories of single combats, which he had fought,

all in perfect good-humour, merely to prove his prowess. I daresay they

had stories of this kind which would hardly have been exhausted in the

long evenings of a whole December week, Rob Roy being as famous here as

ever Robin Hood was in the Forest of Sherwood; _he_ also robbed from the

rich, giving to the poor, and defending them from oppression. They tell

of his confining the factor of the Duke of Montrose in one of the

islands of Loch Ketterine, after having taken his money from him--the

Duke's rents--in open day, while they were sitting at table. He was a

formidable enemy of the Duke, but being a small laird against a greater,

was overcome at last, and forced to resign all his lands on the Braes of

Loch Lomond, including the caves which we visited, on account of the

money he had taken from the Duke and could not repay.

[Footnote 95: There is a mistake here. His bones were laid about

fifteen or twenty miles from thence, in Balquhidder kirkyard. But it

was under the belief that his "grave is near the head of Loch

Ketterine, in one of those pinfold-like burial grounds, of neglected

and desolate appearance, which the traveller meets with in the

Highlands of Scotland," that the well-known poem on _Rob Roy's Grave_

was composed.--J. C. S.]

When breakfast was ended the mistress desired the person whom we took

to be her husband to "return thanks." He said a short grace, and in a

few minutes they all went off to their work. We saw them about the door

following one another like a flock of sheep, with the children after,

whatever job they were engaged in. Mrs. Macfarlane told me she would

show me the burying-place of the lairds of Glengyle, and took me to a

square enclosure like a pinfold, with a stone ball at every corner; we

had noticed it the evening before, and wondered what it could be. It was

in the middle of a "planting," as they call plantations, which was

enclosed for the preservation of the trees, therefore we had to climb

over a high wall: it was a dismal spot, containing four or five graves

overgrown with long grass, nettles, and brambles. Against the wall was a

marble monument to the memory of one of the lairds, of whom they spoke

with veneration: some English verses were inscribed upon the marble,

purporting that he had been the father of his clan, a brave and good

man. When we returned to the house she said she would show me what

curious feathers they had in their country, and brought out a bunch

carefully wrapped up in paper. On my asking her what bird they came

from, "Oh!" she replied, "it is a great beast." We conjectured it was an

eagle, and from her description of its ways, and the manner of

destroying it, we knew it was so. She begged me to accept of some of the

feathers, telling me that some ladies wore them in their heads. I was

much pleased with the gift, which I shall preserve in memory of her

kindness and simplicity of manners, and the Highland solitude where she

lived.

We took leave of the family with regret: they were handsome, healthy,

and happy-looking people. It was ten o'clock when we departed. We had

learned that there was a ferry-boat kept at three miles' distance, and

if the man was at home he would row us down the lake to the Trossachs.

Our walk was mostly through coppice-woods, along a horse-road, upon

which narrow carts might travel. Passed that white house which had

looked at us with such a friendly face when we were on the other side;

it stood on the slope of a hill, with green pastures below it, plots of

corn and coppice-wood, and behind, a rocky steep covered with wood. It

was a very pretty place, but the morning being cold and dull the

opposite shore appeared dreary. Near to the white house we passed by

another of those little pinfold squares, which we knew to be a

burying-place; it was in a sloping green field among woods, and within

sound of the beating of the water against the shore, if there were but a

gentle breeze to stir it: I thought if I lived in that house, and my

ancestors and kindred were buried there, I should sit many an hour under

the walls of this plot of earth, where all the household would be

gathered together.

We found the ferryman at work in the field above his hut, and he was at

liberty to go with us, but, being wet and hungry, we begged that he

would let us sit by his fire till we had refreshed ourselves. This was

the first genuine Highland hut we had been in. We entered by the

cow-house, the house-door being within, at right angles to the outer

door. The woman was distressed that she had a bad fire, but she heaped

up some dry peats and heather, and, blowing it with her breath, in a

short time raised a blaze that scorched us into comfortable feelings. A

small part of the smoke found its way out of the hole of the chimney,

the rest through the open window-places, one of which was within the

recess of the fireplace, and made a frame to a little picture of the

restless lake and the opposite shore, seen when the outer door was open.

The woman of the house was very kind: whenever we asked her for anything

it seemed a fresh pleasure to her that she had it for us; she always

answered with a sort of softening down of the Scotch exclamation,

"Hoot!" "Ho! yes, ye'll get that," and hied to her cupboard in the

spence. We were amused with the phrase "Ye'll get that" in the

Highlands, which appeared to us as if it came from a perpetual feeling

of the difficulty with which most things are procured. We got oatmeal,

butter, bread and milk, made some porridge, and then departed. It was

rainy and cold, with a strong wind.

Coleridge was afraid of the cold in the boat, so he determined to walk

down the lake, pursuing the same road we had come along. There was

nothing very interesting for the first three or four miles on either

side of the water: to the right, uncultivated heath or poor

coppice-wood, and to the left, a scattering of meadow ground, patches of

corn, coppice-woods, and here and there a cottage. The wind fell, and it

began to rain heavily. On this William wrapped himself in the boatman's

plaid, and lay at the bottom of the boat till we came to a place where I

could not help rousing him.

We were rowing down that side of the lake which had hitherto been

little else than a moorish ridge. After turning a rocky point we came to

a bay closed in by rocks and steep woods, chiefly of full-grown birch.

The lake was elsewhere ruffled, but at the entrance of this bay the

breezes sunk, and it was calm: a small island was near, and the opposite

shore, covered with wood, looked soft through the misty rain. William,

rubbing his eyes, for he had been asleep, called out that he hoped I had

not let him pass by anything that was so beautiful as this; and I was

glad to tell him that it was but the beginning of a new land. After we

had left this bay we saw before us a long reach of woods and rocks and

rocky points, that promised other bays more beautiful than what we had

passed. The ferryman was a good-natured fellow, and rowed very

industriously, following the ins and outs of the shore; he was delighted

with the pleasure we expressed, continually repeating how pleasant it

would have been on a fine day. I believe he was attached to the lake by

some sentiment of pride, as his own domain--his being almost the only

boat upon it--which made him, seeing we were willing gazers, take far

more pains than an ordinary boatman; he would often say, after he had

compassed the turning of a point, "This is a bonny part," and he always

chose the bonniest, with greater skill than our prospect-hunters and

"picturesque travellers"; places screened from the winds--that was the

first point; the rest followed of course,--richer growing trees, rocks

and banks, and curves which the eye delights in.

The second bay we came to differed from the rest; the hills retired a

short space from the lake, leaving a few level fields between, on which

was a cottage embosomed in trees: the bay was defended by rocks at each

end, and the hills behind made a shelter for the cottage, the only

dwelling, I believe, except one, on this side of Loch Ketterine. We now

came to steeps that rose directly from the lake, and passed by a place

called in the Gaelic the Den of the Ghosts,[96] which reminded us of

Lodore; it is a rock, or mass of rock, with a stream of large black

stones like the naked or dried-up bed of a torrent down the side of it;

birch-trees start out of the rock in every direction, and cover the hill

above, further than we could see. The water of the lake below was very

deep, black, and calm. Our delight increased as we advanced, till we

came in view of the termination of the lake, seeing where the river

issues out of it through a narrow chasm between the hills.

[Footnote 96: Goblins' Cave.--J. C. S.]

Here I ought to rest, as we rested, and attempt to give utterance to our

pleasure: but indeed I can impart but little of what we felt. We were

still on the same side of the water, and, being immediately under the

hill, within a considerable bending of the shore, we were enclosed by

hills all round, as if we had been upon a smaller lake of which the

whole was visible. It was an entire solitude; and all that we beheld was

the perfection of loveliness and beauty.

We had been through many solitary places since we came into Scotland,

but this place differed as much from any we had seen before, as if there

had been nothing in common between them; no thought of dreariness or

desolation found entrance here; yet nothing was to be seen but water,

wood, rocks, and heather, and bare mountains above. We saw the mountains

by glimpses as the clouds passed by them, and were not disposed to

regret, with our boatman, that it was not a fine day, for the near

objects were not concealed from us, but softened by being seen through

the mists. The lake is not very wide here, but appeared to be much

narrower than it really is, owing to the many promontories, which are

pushed so far into it that they are much more like islands than

promontories. We had a longing desire to row to the outlet and look up

into the narrow passage through which the river went; but the point

where we were to land was on the other side, so we bent our course right

across, and just as we came in sight of two huts, which have been built

by Lady Perth as a shelter for those who visit the Trossachs, Coleridge

hailed us with a shout of triumph from the door of one of them, exulting

in the glory of Scotland. The huts stand at a small distance from each

other, on a high and perpendicular rock, that rises from the bed of the

lake. A road, which has a very wild appearance, has been cut through the

rock; yet even here, among these bold precipices, the feeling of

excessive beautifulness overcomes every other. While we were upon the

lake, on every side of us were bays within bays, often more like tiny

lakes or pools than bays, and these not in long succession only, but all

round, some almost on the broad breast of the water, the promontories

shot out so far.

After we had landed we walked along the road to the uppermost of the

huts, where Coleridge was standing. From the door of this hut 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 the 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.

We left the hut, retracing the few yards of road which we had climbed;

our boat lay at anchor under the rock in the last of all the

compartments of the lake, a small oblong pool, almost shut up within

itself, as several others had appeared to be, by jutting points of rock;

the termination of a long out-shooting of the water, pushed up between

the steps of the main shore where the huts stand, and a broad promontory

which, with its hillocks and points and lesser promontories, occupies

the centre of the foot of the lake. A person sailing through the lake up

the middle of it, would just as naturally suppose that the outlet was

here as on the other side; and so it might have been, with the most

trifling change in the disposition of the ground, for at the end of this

slip of water the lake is confined only by a gentle rising of a few

yards towards an opening between the hills, a narrow pass or valley

through which the river might have flowed. The road is carried through

this valley, which only differs from the lower part of the vale of the

lake in being excessively narrow, and without water; it is enclosed by

mountains, rocky mounds, hills and hillocks scattered over with

birch-trees, and covered with Dutch myrtle and heather, even surpassing

what we had seen before. Our mother Eve had no fairer, though a more

diversified garden, to tend, than we found within this little close

valley. It rained all the time, but the mists and calm air made us ample

amends for a wetting.

At the opening of the pass we climbed up a low eminence, and had an

unexpected prospect suddenly before us--another lake, small compared

with Loch Ketterine, though perhaps four miles long, but the misty air

concealed the end of it. The transition from the solitary wildness of

Loch Ketterine and the narrow valley or pass to this scene was very

delightful: it was a gentle place, with lovely open bays, one small

island, corn fields, woods, and a group of cottages. This vale seemed to

have been made to be tributary to the comforts of man, Loch Ketterine

for the lonely delight of Nature, and kind spirits delighting in beauty.

The sky was grey and heavy,--floating mists on the hill-sides, 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. While we overlooked this quiet scene we could

hear the stream rumbling among the rocks between the lakes, but the

mists concealed any glimpse of it which we might have had. This small

lake is called Loch Achray.

We returned, of course, by the same road. Our guide repeated over and

over again his lamentations that the day was so bad, though we had often

told him--not indeed with much hope that he would believe us--that we

were glad of it. As we walked along he pulled a leafy twig from a

birch-tree, and, after smelling it, gave it to me, saying, how "sweet

and halesome" it was, and that it was pleasant and very halesome on a

fine summer's morning to sail under the banks where the birks are

growing. This reminded me of the old Scotch songs, in which you

continually hear of the "pu'ing the birks." Common as birches are in the

north of England, I believe their sweet smell is a thing unnoticed among

the peasants. We returned again to the huts to take a farewell look. We

had shared our food with the ferryman and a traveller whom we had met

here, who was going up the lake, and wished to lodge at the ferry-house,

so we offered him a place in the boat. Coleridge chose to walk. We took

the same side of the lake as before, and had much delight in visiting

the bays over again; but the evening began to darken, and it rained so

heavily before we had gone two miles that we were completely wet. It was

dark when we landed, and on entering the house I was sick with cold.

The good woman had provided, according to her promise, a better fire

than we had found in the morning; and indeed when I sate down in the

chimney-corner of her smoky biggin, I thought I had never been more

comfortable in my life. Coleridge had been there long enough to have a

pan of coffee boiling for us, and having put our clothes in the way of

drying, we all sate down, thankful for a shelter. We could not prevail

upon the man of the house to draw near the fire, though he was cold and

wet, or to suffer his wife to get him dry clothes till she had served

us, which she did, though most willingly, not very expeditiously. A

Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had such a notion of what

was fit and right in his own house, or if he had, one would have accused

him of servility; but in the Highlander it only seemed like politeness,

however erroneous and painful to us, naturally growing out of the

dependence of the inferiors of the clan upon their laird; he did not,

however, refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky-bottle at our

request: "She keeps a dram," as the phrase is; indeed, I believe there

is scarcely a lonely house by the wayside in Scotland where travellers

may not be accommodated with a dram. We asked for sugar, butter,

barley-bread, and milk, and with a smile and a stare more of kindness

than wonder, she replied, "Ye'll get that," bringing each article

separately.

We caroused our cups of coffee, laughing like children at the strange

atmosphere in which we were: the smoke came in gusts, and spread along

the walls and above our heads in the chimney, where the hens were

roosting like light clouds in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in

spite of the smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in

observing the beauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the

clouds of smoke. They had been crusted over and varnished by many

winters, till, where the firelight fell upon them, they were as glossy

as black rocks on a sunny day cased in ice. When we had eaten our supper

we sate about half an hour, and I think I had never felt so deeply the

blessing of a hospitable welcome and a warm fire. The man of the house

repeated from time to time that we should often tell of this night when

we got to our homes, and interposed praises of this, his own lake, which

he had more than once, when we were returning in the boat, ventured to

say was "bonnier than Loch Lomond."

Our companion from the Trossachs, who it appeared was an Edinburgh

drawing-master going during the 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 some time 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 sate 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!