been accustomed to hear Cicero spoken of as the prince of Latin
writers, and I resolved to make myself master of one at least of
his treatises, and to _realize_ the whole benefit of a thorough and
scholar-like acquaintance with this author. I commenced with the
commentaries of Ernesti, Pearce, Proust, Harlessius, etc., etc.,
and resolved to know the whole. I soon came upon a passage which
was obscure. I resorted to the Notes. Here I found six different
readings proposed, and long comments on each. I read all the remarks
of my commentators, which occupied me an hour. The conclusion to be
derived from them was, that the original language of the sentence
was not to be decided upon, and that the meaning of the author was
left to conjecture. I then undertook to investigate the meaning of a
legal term used by Cicero. After reading several pages of notes, and
consulting half a dozen books of reference, I made myself master of
the suppositions of the learned on the subject. I next took up the
name of a Roman orator whom Cicero mentions. I read at great length,
and discovered that his name had been found in several instances in
the Latin writers, and that critics supposed that two persons of the
same name had been alluded to in these instances. I had commenced
the study with resolution, and had determined not to come short of
the advantages of the thorough scholar. But, for an hour before you
come in, I had been thinking, 'What am I doing, and what end am I
securing? What if I should know a thousand things of this kind? _Cui
Bono?_ I do not intend to be indolent or fickle, but these thoughts
have, I confess, made me dejected.'
The young man's honest and heart-felt account of himself was
calculated to make one pause. Here was a high-toned and vigorous mind
wearing away its energies, and narrowing its scope of vision, under
the bondage of that public opinion respecting true learning, which
took its rise and its form in the cells of the monastery, where the
mind will seize upon any aliment rather than prey upon itself, and
expend itself upon trifles, because it is shut away from the _great_
realities of life. A mind which was made to display its energies in
the highest track of thought, and on the widest field of action, is
imprisoned to count its beads, and mutter its task, in the temple
of monastic lore. Public opinion must be subjected to frequent
revision--let us not be pronounced radical--or errors will cling to
the community, with the tendency of a mill-stone about the neck. An
error, hallowed by strong and widely-connected associations, is not
easily exterminated. It passes on unharmed by those agitations which
overwhelm the errors of a lower grade and humbler origin; and while
the generation living in its shadow have never known the light which
it intercepts, they regard it as a part of the system of things, and
one of the conditions of their being. Thus has the high regard which
mankind accord to mental efforts, as distinguished from physical, had
the effect to hallow even the follies of intellect, and to prolong
the existence of those errors respecting the cultivation of the
mind, which lead us to regard it rather as a receptacle of hoarded
knowledge, than as a thing of active powers; to seek the acquisitions
of the scholar as valuable in themselves, rather than as giving scope
and expansion to the energies of a noble existence, and in the high
estimation which Education has properly imparted to the _means_ of
education, to make that mistake which comprehends so many others; to
make the means the end.
JUNE.
THE violet peeps from its emerald bed,
And rivals the azure in hue overhead;
To the breeze, sweeping by on invisible wings,
Its gift of rich odor the young lily flings,
And the silvery brook in the greenwood is heard
Sweetly blending its tones with the song of the bird.
The swallow is dipping his wing in the tide,
And the aspect of earth is to grief unallied;
Ripe fruit blushes now on the strawberry vine,
And the trees of the woodland their arms intertwine;
Forming shields which the sun pierceth not with his ray--
Screening delicate plants from the broad eye of day.
Oft forsaking the haunts and the dwellings of men,
I have sought out the depths of the forest and glen;
And the presence of June, making vocal each bough,
Would drive the dark shadow of care from my brow:
The rustling of leaves, the blithe hum of the bee,
Than the music of viols is sweeter to me.
When the rose bends with dew on her emerald throne,
And the wren to her perch in the forest hath flown;
When the musical thrush is asleep on its nest,
And the red-bird is in her light hammock at rest;
When sunlight no longer gilds streamlet and hill,
Is heard thy sad anthem, oh sad whip-poor-will!
The Indian, as twilight was fading away,
Would start when his ear caught thy sorrowful lay,
And deeming thy note the precursor of wo,
Would arm for the sudden approach of the foe;
But I list to thy wild, fitful hymn with delight,
While the pale stars are winking, lone minstrel of night!
Brightest month of the year! when thy chaplet grows pale,
I shall mourn, for the bearer of health is thy gale:
The pearl that young Beauty weaves in her dark hair,
In clearness can ne'er with thy waters compare;
Nor yet can the ruby or amethyst vie
With the tint of thy rose, or the hue of thy sky!
H.
RANDOM PASSAGES
FROM ROUGH NOTES OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, FRANCE,
SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY
NUMBER THREE.
THE HIGHLANDS--PERTH, STIRLING, ETC.
TUESDAY, JUNE 15.--At 7 o'clock, on a fine morning, I left Edinburgh
for the lakes and highlands. My route for the day was the same as
that of the Antiquary and Lovel. The coach, however, was much more
prompt than in the days of Mrs. Macleuchar, and started off while
the clock of St. Giles was striking, from Waterloo-place instead of
High-street. Arrived at Queensferry, seven miles, after a beautiful
ride, modern improvements were again visible; for, instead of having
to wait for the tide, as did Oldbuck and his friend, we drove down
a stone pier, at the end of which the water is always deep enough,
and transferring our luggage and ourselves to a sail-boat just
sufficiently large to contain the coach's company, guard, and coachee
included, the canvass was spread, and in a few minutes we were at
North Queensferry, on the other side of the Frith of Forth. Here we
breakfasted; the landlord, who could produce a dinner 'peremtorie,'
has been succeeded by one who has it already on the table at the
moment the coach drives up.
The ride from this place to Kinross is not particularly interesting;
neither is the scenery about Loch Leven. I stopped, however, of
course, at the village, and walking down to the lake, over some
marshy flats, made a bargain with a couple of fellows to row me over
to the castle, on the same side from which Queen Mary escaped. There
is a boat, it seems, kept by the cicerone of the place, who charges
five shillings sterling to each visitor--a great imposition. My men
had to keep out of sight, lest they should be fined for trespass!
The whole lake is owned by one person--Lord Somebody, who leases
the privilege of angling in it, for £500 per annum, and the lessee
charges a guinea per day for sub-privileges! It abounds with fine
trout. The castle, which is quite a ruin, only one tower remaining
entire, looks more like a prison than a place of residence.
'No more its arches echo to the noise
Of joy and festive mirth; no more the glance
Of blazing taper through its window beams,
And quivers on the undulating wave:
But naked stand the melancholy walls,
Lashed by the wintry tempests, cold and bleak,
Which whistle mournfully through the empty halls,
And piecemeal crumble down the tower to dust.'
The entrance to the chamber pointed out as Queen Mary's is not more
than four feet high, so that you have to stoop in entering it. The
gate through which she escaped, with Douglas, is on the opposite
side of the castle from her apartments, and not the usual place for
leaving the island. The spot where she landed is yet called Queen
Mary's Knoll.
After leaving Kinross, there is some fine scenery, particularly
near Perth, where I arrived about half past two. It is a large and
handsome town, on the banks of the Tay. In my first walk through it,
I noticed, as rather singular, a number of 'fair maids.' There is
one, however, an inn-keeper's daughter, who seems to bear the palm,
and is distinguished, I was told, _par excellence_, as 'The Fair Maid
of Perth.' I saw several vessels, coaches, etc., thus named; and yet
I could not find in the whole town a single copy of Scott's novel!
Wandering down to the river, I saw a steam-boat just starting for
Dundee,[2] twenty-two miles' sail on the beautiful river and Frith
of Tay, and the fare nine-pence! So, not being very particular in my
destination, I jumped on board, and was off in a trice, without my
dinner, which I had ordered at the hotel. The trip was very pleasant,
for it was a lovely day; and at six o'clock I dined in the best
style, on 'three courses and a dessert,' in a handsome parlor, at
the Royal Hotel, Dundee, for two shillings--the cheapest dinner and
trip I have had in his Majesty's dominions. Dundee is a very large
and flourishing place, and carries on more trade and commerce than
any other town in Scotland, Glasgow perhaps excepted. It is admirably
situated, and has quite a city-like appearance. The docks would be
an honor to New-York. After dinner, I walked out to Broughty Ferry,
four miles, along the banks of the Frith, to call on Dr. DICK, the
author of the Christian Philosopher, and several other very able and
popular works. He has a little of the pedagogue in his appearance
and conversation, but seems to be a very plain, kind-hearted man. He
is very much interested in our country and its literature, and had
many questions to ask respecting his correspondents here. He thinks
we are far before Great Britain on the score of education; and says
that such a work as Burritt's Astronomy would be quite too deep and
scientific to be used in schools there. Of course, he touched upon
slavery. He did not understand why the blacks should not be admitted
into society, and considered as equals in intellect with the whites!
In the little attic room, are a variety of scientific instruments,
such as telescopes, orreries, etc. Among the books were his last one,
'The Mental Illumination and Moral Improvement of Mankind,' English
and American editions. After tea, it being ten o'clock, and yet light
enough in this northern latitude to read without a candle, the doctor
kindly escorted me nearly three miles on my way back to Dundee.
* * * * *
THURSDAY MORNING, at six o'clock, I mounted a coach returning to
Perth, with a fine clear sky, and the warmest day I have experienced
in Britain. The road is along the banks of the Forth, and is very
quiet and pleasant, passing several splendid seats; among them
Kinfauns Castle, (Lord Gray,) in the bosom of the hills, fronting the
water. Near this, on the banks, are found fine onyxes, cornelians,
and agates. There is a handsome stone bridge over the Tay at Perth.
This is a lovely river, the current being very swift, and the water
deep, clear, and dark. After breakfast, I walked two miles along
the banks north to the palace of Scone, where the Scottish kings
were formerly crowned. I saw the celebrated _stone_ on which they
were crowned, in Westminster Abbey, whither it has been removed. The
present palace, is a modern and very splendid edifice, the finest I
have seen of the kind, situated in an extensive park or lawn sloping
to the banks of the river. It is occupied by the Earl of Mansfield,
grand-son of the famous Lord Mansfield. The apartments on the
ground-floor are very magnificent, particularly the drawing-room,
which I imagine is the _ne plus ultra_ of modern elegance, and a
fine specimen of a wealthy nobleman's apartment. The tables and
cabinets are inlaid with brass, the ceiling carved with great taste,
and the walls covered with superb silk furniture, furnished in the
richest manner. It is as large as four or five good sized parlors.
The library is of the same size. This, and some other rooms, contain
paintings by Lady Mansfield herself, which are vastly creditable to
her ladyship, and would be to a professed artist. The gallery is
one hundred and fifty feet long, and contains a large organ. In the
chambers, are bed-curtains, etc., wrought by Mary, Queen of Scots,
when at Loch Leven.
Rode in the afternoon to Dunkeld, fifteen miles. Near this town, we
enter the grand pass to the highlands, which here commence in all
their beauty and grandeur. On the road; we passed Birnam Wood, (which
it seems has not all 'moved to Dunsinane,') a mountain twelve miles
distant, and seen from the top of Birnam. Dunkeld is beautifully
situated, in a vale on the banks of the Tay, which is here even
fairer than at Perth, surrounded by lofty and picturesque mountains,
which closely overlook the town. The scenery here exceeds any thing I
have seen; yet this is but the mere gate to the highlands; and I may
as well reserve my enthusiasm.
The principal landed proprietor in this region, is the Duke of Athol,
whose pleasure-grounds alone are said to extend fifty miles in a
strait line. We walked though the charming garden on the banks of
the river, to the half-finished palace which had been commenced by
the present duke, but now remains in _statu quo_; for the 'poor rich
man' became insane, and is now confined in a mad-house, near London.
Crossing the rapid current of the river, in a boat, we climbed up to
'Ossian's Hall,' a pretty bower on the brink of a deep precipice,
and in front of a beautiful waterfall, which comes tumbling down a
rocky ravine from an immense height, and is enchantingly reflected
in the mirrors of the bower. From this height, is a fine view of the
Grampians, where
'My father feeds his flocks.'
* * * * *
STIRLING, JUNE 17, P. M.--The Abbey of Dunblane and the battle-field
of Sheriff-Muir were the only objects of interest during the ride
from Perth: and there is little to excite curiosity in the old and
irregular town of Stirling, except its noble castle, scarcely second
to that of Edinburgh in fame and importance. Entering the esplanade,
I happened to meet the commanding officer, who inquired if I was a
stranger, and politely escorted me to every part of the extensive
fortification. 'In _that_ room,' said he, 'James VI. was born;'
_this_ palace was built by James V., (the 'Knight of Snowdon, James
Fitz James,') who often travelled alone in various disguises, etc.
The views from the ramparts of the castle are very extensive, and
in many respects have been pronounced unrivalled. They reach from
Arthur's Seat, on one side, to the highlands of Loch Katrine and Loch
Lomond on the other, a distance of sixty-five miles. Eleven counties,
comprising most of the places celebrated in Scottish history, may be
seen from these battlements. On the south, two miles distant, is the
memorable field of Bannockburn, where thirty thousand Scotchmen under
Bruce routed the English army of one hundred thousand men, thirty
thousand of whom were killed. During the battle, when victory was
yet doubtful, the boys ('_killies_') who had charge of the Scotch
luggage, curious to know the result of the contest, came with their
carts to the top of the hill near by, and the English, supposing them
to be a fresh army, took fright and scampered. So the place is called
'Killies' Hill,' to this day.
At five P. M., set off for Callender, fifteen miles, crossing the
Forth, and passing 'the Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doune,' (but not
Burns',) and the ruins of Doune Castle, a strong fortress, where
Waverley was confined. A little farther, we ride along the Teith,
pass the seat of Buchanan, where Scott spent much of his boyhood, and
had his taste for the sublime and beautiful in nature inflamed into a
noble passion, by contemplating the scenery spread before him.
Callender is a retired and quite a rude little village, at the
south-west entrance to the highlands, and is the usual stopping
place for tourists. The people here generally speak Gäelic, and the
children wear the highland kilt. The inn is the only decent house
in the place. Joined an agreeable party from Edinburgh, and walked
out to Bracklinn Bridge, and a beautifully-romantic waterfall. For
eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, at this place, at present,
(June) it is light enough to read without a candle; and at eleven P.
M., it is as light as our twilight.
* * * * *
STEWART'S INN, LOCH ACHRAY, FRIDAY EVE.--This has been a most
delightful day. It was a soft and brilliant morning, and we walked
eight miles before breakfast to the celebrated Pass of Leven, one of
the grandest in the highlands. Ben Ledi, 'the Hill of God,' (where
the natives are said to have worshipped the sun,) lifts its lofty
summit on one side, and at its base are two lovely little lakes,
their glassy surface reflecting clearly the splendid picture around.
After an excellent breakfast, M'Gregor, our host, furnished us with
the 'Rob Roy' car, and we were soon ushered into the classic and
romantic region of the 'Lady of the Lake;' Ben Ledi being on our
right, Ben An and Ben Venue frowning upon us in front. Riding along
the banks of Loch Vennachar, on our left, we see Coilantogle Ford,
where was the 'Combat', in which Fitz James mastered Roderick Dhu:
'By thicket green and mountain grey,
A wildering path! they winded now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich scenes beneath,
The windings of the Forth and Teith,
And all the vales between that lie,
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky.'
Our course was the same as that of the Knight of Snowdon, reversed;
and every turn of the road brought new beauties to view, in the
splendid landscape. On the opposite shore of Loch Vennachar, we saw
the 'Gathering Place of Clan Alpine,' where, at the shrill whistle of
Roderick Dhu, and to the surprise of Fitz James:
'Instant through copse and heath arose
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprang up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken bush sends forth the dart;
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand;
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior, armed for strife.'
Every visitor here must remark the singular _accuracy_ of the
pictures of scenery throughout this poem. We can find the original of
every passage of local description, and I cannot help quoting some of
them.
The 'plaided warriors' are now scarcely to be seen this side of
the Braes of Balquiddar. How similar is their case to that of our
American Indians! Like them, they were the original possessors of the
soil, and roved in lawless freedom:
'Far to the south and east, where lay
Extended in succession gay,
Deep waving fields and pastures green,
With gentle slopes and groves between:
_These_ fertile plains, _that_ softened vale,
Were once the birth-right of the _Gäel_;
The _stranger_ came, with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft the land.'
And as Roderick continues, addressing the king:
'Thinkst thou we will not sally forth
To spoil the spoiler as we may,
And from the robber rend the prey?'
A short distance beyond Loch Vennachar, we came to Loch Achray, about
a half mile long, and so placid and beautiful, that an Englishman
took it for a work of art, and remarked that it was 'very well got
up!' On the banks of this lovely lake, surrounded by the grand and
lofty _Trosachs_, is the rustic little inn of _Ardchinchrocan_, where
we stopped for the day. It 'takes' a Scott to do justice to this
charming spot, and the wild but majestic scenery around. It seems far
removed from the noise and trouble of the 'work-day world.'
After dinner, we took a walk to _Loch Katrine_, through the most
sublime and difficult of all the passes through the Grampians--that
formed by the Trosachs, or 'bristled territory.' All that is wild and
stupendous in mountain scenery here unites:
'High on the south, huge Ben Venue,
Down to the lake its masses threw;
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurl'd
The fragments of an earlier world.'
Not a shrub nor a plant can be seen on these heights. Their rough,
gloomy sides form a strange contrast to the green vales below. The
_echo_ from them is remarkably distinct. We passed through the
shady ravine, where the green knights' gallant grey fell, exhausted
after 'the chase.' A few steps from this, the charming Loch Katrine
suddenly appears. The upper part only is visible at first, 'the
Island' obstructing the view, so that new and varied beauties are
discovered at every step. The scene is calculated to inspire and
elevate the nobler feelings of the visitor. Passing along the banks,
we came to 'the beach of pebbles white as snow,' opposite 'the
Island,' where Fitz James first saw Ellen:
'I well believe,' the maid replied,
As her light skiff approached the side,
'I well believe that ne'er before
Your foot hath trod Loch Katrine's shore.'
The 'promontory,' 'the bay,' 'the brake,' 'the pebbles,' are all
here; and to enliven the scene, there was an old man who might have
been Allan Bane, playing wildly on a flute; and he gave us some fine
old Scotch airs, which were quite a treat. We had a thunder-shower,
too, and taking shelter in a cave, we heard 'heaven's artillery'
echoed through these mighty mountains, with most impressive grandeur.
On our return, with much exertion, I at length achieved the summit
of one of the minor heights, and was amply repaid by the prospect
therefrom. It was at sunset; and the whole of the three Lochs
Katrine, Achray, and Vennachar, with the snow-capped Grampians on the
north, and the distant ocean on the west, were distinctly seen. The
cattle on the nearest mountains appeared not larger that cats.
* * * * *
INVERARY, HEAD OF LOCH FINE, SATURDAY, 11 P. M.--With the moon-lit
lake under my window, I resume my disjointed narrative. Yesterday we
had seen the Trosachs in the clearest atmosphere, but to-day they
were encircled with the mists which rolled majestically along their
sides, while their summits were 'bright with the beams of the morning
sun.' Our hostess at Loch Achray provided us with a boat and oarsmen,
and we proceeded through the pass from which
'Loch Katrine lay beneath us roll'd--
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light;
And mountains that like giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land.'
How accurate and graphic the picture! This lake is about seven miles
long, and perhaps half a mile wide. We sailed over its smooth and
brilliantly-dark, transparent surface, and touched the banks of
Ellen's Isle:
'The stranger view'd the shore around,
'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound,
Nor track, nor path-way might declare
That human foot frequented there.'
Our boatmen here gave us a specimen of the wonderful echoes.[3] His
shrill call was answered _three times_, with perfect distinctness,
and apparently from a great distance. He had a pithy way of talking,
this rower. 'Do the sun's rays,' I asked, 'ever reach that glen under
Ben An?' who here
'Lifts high his forehead bare.'
'Yes,' he said; 'they just give it a peep, to say 'How-dye-do?' and
are off again.'
'Is it five _English_ miles across the next pass?'
'English miles, but a _Scotch road_.'
We passed the goblin cave, and enjoyed all at which 'the stranger'
was enraptured and amazed; 'that soft vale,' and 'this bold brow,'
and 'yonder meadow far away.' On landing, our boat-party found ponies
in waiting to take us over the rough and dreary pass to Loch Lomond.
Our cavalcade, with the guides, straggling along between these wild
hills and precipices, was a subject for the pencil. There were some
odd geniuses among us, too, who contributed much to our amusement.
Arrived at Loch Lomond, we descended a rocky steep, to the banks
where the steam-boat from Glasgow was to call for us. The place is
called Inversnaid; but the only habitation in sight was a little hut,
at the foot of a pretty cascade, where Wordsworth wrote: