Newspaper Page Text
188
thickly wooded, at the distance of, perhaps,
two miles, we came directly upon the margin
of Loch Katrine, where the road terminates
in a sort of pier, at which the steamboat that
plies on the Lake lands and receives her pas
sengers.
Loch Katrine is so well known to your
readers, that I need not define its geographi
cal position, or detail its dimensions. It is
certainly the most romantic body of water I
have ever seen, occupying a wild, deep glen,
or chasm, between mountain ranges, of which
Ben-an and Ben-venue are the loftiest peaks.
I cannot resist the temptation to quote from
my pocket edition of the Lady of the Lake,
which is as indispensable here as the “ Guide
Book to the Lakes,” the gorgeous description
of the Loch at the point to which we have
already come.
“ And now, to issue from the glen,
No pathway meets the wanderer’s ken,
Unless he climb, with footing nice,
A far projecting precipice.
The broom’s tough root his ladder made,
The hazel saplings lent their aid;
And thus an airy point he won,
Where, gh aming with the setting sun,
One burnished sheet of living gold,
Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled,
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creok and bay,
And islands that, empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light,
And mountains, that like giants stand,
To sentinel enchanted land.
High on the south, huge Ben-venue
Down on the lake in masses threw
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled,
The fragments of an earlier world ;
A wildering forest feathered o’er
His ruined sides and summit hoar.
While on the north, through middle air,
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.”
Two boatmen from the Inn accompanied
our party to the Lake to afford us an oppor
tunity to visit Ellen’s Isle, so familiar to all
the readers of Scott. While we were floating
on the clear, blue waters of the Lake, one of
the boatmen shipped his oar, and taking his
pipes, at my request, he blew a wild and
somewhat melancholy pibroch, which har
monized with the solemn grandeur of the
scene. We afterwards sung, to the rather
harsh accompaniment of the bag-pipes, the
beautiful song, “Hail to the Chief.” We
sailed in the boat around the Island, and,
passing under the shadow of Fitz James’
Rock, we glided into a little cave, and, by the
aid of a rude flight of steps in the rock, gain
ed the ruins of the bower, built to harmonize
with Scott’s verse:
“ Where, for retreat in dangerous hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.”
By a pretty coincidence, the younger lady
of our party bore the name of Ellen, and,
witha wreath woven of heather and blue bells,
we crow'ned her Queen of the Isle. The
heather with w T hich the mountains of Scot
land are covered, is now very soft and of a
brilliant green, affording, everywhere it is
found, temptation to the weary tourist to cast
himself upon it for a few minutes’ grateful
rest. So we found it, as we toiled up one of
the spurs of Ben-an to obtain a panoramic
view of the magnificent scene before and
around us. A point of more than common
interest to us was Coir-nan llriskin, a roman
tic hollow in Ben-venue, at the south-eastern
end of the Loch, a glen so wild and isolated,
that the superstition of early times peopled it
with imaginary beings, called the Urisks —
the name of the glen signifying the Den of
the Wild Men. It is also called the Cave of
the Goblins. The tw’o names are thus allu
ded to in the Lady of the Lake :
“ By many a bard in Celtic tongue,
Has Coir-nan Urisk in been sung;
A softer name the Saxons gave,
And called the spot the Goblin’s cave.”
The day I passed at Loch Katrine will not
soon fade from my memory. All sight-see
ing, however, is attended with fatigue; and,
that night, not one of our party found a good
bed, at the Inn of the Trosachs, uninviting.
The ladies shared in most of our excursions,
and both sustained themselves bravely, until,
as we were ascending the bank at the Pass,
on our return, Miss D stepped on a peb
ble, which occasioned her a fall, and a slight
sprain of her ancle—an accident which we
§©o IT SHE !B El ILIITtStE SIT ‘tf H ♦
feared might prove a source of great inconve
nience ; but, happily, our landlady undertook
to cure the sprain with “ simples,” and, in
the morning, my fair compagnon approached
me with so slight a limp, that I should not
have noticed it, had I not feared to have
found her too lame to walk.
Os our journey hither, across Lake Katrine,
in the miniature Steamboat that plies from
the Trosach Pass to the opposite shore, I shall
have room to say but little. As we embark
ed on the vessel, amid the roar of escaping
steam, which hung like a white veil over the
Lake, I could not help thinking of the effect
which would have been produced upon the
minds of those brave warriors—Fitz James
and Roderick Dhu—had they seen, from the
rocky eminence where they stood, for the first
time, a Steamboat wending its rapid way
around the promontories and beneath the cliffs
of the hitherto undisturbed waters of the
Mountain Lake! Would not their strong
hearts have blenched with something of ter
ror at the strange sight?
The rain, which “falleth ever” in these
mountain wilds, did not greet us on our jour
ney, and we accomplished the distance of five
miles from one Lake to the other, through
glens of singular beauty and solitariness,
without any other incident than encountering
a party of tourists, who were coming from
Loch Lomond, to which we were hastening.
It was, moreover, an American party, and,
although not before acquainted, we managed,
with that freedom peculiar to us, and so dis
tasteful to John Bull, to introduce ourselves
mutually, exchange intelligence, and, with
kind wishes and friendly adieux, part not
quite strangers as we met. We were nearly
two hours in reaching Lomond, and, in a ve
ry short time after, we were on the bright bo
som of the Lake.
In my next, I shall tell you something of
this magnificent region; and there is a chance
that the two letters will yet be posted togeth
er, for there is no mail in this immediate vi
cinity.
The shadows of evening and the lingering
clouds leave me barely light enough to say,
as ever,
Yours, truly, E. F. G.
J§ome ®omspcmlreme.
F or the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW-YORK LETTERS—NO. 24.
Rathbun Hotel, New York , )
Oct. 11, 1848. ]
My dear Sir: The two great questions in
Gotham at this time, are, “ Have you been to
the Fair ?” and “Have you seen Macready?”
I have the pleasure of answering both in the
affirmative; and as such a response may be
followed in your mind by the inquiry, “Well,
what of it?” I will trouble you with a hasty
record of my impressions. The Annual Fairs
of the American Institute have been, since
the burning of Niblo’s, held in the great am
phitheatre at Castle Garden. This saloon is
capable of accommodating fen thousand per
sons, and is in other respects infinitely more
suitable for these exhibitions than the old lo
cale. These Fairs, as you are aware, are dis
plays of every species of mechanical and in
dustrial art, from the complicated steam en
gine to a wash-tub. Here you may see in an
hour what has been accomplished during the
preceding year, by the genius, ingenuity and
industry of the American mechanic; what
additional contributions have been made to
our convenience, comfort and luxury. And
the season never comes without bringing with
it good evidence of talent, art and labor, well
directed. It is a pleasant sight, ihis great sa
loon, brilliantly illuminated, and crowded
from top to bottom with “ something rich and
strange.” It is pleasant to watch the thou
sands of merry and curious eyes—many of
i them not to be watched with safety—peering
! hither and thither, as new objects of use or
taste arrest their gaze. But pleasanter yet is
the proud reflection that all this glorious dis
play is the work of our own hands, and the
evidence of our rapid advance in intelligence,
refinement and happiness. The American
Institute has done much to promote the pro
gress of the mechanic arts, and it deserves
the earnest prayer of the public that it may
long live and prosper to continue its impor
tant labor.
The first object which attracts the attention
of the visiter to the Fair this season, is an
immense telescope outside the walls. Here
you may take a peep at the moon, for the ter
rible weather which I lamented in mv last
letter is over, and for several evenings past
we have had a moon “as is a moon.” Pass
ing up the covered bridge to the saloon, your
way is lined on either side with elegant and
richly ornamented carriages, omnibusses, fire
engines, hose-cars, etc. In this department
are two omnibusses, so richly finished and so
beautifully painted, gilded and cushioned,
that it seems a pity ever to send them to their
destination, on the Bowery and Chatham
street route! They should ran rather to
Olympus and pick up sixpences from the
gods. Last of all, is a very elegant turn-out
in the way of a hearse! This singular vehi
cle is superbly carpeted, and otherwise deco
rated. It is furnished with glass windows
on each side, and is surmounted with an urn.
People may now see their way to the grave,
instead of groping along as in the dark ages.
One or two other objects claim your notice
before entering the main building. First, a
variety of curious machines for the labors of
the laundress. At the best of these wash
tubs stands the inventor, who sings its praises,
and assures you that his “Practical Piano, or
Ladies’ Delight,” is the most valuable contri
bution made by science and art to the human
family, since the great washing days of Noah.
At your next step you reach the stand where
catalogues are sold, and are invited to pur* i
chase what the vender proclaims “a popular
and highly entertaining work!” Opposite
this literary mart is a group of little machines,
including a coffee-mill, corn-sheller, straw-cut
ter, etc., all worked very ingeniously by dog
power. Entering the saloon, the first object
which strikes the eye is a full-length figure
in wax of the renowned “Mose,” depicted at
that interesting and touching epoch of his life,
when, disgusted with the world, he resolves
not to “run with the machine any more!” I
have now* got you fairly into the Fair, and
must skip round without order, for so multi- j
farious are the things which claim
that to follow the catalogue would be out of
the question. The whole area of the saloon
is crowded, like the galleries, row above row
with all conceivable and inconceivable ob
jects. In one corner is every description of
household furniture, luxurious arm-chairs,
couches, and tables within tables. One of
the latter, the property of a gentleman in
Brooklyn, has a round top more than six feet
in diameter, and yet made of a single piece of
mahogany. The wood came from St. Do
mingo, and is eight hundred years old. Next
to the furniture is the bedding of every spe
cies, with a tolerable supply of “concentra
tion of young ladies’ thoughts,” as the Com
mercial calls the patch-work quilts. Next
you are among the pianos, as you will soon
perceive from the terrible confusion of sounds,
each instrument sending forth at the same
moment, a different air. A bar of “Love
Not” is mixed up with a snatch of “Carry
me back,” and a note of “ I cannot dance to
night,” and so on. The instruments though
per sc, are very beautiful; and among the
finest I noticed one from the Manhattan Piano
Forte Manufacturing Company. Mr. A. S.
Gatchell, one of the firm, happening to be
present, very kindly afforded me an opportu
nity to judge of the merits of this superb in
strument, which, in beauty of workmanship
and in delicacy and richness of tone, I have
rarely seen equalled, and you know I am
j a connoisseur in such matters. Leaving
the music, you turn to Gutta Percha, and
I India Rubber, of which valuable material*
you will find articles of every description
j The most interesting collection is from the
extensive establishment of Mr. Wm. Ward
on Broadway. Two India-rubber Boats par
ticularly attracted my attention. They are of
the usual size, and so constructed as to beta
ken to pieces and carried under the arm 1
The Indians may now abandon their birch
canoes for these safer and more portable arti
j cles. Further on, you enter the domain of
Flora, where a w*orld of beautiful flowers
gratify the eye; and still further on f you may
regale yourself with every kind of fruit. But
I must hasten on through the labyrinths of
daguerreotypes, lithographs, jewelry, hats,
caps, cloths, cottons, silks, confectionaries,
! boots, shoes, stoves, kitchen-ranges, and a
thousand other ranges of interesting objects,
to the machinery department. This is nmi
j sually extensive and excellent this year, and
I exhibits a gratifying progress in that depart
| ment of invention and scientific labor, in
which the Republic enjoys such a deservedly
high reputation. Os all the objects which
won my* curious examination, I will venture
to mention only one. This is a very com
pact and beautiful steam-pump, infinitely su
perior to any other now in use; since, with
the simplest management in the world, it will
accomplish the result of any other instrument
with one-half the power. I cannot, for my
life, recall the inventor’s name, so I will
| chronicle, instead, that of the able and es-
J teemed machinist, Mr. Millholland, of Read
: ing, Penn., who very politely did the honors
: of the pump for me, explaining all the ration-
I ale of cylinders, valves, pistons, etc., with the
; patience and enthusiasm of a true devotee of
‘ science. Mr. M. seemed to regard the new
i pump with great favor, which is saying very
much for it. I might tell you much more of
this attractive and popular exhibition of the
Mechanic Arts, but my space is not equal to
the subject, and I must turn, for a moment,
to the Fine Arts, under which head I will, for
the occasion, place the Drama.
All our Theatres are still occupied, as at
my last writing. They seem to be enjoying
an unusual turn of good fortune. In the
general effort to balance the attractions at
! “Niblo’s,” where Mr. Macready has estab
lished himself, every rival house has furnish
ed a strong bill, and all are consequently do
ing well. The competition, however, does
not at all thin Astor place, which, during eve
ry evening of the great tragedian’s engage
ment, has been crowded with delighted au
diences. Mr. Macready stands at the head
of the British stage, upon which his great
talents have shed the brightest lustre; and, if
our good people would never get up a frenzy
of enthusiasm upon less deserving objects, it
would be well.
The “ Hermann,” last week, brought out
a large picture of “ Napoleon Crossing the
Alps,” by the celebrated French artist, Paul
De la Roache. This great work is sent to this
country for exhibition only, and will be open
ed to the public in a few days, in the large
Saloon of the National Academy of Design.
It is but recently completed, and has never
been exhibited, except in the Artist’s Studio,
in Paris. It is very large, and contains por
traits of the great Emperor and his staff, du
ring the Alpine campaign. De la Roache,
himself, is expected here by the next Steamer.
T have some interesting items of domestic art
news for you, but must defer the record untii
the coming week.
Other distinguished guests, besides “Napo
leon and his staff,” arrived here in the Her
mann. Among the passengers were Dr. Lie
ber, and Hecker, the German revolutionary
leader, or the “ Bavarian Patriot,” as he
called. He received a warm welcome from
his countrymen resident here, and from the
“sympathizers” generally. At a public meet
ing, held last week, at Tammany Hall to’