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204
Jortign €orrcsponi)cnft.
For the Southern Literary Gazette, i
LETTERS FROM SCOTLAND-NO. 4,
Inver ary, Count]) Argyle , )
August 21st, 1848. j
My dear R. —My last letter was dated at
the little stone Inn of Rowerdennen, and I
designed to prepare another letter at that
point, embracing my observations in its im
mediate vicinity. I did not do so, however,
because we left the Inn very early in the
morning, and our excursion of the previous
day was not completed until sun-down, and I
was too much fatigued to devote any part of
the night to letter-writing. It remains, there
fore, to make this letter retrospective, and to
look back upon Loch Lomond and its majes
tic surroundings.
Geographically described, this beautiful
lake lies between the Counties Sterling and
Dunbarton. It is much the largest body of
water in Great Britain—extending in length
nearly 25 miles. Itß peculiar triangular
shape, however, gives it continual variation
of width. At the base of the triangle, a few
miles north of Dumbarton, it is, at least, eight
miles ; while in the vicinity of “ mine
inn” its breadth scarcely exceeds a mile and
a half. At Ardleesh, its northern extremity,
it is still narrower. Its narrow portion is
characterized by peculiarly wild and roman
tic scenery. It is sentinelled by lofty and
rugged hills, and to some extent the vicinity
may be called dreary. The lower portion of
the Loch exhibits features of far greater
beauty, composed of lovely glens thickly
wooded, and dotted with beautiful country
seats. while on its southern margin is a gen
tly undulating country in a high state of cul
tivation.
The day after our arrival at Rowerdennen
dawned with the promise of all the beauty
we could desire, even as tourists in the “ en
chanted land” of the Scottish Highlands —a
region of wonderful natural attractions—but
far more endeared to the visitor by the thou
sand associations that the genius of Scott has
woven about them. But I was saying that
the day was lovely in its dawn, and with an
alacrity that would have been a virtue in
other circumstances, our party left their com
fortable beds, and assembled for an early
breakfast preparatory to the ascent of Ben
Lomond.
I will not tantalize you with a description
of our repast, further than to state that the
principal dish was of lake trout, so famous
for its sweetness and delicacy, and to which
I certainly did ample justice.
All the ponies—four in number —which
the Inn could furnish, were put into requisi
tion for the ladies of our party, and the gen
tlemen having put on good stout hob-nailed
shoes which we had provided ourselves with
at Edinburgh, and grasped each one a stout
iron-shod staff, we set out for our El Dorado,
the summit of the aspiring Lomond. Our
guide was a stout young Highlander, who
spoke Gallic much more fluently than Eng
lish, but who was still sufficiently conversant
with the latter to be understood, He was
the son of an old farmer, a tenant of the
Duke of Montrose. In reply to the question
of my fair friend, Miss H ,if she could
Tide all the way up to the summit, he said —
“Oh ay, leddy, ye can ride joost to the verra
tap.” Wc found him a very sociable and
intelligent fellow, eager to point out all ob
jects which possessed general interest. From
ihe summit of one of the first acclivities,
which was crowned with the soft heather,
we looked down upon the beautiful lake and
admired its transcendent loveliness. But ‘ Ex
celsior’ was our watch-word, and we were so
eager to reach the summit that we were com
pelled, rather than inclined, to rest on some
of the successive heights which we attained.
At length we stood, panting with exertion,
upon the lofty peak of Ben Lomond, to which
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the eye of every tourist, as he enters the
Highlands, is turned with so lively an inter
est. There is a rude heap of earth and rock,
called a ‘cairn,’ on the crown of the moun
tain, up which I eagerly scrambled and stood
half bewildered and wholly delighted with
the wonderful scene spread out around me. —
I cannot give you, my dear R., an adequate
description of that glorious panorama of hill
and vale —of lake and glen —the memory of
which will haunt me amid the forests of the
‘new world.’
To mention the names of all the localities
which our attentive guide indicated to us,
would make this letter too long. Some of
them we could recognize without his assist
ance. The Loch stretched out below us, and
gleamed like pure silver in the rich light of
the morning. The beautiful waters of Ka
trine, Yennachar and Achray, glistened on
our left. Those of Loch Long were partly
visible between the lofty mountains before
us. All around us rose the summits of the
1 everlasting hills.’ Far to the south, rose
Arthur’s Seat and Edinburgh Castle, and
nearer to us, in the same line, frowned the old
fortress of Sterling. On the north, ‘Alps
piled on Alps’ lifted up their mighty peaks.
Ben Nevis, capped with snow, rose like a
sentinel on the east, and everywhere the idea
of grandeur and infinity impressed itself upon
the mind. While we were thus gazing abroad
upon the wonderful scene spread out before
us, and recalling the scenes made famous by
the ‘magician of the North,’ ‘a change came
o’er the spirit’ of the scene. The summits of
Ben Nevis, Arthur’s Seat, and nearer hills,
were suddenly, as it were, invested with
cloudy caps ; and we were scarcely warned
of the approach of a mountain storm before
it burst upon us in fury. With our best
speed we barely succeeded in reaching a hut
which our guide, Donald, informed us had
been occupied by some British sappers, who
were employed in certain surveys in the vi
’ cinity. It was a rude affair, but never did
we think a palace a more acceptable shelter
than that old hut, into which we hurried our
fair companions, whose light dresses were
already damp with the heavy drops of the
storm. Sheltering the ponies behind the cot,
Donald soon followed us into its interior, re
marking as he came in— * It’s weel, leddies,
that yese got this wee bit o’ a roof aboon ye,
for I ken the storm ’ll be fearfu’.’ Nor was
Donald wrong in his anticipation—and al
most on the summit of Ben Lomond we en
countered one of the most furious gusts of
wind and rain that I have ever seen. The
wind came from the north-east, and the whole
expanse of Loch Lomond was shrouded in a
heavy mist, that seemed to roll before the
blast like an immense sheet of foaming water.
The whole air was full of vapor that whirled
about like white-capped waves before the
giant wind. We were so absorbed in the
grandeur of the scene, that we quite forgot
our discomforts; and I heartily rejoiced, in
spite of them all, that the storm had arisen.
It lasted only twenty minutes, at the end of
which the clouds parted, the sun broke forth,
the sea of mist rolled up the acclivities and
disappeared, and in half an hour Loch Lo
mond sparkled again in the almost unclouded
sunshine. It seemed a vision of fairy-land,
so rapid were the transmutations.
The heavy rains made the descent of the
mountain a matter of some peril, and we pro
ceeded with great care —the gentlemen lead
ing or preceding the ponies, upon which the
ladies sat with a very commendable courage.
It was high noon when we reached the
Rowerdennen, and found there quite a party
of visitors —English—which the steamboat
descending the Loch had landed at the pier—
a process that we overlooked from a conside
rable height on the mountain.
We were glad enough to rest in the after
noon—and the ladies availed themselves of
the opportunity to press within the leaves of
Scott’s lady of the Lake, the rare and deli
cate little flowers which we culled on Ben
Lomond, as memorials of our visit.
The next day we took the steamboat as
cending the Loch, designing to traverse the
whole length of it before we bade adieu to its
crystal waters. As the little vessel glided
along, herself apparently the only living thing
amid the almost oppressive solitudes of the
lake and its rocky shores, new scenes pre
sented themselves at every turn of the chan
nel. Rob Roy’s cave was pointed out to us
some little distance beyond the beautiful In
verenyde, where there is a romantic water
fall, and which the genius of Wordsworth has
hallowed in the exquisite address ‘To a High
land Girl,’ beginning —
‘ Sweet Highland Girl—a very shower
Os beauty is thy earthly dower ;
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost beauty on thy head.’
I would have landed at Inverenyde, could
I have hoped to catch a glimpse of that fair
form which so stirred the heart of the poet of
Rydal Mount, as to make him exclaim —
‘ Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place.
Joy have I had ; and going hence,
I bear away my recompense.
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold
As I do now, the cabin small —
T*he lake —the bay—the water-fall —
And Thee, the spiiit of them all !*
But such a hope was too vain to he indulged,
and I passed the spot with a sigh that I could
not look upon a being so fair, except with the
glass of fancy.
The cave of Rob Roy and the cave of
Bruce are not identical, as is sometimes sup
posed. The latter is difficult of access, in
one of the mountains that overhang the lake.
Our boat having reached the extremity of the
Loch, entered a little stream, which it pursued
with many devious windings, up a charming
glen for a mile and a half, when we landed
at a neat and comfortable Inn called Inverar
nan: there we passed the night; and the next
day descended the Lake in its whole extent
to the head of the lovely valley of Leven.—
During our progress down the Lake, below
Rowerdennen Bay, we encountered a south
western gale, which blew the mist into our
faces, and completely shut out the view of
the shores, so that we were not sorry on the
subsequent morning to retrace our course, in
the sheen of a cloudless sun, which lay smi
lingly upon the deep glens that here and
there opened from the opposite margins of
the Lake, and illuminated the pretty cottages
that dotted their verdant meads. We disem
barked on the western shore nearly opposite
to our old quarters. There we found an Inn
and a Post-office, to which latter I committed
my letter for you, and also a missive for
London.
While Mr. D was negociating for our
immediate progress towards Inverary, Mr.
H and myself, with the ladies, strolled
along the margin of the Lake, and found our
selves presently before a very inviting little
cottage. Its inmates were an old lady and
her grand-daughter. The former was indus
triously spinning flax, and the latter was ty
ing up a beautiful carnation, which was in
full bloom, in a little stone jar. As the
girl espied us, she retreated into the cottage,
and we made bold to follow even to the door.
We addressed the old woman with courteous
words. She smiled and shook her head, say
ing, ‘Na Englis,’ and pointing to her grand
daughter. Mrs. H then asked the girl if
she could speak English, to which she re
plied in very sweet tones, ‘Yes, ma’am; I
live in Edinboro’, but am visiting my old
grandmother for a little time.’ She then told
us that she had brought up the carnation t©
her grandmother—that her father was a me
chanic in the city, and that she had been to
school more than two years. Mrs. H
asked her if she had read Sir Walter Scott’s
‘Lady of the Lake,’ when a smile of enthu
siasm kindled her pretty features, as she re
plied, ‘Oh yes, ma’am, 1 have got it most all
by heart’—at the same time taking up an old
copy of the poem, which bore her father’s
name on the fly-leaf. We made her young
heart glad by telling her that we were Amer
icans, and by giving her an American edition
of ‘Marmion,’ which one of us happened to
have with us.
A post-coach runs from the landing to In
verary, into which, or rather on which,
mounted, and it rolled swiftly up a deep and
narrow defile of the mountains. We skirted
several pretty lakes, on which the wild ducks
were swimming double ‘swan and shadow,’
if I may be excused the blunder. I have not
time to say any more of our journey, than
that it was a sunshiny one, and terminated
at sun-set, almost in the shadows of the
splendid castle of the Duke of Argyle, who
is the lord of all this noble but thinly-settled
territory. Os this pretty village I may say a
word in my next.
Your’s, faithfully, E. F. G.
SdfctcD JJoctrj).
- — ~
“ THE WARM, YOUNG HEART.”
BY M. F. TUPPER.
A beautiful face, and form of grace,
Were a pleasant sight to see ;
And gold, and gems, and diamonds,
Right excellent they be ;
But beauty and gold, though both untold,
Are things of a worldly mart
The wealth that I prize, above ingots or eyes,
Is a heart—a warm young heart.
O face most fair, shall thy beauty compare
With afl'ection’s glowing light 1
Or riches and pride, how ] ale ye beside
Love’s wealth serene and bright
I spurn thee away, as a cold thing of clay,
Though gilded and carved thou art:
For all that 1 prize, in its smiles and its sigh**
Is a heart—a warm young heart
i • i
THE SEASON.
BY TIIOMAS HOOD.
Summer’s gone and over!
Fogs are falling down !
And with russet tinges,
Autumn’s doing brown.
Boughs are daily rifled
By the busy theives,
And the Book of Nature
Getteth short of leaves.
Round the tops of houses,
Swallows as they flit,
Give, like yearly tenants,
Notices to quit.
Skies of fickle temper,
Weep by turns and laugh
Night and day together,
Taking half and half.
So September endeth
Cold and most perverse
But the months that follow,
Sure will pinch us worse !
(fiUitnpseß of Jfctu Books.
GODWIN AND TALFOURD.
Mr. Godwin was thus a man of two beings
which held little discourse with each other —
the daring inventor of theories constructed of
air-drawn diagrams—and the simple gentle
man, who suffered nothing to disturb or ex
cite him. beyond his study. He loved to walk
in the crowded streets of London, not, like
Lamb, enjoying the infinite varieties of many
colored life around him, but because he felt,
amidst the noise, and crowd, and glare, more
intensely the imperturbable stillness of hi#
own contemplations. His means of comfort
able support were mainly supplied by a shop
in Skinner street, where, under the auspice#
of “M. J. Godwin & C 0.,” the prettiest and
wisest books for children issued, which old
fashioned parents presented to their children,
without suspecting that the graceful lesson#
of piety and goodness which charmed away
the selfishness of infancy, were published and
sometimes revised, and now and then written
by a philosopher, whom they would scarcely
venture to name ! He met the exigencies
which the vicissitudes of business sometime#
caused, with the trusting simplicity which
marked his course—he asked his friends for
aid without scruple, considering that their
means were justly the due of one who toiled
in thought for their inward life, and had little
time to provide for his own outward ex>#*
tence; and took their excuses when offered,
without doubt or offence. The very next daT
after I had been honored and delighted with