LOCH LOMOND.

'The promises of blooming spring live here,And all the blessings of the ripening year.'

Those lines were formerly inscribed at Mount Stuart House, the residence of the Marquis of Bute, recently burnt and rebuilt. It lies on the Clyde shore of the island, at no great distance from Rothesay,—indeed there are nogreatdistances anywhere in the island—and forms one of the many beautiful drives through the island. On the way thither the village of Ascog is passed, where on a rocky point jutting out into the river there is a little church, and at its end a monument to Montagu Stanley, poet, actor, artist, at one time well known in Edinburgh society. From Mount Stuart and Ascog, and the other houses on this side of the island, there is an extensive view of the Frith of Clyde, on the broad waters of which there is a never-ending panorama of steamers, yachts, and gallant vessels.

Justly termed the Queen of the Scottish Lochs, this magnificent sheet of water presents an almost infinite variety of scenery. It has on the eastern side one of Scotland's notable mountains, Ben Lomond, and around are hills of lesser, though still great altitude, over which the giant mountain towers as a monarch amidst his courtiers. There are on the loch several excellent steamers, and as the distance from the pier at Balloch to the landing place at Ardlui is upwards of twenty miles, a day can be delightfully spent in going and returning, giving the charms of Highland scenery without the ordinary fatigues of travelling, and the delights of an excursion on a wide expanse of water without the attendant risk of sea-sickness.

There are on the bosom of Loch Lomond several large islands, and many small islets, adding greatly to the beauty and variety of its scenery. Some of the islands are clad in oak; one is called Inchlonaig, or yew-tree island; some display the silvery leafage of the birch, others are covered with the hardier fir, and here again the element of variety comes in to charm the sense. Our view shews the loch before it has narrowed to the lesser channel between Inversnaid and Ardlui, and before it has lost the charm of those wooded islands that beautify the southern and wider part. The bulky form of Ben Lomond fills up the scene, and the sun shining amidst clouds is significant of the varied weather that may be encountered in one day. The wide reaches and more lowland aspects of the southern end may be passed in all the enjoyment ofa noon-day summer sun, but ere the upper part of the loch is reached clouds may gather, and a sudden torrent of rain or a sullen blast of wind may overtake the voyager. But again, in an hour all is peaceful and beautiful, and the rain has served to augment and enhance the burns, rivulets, and streams, whose crystal waters feed the loch from every shore. On several of the islands are ruins of old castles, and all around the scene is redolent of memories of old feuds, violent strifes, and fierce clan struggles. To-day all this is changed, and we revel only in the grandeur and beauty of the scene. Those caves hide no caterans to rob us, the cattle and sheep on hill or island are safe from the foray, and the dwellers around pay no black mail to save themselves from the attentions of stout and bare-legged ruffians.

At Rowardennan Inn are guides and ponies, and although the stalwart man may dispense with the latter, it is not safe to attempt the ascent of Ben Lomond without a guide familiar with the road, for sudden mists may envelop the climber, and a mistake in the road may lead to death. What is to be seen from the top? Rather ask what is not seen? Right away to 'the back of the North Wind' stretch the innumerable hills. To the west the mountain ranges of Argyleshire, to the south-west the long peninsula of Cantyre, with the waters of the Atlantic seen beyond; to the east the castles of Stirling and Edinburgh may be picked out, to the south the busy Clyde, and in the foreground the splendid loch itself. Ben Lomond stands as a sentinel or outer-guard to the Highlands, and hence the range of view from it is of unusual extent. All that is to be seen from it cannot be described, so rich, so extensive, so varied are the prospects presented.

It is said that last century a visitor wrote some lines on a window-pane at Tarbet Inn, on the ascent of Ben Lomond, and a few words of his advice may fitly close our essay:—

Rest, oh! rest—long, long upon the top,There 'hale the breezes, nor with toilsome hasteDown the rough slope thy youthful vigour waste.So shall thy wondering sight at once survey,Woods, lakes and mountains, valleys, rocks and sea,Huge hills that heaped in crowded order stand,Stretched o'er the western and the northern land.

An essential part of the Trosachs tour is the coach drive between Inversnaid on Loch Lomond, and Stronachlacher pier, where the steamer on Loch Katrine begins (or ends) her journey. There is one little loch on the way, from which emerges the Arklet, which runs into Loch Lomond, and forms the fine series of cascades of which the upper fall is shown in our view. There is almost no need to waste words in any description of this delightful scene, so well does the picture we present describe itself. We may say of it, in lines that Wordsworth has linked indissolubly with the place

'A very showerOf beauty is thy earthly dower* * * *These trees, a veil just half withdrawn,This fall of water, that doth makeA murmur near the silent lake.* * * *In truth together do ye seemLike something fashioned in a dream.'

It may well be doubted whether the Highland girl, with her 'twice seven consenting years,' and her 'homely ways and dress,' would have enchained the sympathetic poet, had he seen her in some place less lovely, or less provocative of a feeling of poetic contentment. Be that as it may, it will be confessed that the scene, with or without a 'Highland Girl' to stir the strings of the heart, will remain impressed on the mind of every one who is sensible of the beautiful. And so we can join with Wordsworth, in the conclusionhe arrives at, always excepting, if necessary, his passion for the girl of fourteen—

'For I, methinks, till I grow oldAs fair before me shall behold,As I do now, the cabin small,The lake, the bay, the waterfall,And thee, the spirit of them all!'

There are many remembrances of Rob Roy, truthful some of them, fanciful the rest, in the vicinity of Inversnaid. Not far off is Rob Roy's Cave, the entrance scarcely visible, while within there is a vast cavern, whence in fancy we may descry

'The wild Macgregor's savage clanEmerging at their chieftain's callTo foray or to festival.'

On the road between Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine is seen Inversnaid Fort, now in ruins, having in itself a chequered history. Built in 1713 to check the Macgregors, it is said to have been at one time resided in by General Wolfe. Now, like some doomed city of old, 'the cormorant and the bittern possess it,' for the Macgregors are at peace, their name and tartan are no longer proscribed, and now no black-mail is levied on any one in the district but the strangers, and for their protection the government has no need to provide. It is at times a costly thing to travel in the Highlands, when beds are at a ransom, and all the wealth of Ind will not secure the coveted box seat of the coach. But a Macgregor who levies black-mail in a Scottish city has put the thing in a nutshell, for when remonstrated with about his charges he said, 'What for should I charge less?—my hoose is fu' every nicht!' There is true political economy shaking hands with the plunderer of the Saxon!

The most brilliant gem in the loch scenery of Scotland is unquestionably Loch Katrine or Ketturin, and it is needful, however attractive or deserving of praise other waters may have proved, to avoid exhausting upon them the vocabulary of praise, lest no words of greater admiration should be left for this, the loveliest of them all. Even if Scott had not superadded to Loch Katrine the witchery of his genius, and made Ellen's Isle as famous among the abodes of heroines as the Fountain of Vaucluse, this water would have asserted its claim to public regard. True, it was Scott that gave the impetus for touring in Scotland—or Scott-land as some have called it!—and Loch Katrine thus obtained a first hold upon the admiration of the world. But spite of all rivals, it maintains first rank, and although it cannot cope with Loch Lomond or Loch Maree in point of size, neither of those great lochs command the same admiration.

Scott inThe Lady of the Lake, has depicted the scene in words of fire; taking sunset for the time. The 'gallant grey' has fallen,—the guides still point out the very spot!—and the huntsman pursues his way till the end of the glen is reached, and Loch Katrine bursts on his view,

'An airy point he won,Where, gleaming with the setting sunOne burnished sheet of living gold,Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled,In all her length far winding layWith promontory, creek and bay,And islands that, empurpled brightFloated amid the livelier light,And mountains that like giants stand,To sentinel enchanted land.'

In pointing to 'promontory, creek, and bay,' as the characteristics of the loch, Scott has depicted its most charming attributes, while the islands, of which Ellen's Isle is the largest, help to enhance the effect. As the little steamer breaks the still waters into drops that glance like gems in the sunlight, the scene changes every moment,—changes in detail, but never in degree of beauty, for the loch is lovely throughout, and never fails to enchant the eye.

The chief attraction of the loch itself is the lovely wooded isle that fills the foreground of our view,

'The wild rose, eglantine, and broom,Wasted around their rich perfume.The birch trees wept in fragrant balm,The aspens slept beneath the calm,The silver light, with quivering glancePlay'd on the water's still expanse.'

Seldom indeed will the casual visitor have the opportunity of viewing this scene thus, by the silvery moonlight. But in sunlight it is not less beautiful, and the description is complete. Next to the island, the point of attraction is the 'silver strand,' from whence one of the many fine views of Ben Venne may be had.

While Loch Katrine thus ministers to our love for the beautiful, its waters have learned to combine theutilewith thedulce, and here, in October 1859, came Queen Victoria to turn on the water for the supply of Glasgow. Many and fierce were the controversies as to this scheme. But Lord Provost Stewart, who was mercilessly assailed for upholding such a costly scheme of water supply, is now commemorated in Glasgow by a splendid fountain in the West-End Park, and staticians and sanitary reformers are able to show that the death rate amongst the half million crowded workers in Glasgow has manifestly lessened since the city acquired the right to drink the sparkling waters of Loch Katrine.

Turning aside from the formal round of the Trosachs and Loch Lomond, to penetrate into that wonderful district which the Callander and Oban railway has opened up, we reach, at no great distance from Callander, Loch Lubnaig, 'the crooked lake,' so called from its bent form, which is almost identical with the form of the boomerang. The river Leny, which drains the lake, passes through the Pass of Leny, once famous as a gateway defending the entrance to the Highlands. Here, whether viewed from the train or the road, the river is seen to rush over huge rocks, tearing, roaring, and tumbling, in a manner calculated to terrify the timid entrant to this wild district.

The lake itself lies clear, black, and deep, a somewhat sullen, yet always beautiful sheet of water. On the left the dark masses of Ben Ledi cast their shadows upon the water, intensifying the depth of its tone, and giving the loch its distinctive character. Near the water the banks are in many places full of gentle woodland beauty, but as a rule the impression made by the overhanging bulk and the dusky-hued rocks of Ben Ledi, absorb the sense, and the loch ever presents an idea of grandeur and desolation. The railway line follows the edge of the loch over its whole length, and the construction of this track formed a most difficult engineering task, which at some stages of its progress was nigh abandoned in despair. To get round the hard and unyielding shoulders of the mountain, where they impinged direct upon the water, embankments had to be made across a number of bays and arms of the loch. In one case the task of throwing rocks and stones into the water was persevered infor nine months without perceptible result, but by continued labour a footing above water level was at last obtained. As the train pursues its course along the bank of the lovely loch,—the eye the while rejoicing in the dark and placid beauty of the water, and the charm of the hill scenery beyond,—there will at times come the feeling that the distance between the carriage window and the treacherously pellucid depths of the loch is all too little. The fear is unfounded, for no sign of subsidence has been shewn—the mass of stones thrown in was too solid for that. But this is a feature in the case that no traveller will fail to notice, and the impression thus made by Loch Lubnaig makes it a water which once seen will never be forgotten.

Near the debouchure of the river is St. Bride's Chapel, where Angus thrust the fiery cross into the hands of Norman, as described inThe Lady of the Lake. About half-way up the loch is Ardchullary farmhouse, which was at one time the retreat of Bruce the traveller in Abyssinia, who here wrote the volumes on which a century ago such keen controversies arose. On the opposite side, where the railway runs, is Laggan, said to have been the abode of Helen Macgregor, whom Rob Roy carried off from here by force and married. In the veritable histories of Rob Roy, however, his wife's name is given as Mary, daughter of Macgregor of Comar.

No one can accuse the Scottish lochs of want of variety, for in each is found some specialty, some individual beauty, that stamps it on the mind, so that the visitor can carry away a distinct impression. Nobody, for example, who has been at St. Fillans, or attended the annual games there, is likely to have any difficulty in remembering this pretty modern village, and the fine loch near which it lies. St. Fillan, it may be mentioned is a personage of great sanctity in Scottish hagiology. And when his crosier, carried away to Canada by its 'Dewar' or hereditary keeper, was recently restored to Scotland, and placed in the National Museum at Edinburgh, one might have almost doubted whether Scotland were really Protestant at all, so full was every one of the fame of this great miracle-working saint. As is well known, it was the presence of his arm-bone, in the hands of the Abbot of Inchaffray, which enabled the Scots to win the battle of Bannochburn!

Loch Earn, it is to be understood, was known before the Trosachs. Although shut in at its upper end by the gloomy hills that darken Glen Ogle, and from that side until recently not very accessible, it was reached from Crieff and St. Fillans, long before Scott invented those wondrous stories about the Trosachs district which are to-day so veritable that the scene of each incident is pointed out. And in its perfection of beauty—for so we consider it—it well deserves to hold its place in public regard. The reverse view from that given here is also beautiful, and it may be said that no more perfect scene can be witnessed than from the carriage window in the Oban train as, high on the side of a steep and terror-striking mountain, it enables the visitor to look down, as with a bird's-eye view, uponthis lovely loch. The sheet of water is symmetrical, a feature which may be a beauty or a disadvantage, according as the spectator looks for completeness of display, or for mystery as the aim of the picturesque. But, as it is expressed by MacCulloch, Loch Earn is 'consistent and complete,' and he points out that by this completeness it possesses an appearance of extent beyond which it actually possesses. The mind can grasp it all, but we feel that there is a great deal to be grasped. The hills are sufficiently high to give dignity to the scene, and the glowing verdure all around gives it softness and beauty. Benvoirlich is its summit hill, and the house of Ardvoirlich—the 'Darlinvaroch' of Scott'sLegend of Montrose—occupies a fine spot half way down the loch. In this mansion is preserved a singular talisman, a perfect sphere of rock crystal, with four silver bands, which throughout the country side has the credit of curing diseases when dipped in water to be drunk by the patient.

It remains to notice some physical peculiarities of this loch. Although situated at an elevation of several hundred feet above sea-level, its temperature is so equal that the water is never known to freeze, and even the stream that flows from it never shows ice on its surface till it has run several miles into bleaker regions. The depth of the water is at some places six hundred feet, and as it lies in the immediate region of earthquake in Scotland, it is allowable to conjecture that some hidden fire of nature far below keeps the water just a point or two above ordinary heat, and thus produces the phenomenon stated. There are trout in the loch, and leave to fish can readily be obtained at either end, as the hotel keepers have boats upon the loch.

Many of the lochs of which we have spoken have the advantage of Loch Tay as regards the number of their visitors, and their repute in distant parts. But in no case is greater beauty to be seen than here, and no spot in Scotland will more fully repay the labour of travelling to see it. It lies surrounded with splendid hills, Ben Lawers on the north proudly towering over the scene. It is very finely wooded over all its banks, and its slightly irregular form creates change and variety at every mile of the way. It is the merit of Loch Tay that now the visitor has 'three courses' before him, like a great statesman of our day. When he leaves Killin station at the upper end, or Aberfeldy station at the lower end, he may follow the coach route on the north side, or he may prefer the less public road on the south side, or he may sail on the bosom of the water in the steamer, theLady of the Lake, launched in 1882 by the Earl of Breadalbane. From Killin, the direction of our view, the north road, which is generally followed, lies to the left. Just at the head of the road—one of the roads made by General Wade—is seen the ivy-covered ruin of Finlarig Castle, situated amidst fine woods, and having near it the burial place of the Breadalbane family. The Queen, visiting Taymouth Castle in 1842, lunched at Auchmore, where the south road strikes off. She speaks of the scene as enchanting, and it would be difficult to find a more appropriate word. Ben Lawers, the ascent of which is made from Lawers inn, has not many superiors in height in Scotland, and its ascent is not difficult, while the view from it is superb. Behind Ben Lawers, and further on running to a junction with the valley in which Loch Tay lies, is the grand district of Glen Lyon, ofwhich many think, that from its upper reaches in the Forest of Mamlorn to where the Lyon falls into the Tay, there is not a glen in Scotland so weird and yet so verdantly beautiful. The ascent of Ben Lawers, it may be mentioned, has special charms for the botanist, boasting amidst many rare plants the drooping saxifrage (S. cernua,) not elsewhere found in this country. The district abounds in water and in waterfalls, including the falls of Acharn, which are seen from the north side, but may be visited if the south road be taken. From near Aberfeldy, when the noble river Tay, the birth of this grand loch, has run some miles of its course, the tourist naturally turns aside to visit the falls of Moness, 'the epitome of waterfalls,' as Pennant says, on a stream which flows through the town of Aberfeldy. Here is the scene so exquisitely sung by Burns;

'The braes ascend like lofty wa'sThe foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa'sO'er hung wi' fragrant, spreading shaws,The Birks o' Aberfeldy.'

Close by Kenmore, at the lower end of the loch is a wooded island, on which lies buried Princess Sybilla, daughter of Henry I. and wife of the Scots King, Alexander I. In the inn-parlour at Kenmore Burns wrote some lines of intense feeling and adoration, in which he dwells on

'The sweeping theatre of hanging woods;Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods,'

—twin characteristics of this most attractive region.

It is but seldom that the eye can rest upon so much soft beauty and stern grandeur as can be seen at one moment in looking at this grand loch. Rivalling Loch Lomond in length, it is much narrower, and while richer, is perhaps less varied. In sailing over its clear waters, the richly wooded islands and green banks suggest some large and placid river. Crowded with islands, especially at its upper part, each one with its ruin, its legend, or its sylvan beauty to attract, the loch is in all respects charming. There is Inishail—the island of the fair, immortalized by Hamerton,—Inis-Fraoch, the Hesperides of Celtic romance, with golden fruit, a dragon, a lover, and a legend, all in due form, Inistrynich, the island of the Druids, and many others. And near the head of the loch is the peninsula on which stands Kilchurn Castle, to whom we may say with Wordsworth,

'thy hour of restIs come, and thou art silent in thy age.'

This ruin is one of the favourite subjects of the Scottish landscape painter, and its picturesque character is well seen in our view. Though now a complete wreck, it was entire and served as a post for the royal troops in the '45, and almost within living memory it was a habitable mansion. It is said that an economical steward of the Earl of Breadalbane fancied the roof timbers would be useful at Taymouth Castle, and had them removed. It is certain that for long the gigantic stronghold served as a common quarry for the surrounding district, and that even the church in the adjoining Glen Orchy has in it some stones from the old castle. On the highground to the right is a circular and somewhat rude yet effective stone monument to Duncan Ban Macintyre, of Glen Orchy, who died in Edinburgh in 1812, aged 89 years, and whose fame as a Gaelic poet is unique.

At its upper end the loch forks into two arms, that to the right receiving the Orchy and other feeders, while that to the left runs through the dark Pass of Brander, and there, in the river Awe, the loch finds its outlet. Formerly the saying that 'it's a far cry to Lochow' had more significance, for now the railway has made this grand loch easily accessible, and as the line skirts the upper end of the loch (where a large hotel has been built) and proceeds on terraced banks through the Pass of Brander, crossing the rapids of the Awe on a high bridge, the traveller enjoys the beauties of the district in a large degree. The sail on the loch is, however, a part of the Highland tour which no visitor should forego.

Ben Cruachan, whose double peak (the highest 3667 feet) dominates the district, is one of the most striking of the Scottish hills, in its massive form, magnificently swelling contours, and unique position, giving perhaps a greater idea of bulk than other hills of the same height. On three sides it rises from the water's edge, Loch Awe in its two upper branches, the river Awe, and Loch Etive, the sea-loch into which the latter runs, washing its base. The ascent of this noble Ben is best made from the Bridge of Awe, a scene rendered familiar in Scott'sHighland Widow, and the view from the summit is magnificent. No one will ever regret the toil of surmounting

'yon sovereign lordHuge Cruachan, a thing that meaner hillsMight crush, nor know that it had suffered harm.'

Coming round the base of Ben Cruachan by rail, and leaving the Pass of Brander and the rapids of the river Awe, the observant traveller will not fail to notice that the large and spreading water he now approaches has the character of a sea loch. If no other indication were given, the presence of brown sea-wrack along the margin of the water would show that here the tides ebb and flow. Far away to the right, surrounded by grand hills, and closed in at the distance by the bulky shoulders of Buchael Etive, is the upper reach of the loch, forming in itself a most attractive portion of Highland scenery. The railway, however, confines itself solely to the south side of the lower and salter reach of the water, separated from the inner loch by a reef of rocks, through the chief opening in which the receding tide rushes with the character of a waterfall. Passing along the loch, there is seen on the north side the remains of Ardchattan Priory, one of the three religious houses established in Scotland after the pattern of those in the Val de Choux (Cabbage Valley, or,Scottice, Kale Glen, as the recent historian of Pluscardyn ingeniously puts it) near Chatillon, in Burgundy. Loch Etive narrows at its mouth at Connell Ferry, and then opens grandly into Loch Linnhe.

Dunstaffnage Castle, shown in the view, is one of the royal castles of the Duke of Argyle. The building, which is of great antiquity and strength, was destroyed by fire in 1715. Some guns supposed to have belonged to the Spanish Armada are in the castle, and the remains of a chapel are seen, in which are supposed to rest, not only the remains of the actual King Alexander II, but of various more or less apocryphal Dalriad kings. Over the water is shownthe site of the Pictish capital of Beregonium, (said to have been destroyed by fire from heaven!) and, near it, on Bal-an-righ, is a vitrified hill fort, theSelmaof the poems of Ossian.

At Dunstaffnage was at one time kept the Coronation Stone, or Stone of Destiny, of which the tradition says that it was the veritable stone on which Jacob laid his head when he had the dream on his way to Padan-Aram! Geologists say that the structure of theLia Failagrees with that of the stones at Dunstaffnage. Leaving out tradition, the stone is said to have been removed from this place to Scone, near Perth, where the kings of Scotland continued to be crowned till Edward Longshanks removed this Scottish palladium to Westminster Abbey, where it remains to-day, fixed beneath the coronation chair. It is said that Edward II. was willing to restore the Stone of Destiny to Scotland, but was prevented by the London mob. The 'destiny' was proclaimed in verses that have been rendered in this form

'Unless the fates are faithless grownAnd prophets voice be vainWhere'er is found this sacred stoneThe Scottish race shall reign.'

Without a doubt, the house of Brunswick claims the throne of those realms in consequence of their Stuart descent, so that the stone has not as yet failed in its effect, and every one desires that the 'destiny' should continue in the same line, whether the boulder from the borders of Loch Etive has anything to do with the matter or not.

Here we have the culmination, as regards beauty, of the waterfalls of Scotland. This is one of the scenes that struck the imagination of Burns, as, standing by the fall, he wrote in pencil words that can never be omitted in any description for they fulfil all that description can effect—

'Among the heathy hills and rugged woodsThe roaring Foyers pours his mossy floodsTill full he dashes on the rocky moundsWhere thro' a shapeless breach his stream resoundsAs high in air the bursting torrents flowAs deep recoiling surges foam belowProne down the rock the whitening sheet descendsAnd viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends:Dim seen through rising mists and ceaseless showersThe hoary cavern, wide surrounding, lowers,Still, thro' the gap the struggling river toilsAnd still, below, the horrid cauldron boils.'

The last idea is one that ever recurs in the presence of a great waterfall, and in every respect the description is perfect, the shapeless breach, the bursting torrent and the deep recoiling surges are each impressed on the mind, even if the visitor has not read Burns's lines. When Dr. Johnson visited Scotland, he too saw the Fall of 'Fiers' as it is called in hisJourney to the Western Islands, and although a long continuance of dry weather had robbed the fall of much of its promised grandeur, Dr. Johnson, while philosophically remarking that 'Nature never gives everything at once,' gives a striking word-picture, exercising as he says, his thoughts to 'conceive the effect of a thousand streams poured from the mountains intoone channel, struggling for expansion in a narrow passage, exasperated by rocks rising in their way and at last discharging all their violence of waters by a sudden fall through the horrid chasm.' This is splendid, and if old Samuel Johnson had seen Foyers at its best he could not have improved on the description.

The steamers on Loch Ness invariably stay at the pier of Foyers, affording time to walk to the grand falls. The hotel here is built on the site of 'General's Hut,' and still in Johnson's day it is 'not ill stocked with provisions.' The name is given because General Wade, when superintending those roads that are rendered famous by his epitaph, was lodged at this spot. There are two falls, with a distance of about a quarter of a mile between them, the lower or great fall being that shown in the view. Over the upper fall there is a light bridge thrown, and the scene here is very fine, though it is exceeded in grandeur by the snow-white rush of the lower waterfall. The latter earns its title of the 'fall of smoke,' the spray rising in never-ceasing clouds of grey mist-like smoke.

A notable scene in the immediate vicinity of Foyers is the Pass of Inverfarigaig, with vast cliffs, and many interesting geological points of study. By ascending this pass and striking westward a fine approach can be obtained to the upper fall of Foyers. Again, by a ferry near the pier, the loch can be crossed, and the quaintly shaped hill of Mealfourvonie can be ascended. Again, a short distance brings the visitor to Castle Urquhart, while a little further on is Drumnadrochit, rendered famous byPunch'sFat Contributor,—'your health sir, in a dram!'—where but for the telegraph wire, and the post office, and the newspaper, and the frequent steamboats, a man might moon away his time, and never tire of the fine air, the wonderful surroundings, and the remote stillness. If a man wished to be a hermit, and yet see much of the world, to be unoccupied, yet never fail of variety of occupation, to be rested and refreshed, yet interested and employed, he could not do better than take up his abode at Foyers for the four or five months of the long days between April and October.

This loch, with soundings deeper than any in the German Ocean, has come into notice in an especial manner, because it forms, in its twenty-four miles, a large section of famous tourist route, the Caledonian Canal. The loch is within a few miles of the handsome town of Inverness; the river Ness, draining the loch, running through the town to the Moray Firth after a short but lovely course over the intervening distance. Between Loch Ness and the outlet there lies a vast gravel peninsula, dividing the section known as Loch Dochfour from the rest, the barricade thus formed being a safeguard to the town against the enormous pressure of water that would otherwise flow out in times of flood. As it is, the records of the town point to terrible devastations from the Ness coming down in strength. The deep waters of the loch get lashed into stormy waves by gusts of wind rushing down from the surrounding glens, so that Loch Ness does not always present the peaceful aspect of our view, as seen by the summer visitor. But we will take it on such a day by preference, and can warrant to every one who comes that the sail in the fine steamers plying on the loch and canal will be redolent of joy and beauty and grandeur. We may conceive that there is more comfort and ease in seeing Loch Ness than when, a hundred and nine years ago Johnson and Boswell rode along its shores. But the high terms in which Bozzy speaks of the scene are as fresh to-day as then, for the road shaded with birch trees, the hills above it, the 'sequestered and agreeably wild' scene, are as fitted to engross attention as ever. We know also that they would see Castle Urquhart, on its prominent peninsula, and would probably be struck by the notable form of the hill called Mealfourvonie. They stopped at the 'General's Hut,' asindeed we all do, for the new hotel at Foyers is built on its site, whence we take the road to visit the falls of that name, as described elsewhere.

Fort Augustus, standing at the western end of the loch, is now a Benedictine monastery and school. Built after the Jacobite rising in 1715, as part of the plan for holding the turbulent Highlanders in subjection, it remained crown property for a century and a half, and falling into disuse and neglect was then sold for its present purpose.

Although our view gives but a small section of the loch, our notice may be directed to the other parts of the route that now yearly carries thousands of tourists through the Glenmore-nan-Albin. There is at Corpach the famous 'Neptune's staircase,' where eight locks bring the boat from the outer loch to the canal level. Loch Lochy, ten miles in length, forms the western portion. Then after two miles of canal Loch Oich is reached, this sheet of water being four miles long. Then another cut takes to Loch Ness, the whole distance, from the staircase to Muirton lock on the east side being about fifty miles. The entire route, barring the delay at the locks up and down, has all the charm of one continuous voyage on an inland lake, the portions in canal being almost indistinguishable except in width from the natural channels. There is a constant variety and glory of scenery during the day's sail, and nowhere can the traveller spend a holiday with more delightful surroundings.

There are few scenes more fitted to move the imagination than the wonderful loch, and the more wonderful hills that surround it, presented in this view. It is somewhat of an exaggeration for Sir Walter Scott to say that here

'Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,Nor ought of vegetative powerThe weary eye may ken.'

But this is distinctly the impression of a first survey of the wild scene, though under glints of sunshine there will not fail to meet the eye little snatches of grassy bottom and stunted herbage, here and there in the midst of the rocks. Yet there is so little to relieve the singular darkness of the rock-pent water, and the dusky green of the Cuchullin hills that surround it, that one fully appreciates, even in the brightest weather, how true a picture Scott has drawn of the scene:—

'For rarely human eye has knownA scene so stern as that dread lakeWith its dark ledge of barren stone.Seems that primeval earthquake's swayHath rent a strange and shattered wayThrough the rude bosom of the hill,And that each naked precipiceSable ravine and dark abyssTells of the outrage still.'

To see Coruisk in fine weather is impressive, but it is when leaden clouds weigh down the atmosphere, and dank mists clothe the rugged peaks around, that the scene comes out in its full and weird impressiveness.Then 'naked precipice,' 'sable ravine,' and 'dark abyss,' are seen to be true words, and there comes on the spectator some feeling of scenes that have been read of in Dante or Milton:—

'He viewsThe dismal situation, waste and wild.A dungeon horrible on all sides round * *Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peaceAnd rest can never dwell.'

But we must not give too black a character to this loch and its surrounding hills. It is no Malebolge, filled by 'sounds and sights unholy,' and while it impresses by its solitude and grandeur, it also gratifies by its intense feeling of repose, and its remoteness from the ills of busier life. Those visiting Coruisk will view with wonder the extraordinary peaks of the Cuchullins, (pronounced Coolins,) each more fantastic and broken than his neighbour, and all consisting of the green-black hypersthene trap that gives its character to the scenery here. South-east of the loch is the mighty bulk of Blabheinn, (pronounced Blaven,) a huge mass with precipitous sides, down which, on the occurrence of one of the frequent showers of this watery isle, the rain is seen to descend in broken rills of dazzling whiteness, making an extraordinary effect upon the upright face of dark rock. To the north-east, the Cuchullin hills terminate in the ragged triple peak of Scuir-na-gillean, the rock or hill of the young men. This height was first scaled, in recorded history, in 1836, when Principal Forbes, of glacial fame, ascended it, and since then, with guides, it has been frequently climbed. But from the extraordinary formation of the hill, the ascent is a work of much danger, and lives have been lost in the attempt. The peak is a narrow ledge, precipitous on every side. The height is 3220 feet, and although Scuir-na-Banachtich, the westmost peak, is believed to be as high, it has not been climbed so far as is known, and thus Scuir-na-gillean holds first rank in this wonderful group of mountains.

The first sight of this glorious loch, as the stage coach from Auchnasheen station brings the traveller to the top of a steep descent, is calculated to excite the liveliest emotions of wonder and surprise. The road reminds one of some Alpine pass, while far below stretches the large sheet of water, with its western end eighteen miles away. If for a moment a feeling of the smallness of the loch should supervene, the huge hills dwindling it down by their enormous bulk, this soon passes away, and we feel to be in presence of one of Scotland's proudest lochs. The coach drive to Gairloch occupies six hours in all, including a short stoppage to bait the horses at Kinlochewe, and during the whole time the eye is filled with pictures of grandeur or of delight. After the tedious descent to the water's edge has convinced you that the feeling of smallness is a mistake, you have time to observe the effect which such a mountain as Ben Slioch has in dwarfing all around it. Loch Maree is but six miles from the sea, with no great descent, so that the hill raises its mighty shoulders almost sheer from the sea level. From the road you perceive, skirting the loch on the other side, what seems a fringe of very small bushes. But anon a two-storey house appears among the bushes, which now, with a known standard of comparison, are seen to be tall trees! From the top of Ben Slioch, or any of the neighbouring mountains of first-class size, the view is grand, embracing at once the Atlantic and the German Oceans. On the opposite side from Ben Slioch is the ScottishPentelicus, Ben Eay, whose brilliant white quartz pinnacle may sometimes be seen shining in the sun, like the famed marble mountains of Greece.

On the bosom of Loch Maree, near its widest end, are severalislands, the largest of which, Eilan Mhaolrubh, contains the remains of an old chapel, and a holy well that is even yet in high repute amongst the ignorant. It is sometimes said that the chapel, island, and loch get their name from the Virgin Mary, but this is now universally acknowledged amongst scholars to be an error. It was the Irish preacher, Maelrubha, (Latinised to Malrubius, then softened down in local tongues to Mulray, Mourie, and Maree,) who came over to Scotland in the seventh century, who gave his name to the place. Dr. Arthur Mitchell, in his Rhind Lectures on Civilization, has told in full the story of the curious superstitions concerning this island, of which examples as recently as twenty years ago are quoted. It is to be noted that when, a year or two ago, the Queen visited the island, great indignation was expressed in some quarters, because it was on a Sunday evening she got rowed over from her retreat at Talladale to see this interesting place.

The coach leaves the edge of the loch at Talladale, after a lovely and varied drive along its banks, now in the bosom of a dense wood, now in the midst of a rocky chaos,

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