A fine day came at last, and we steered off from Portree, leaving the grand Cachullin Mountains, rising to a height of 3,220 feet, and the grave of Flora Macdonald, and the cave where Prince Charles hid himself far behind. On the right were the distant mountains of Ross-shire, and on our left Skye, and the other islands which guard the Western Highlands against the awful storms of the ever-restless Atlantic. Here, as elsewhere, was to be noticed the absence of all human life, whether at sea or on land. It was only now and then we saw a sail, but, as if to compensate for their absence, the birds of the air and the fishes of the sea seemed to follow in a never-ending crowd. More than once we saw a couple of whales spouting and blowing from afar, and the gulls, and divers, and solan-geese at times made the surface of the water absolutelywhite, like snow-islands floating leisurely along. Just before we got up to Stornoway, at a great distance on our right, Cape Wrath, more than a hundred miles off, lifted up its head into the clear blue sky, the protecting genius, as it were, of the Scottish strand. It was perfectly delightful, this; one felt not only that in Scotland people had at rare intervals fine weather, but that by means of steamers and yachts and sailing vessels of all kinds, the people of Scotland knew how to improve the shining hour. It was beautiful, this floating on a glassy sea, clear as a looking-glass, in which were reflected the clouds, and the skies, and the sun, and the birds of the air, and the rocks, with a wonderful fidelity. It seemed that you had only to plunge into that cool and tempting depth, and to be in heaven at once. At Stornoway we spent a couple of days. The town stands in a bay, perhaps not quite so romantic as some in which we have sheltered, but very picturesque, nevertheless. The first object to be distinctly seen as we entered was the fine castle which Sir James Mathieson has erected for himself, at a cost altogether of half a million, and the grounds of which are in beautiful order; them wehad ample time to inspect that evening, as in Stornoway the daylight lasted till nearly ten o’clock. Happily, Sir James was at home, and we on board the yacht had an acceptable present of vegetables, and cream, and butter, very welcome to us poor toilers of the sea. Stornoway is a very busy place, and has at this time of the year a population of 2,500. In May and June it is busier still, as at that time there will be as many as five hundred fishing boats in the harbour, and a large extra population are employed on shore in curing and packing the fish. In the country behind are lakes well stocked with fish, and mountains and moors where game and wild deer and real eagles yet abound. But a great drawback is the climate. An old sportsman writes:—“The savagery of the weather in the Lewes, the island of which Stornoway is the capital, is not to be described. A gentleman from the county of Clare once shot a season with me, and had very good sport, which he enjoyed much. I asked him to come again. ‘Not for five thousand pounds a year,’ he replied, ‘would I encounter this climate again. I am delighted I came, for now I can go back to my own country with pleasure, since, bad as theclimate is, it is Elysium to this.’” Let me say, however, the weather was superb all the time theElenawas at Stornoway.
As a town, Stornoway is an immense improvement on Portree. It rejoices in churches, and the shops are numerous, and abound with all sorts of useful articles. The chief streets are paved. It has here and there a gas lamp, and the proprietor of the chief hotel boasted to me that so excellent were his culinary arrangements, that actually the ladies from the yachts come and dine there. Stornoway has a Freemasons’ Hall, and, wandering in one of the streets, I came to a public library, which I found was open once a week. On Saturday night the shops swarmed with customers, chiefly peasant women—who put their boots on when they came into the town, and who took them off again and walked barefoot as soon as they had left the town behind—and ancient mariners, with a very fish-like smell. On Sunday the churches were full, and at the Free Church, where the service was in Gaelic, the crowd was great. In a smaller church I heard a cousin of Norman Macleod—a fine, burly man—preach a powerful sermon, which seemed to me made up partly of two sermons—one bythe late T. T. Lynch, and the other by the late Alfred Morris. I strayed also into a U. P. church, but there, alas! the audience was small. In Stornoway, as elsewhere, the couplet is true—
“The free kirk, the poor kirk, the kirk without the steeple,The auld kirk, the rich kirk, the kirk without the people.”
“The free kirk, the poor kirk, the kirk without the steeple,The auld kirk, the rich kirk, the kirk without the people.”
On the Monday morning we turned our faces homeward, and as the weather was fine, we passed outside Skye, and saw Dunvegan Bay, of which Alexander Smith writes so much; passing rocky islands, all more or less known to song, and caves with dark legends of blood, and cruelty, and crime. One night was spent in Bunessan Bay, where some noble sportsmen were very needlessly, but,con amore, butchering the few peaceful seals to be found in those parts; and a short while we lay off Staffa, which rises straight out of the water like an old cathedral, where the winds and waves ever play a solemn dirge. In its way, I know nothing more sublime than Staffa, with its grey arch and black columns and rushing waves. No picture or photograph I have seen ever can give any adequate idea of it. “Altogether,” writes Miss Gordon Cumming, “it is a scene of which no words can convey the smallest idea;” and for once I agree with thelady. It is seldom the reality surpasses your expectations. As regards myself, in the case of Staffa I must admit it did.
The same morning we land at Columba, or the Holy Isle. The story of St. Columba’s visit to Iona is laid somewhere in the yeara.d.563. He, it seems, according to some authorities, was an Irishman, and from Iona he and his companions made the tour of Pagan Scotland; and hence now Scotland is true blue Presbyterian and always Protestant. Here, as at Staffa, we miss the tourists, who scamper and chatter for an hour at each place, and then are off; and I was glad. As Byron writes:—
“I love not man the less, but nature more,From these our interviews, in which I stealFrom all I may be or have been before,To mingle with the universe, and feelWhat I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.”
“I love not man the less, but nature more,From these our interviews, in which I stealFrom all I may be or have been before,To mingle with the universe, and feelWhat I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.”
The history of Iona is a history of untold beauty and human interest. Druids, Pagans, Christian saints, have all inhabited the Holy Isle. Proud kings, like Haco of Norway, were here consecrated, and here—
“Beneath the showery west,The mighty kings of three fair realms were laid.”
“Beneath the showery west,The mighty kings of three fair realms were laid.”
All that I could do was to visit the ruins of themonastery and the cathedral, and one of the stone crosses, of which there were at one time 360, and to regret that these beautiful monoliths were cast into the sea by the orders of the Synod as “monuments of idolatrie.” St. Columba, like all the saints, was a little ungallant as regards the fair sex. Perhaps it is as well that his rule is over. He would not allow even cattle on the sacred isle. “Where there is a cow,” argued the saint, “there must be a woman; and where there is a woman there must be mischief.” Clearly, the ladies have very much improved since the lamented decease of the saint. From Iona we made our way to the very prosperous home of commerce and whisky known as Campbeltown. Actually, the duty on the latter article paid by the Campbeltown manufacturers amounts to as much as £60,000 a year. At one time it was the very centre of Scottish life. For three centuries it was the capital of Scotland. It is still a very busy place, and it amused me much of a night to watch the big, bare-footed, bare-headed women crowding round the fine cross in the High Street, which ornaments what I suppose may be called the Parochial Pump. Close to the town is the church and cave of St. Kieran,the Apostle of Cantyre, the tutor of St. Columba. At present the chief boast of Campbeltown is that there were born the late Norman Macleod and Burns’ Highland Mary. When Macleod was a boy the days of smuggling were not yet over in that part of the world. Here is one of his stories:—“Once an old woman was being tried before the Sheriff, and it fell to his painful duty to sentence her. ‘I dare say,’ he said uneasily to the culprit, ‘it is not often you have fallen into this fault.’ ‘No, indeed, shura,’ was the reply; ‘I hae na made a drap since yon wee keg I sent yoursel’.’” Let me remark,en passant, that my friend, the Doctor, was born here, and that is proof positive that at Campbeltown the breed of great men is not yet exhausted. I mention this to our lady, and she is of the same opinion.
In my wanderings in the latter town I pick up the last edition of a useful and unpretending volume called “The History of Kintyre,” by Mr. Peter M‘Intosh—a useful citizen who carried on the profession of a catechist, and who is now no more. The book has merits of its own, as it shows how much may be done by any ordinary man of average ability who writes of what he has seen and heard. Kintyre is a peninsula on the extreme south of the shire of Argyle, in length about forty geographical miles. That the Fingalians occasionally resided at Kintyre is without doubt, and a description of their bravery and generosity is graphically given in some of the poems of Ossian. At one time there was much wood in its lowlands, and in them were elk, deer, wild boars, &c., and the rivers abounded with fish. There were clans who gathered together with the greatestenthusiasm around their chiefs, who repaired to a high hill, and set up a large fire on the top of it, in full view of the surrounding district, each unfolding his banner, ensign, or pennant, his pipers playing appropriate tunes. The clan got into motion, repaired to their chief like mountain streams rushing into the ocean. He eloquently addressed them in the heart-stirring language of the Gael, and, somewhat like a Kaffir chief of the present day, dwelt at length on the heroism of his ancestors. The will of the chief instantly became law, and preparations were soon made; the chief in his uniform of clan tartan takes the lead, the pipers play well-known airs, and the men follow, their swords and spears glittering in the air.
Up to very recent times there were those who remembered this state of things. An old man who died not a century ago told my informant, writes Mr. M‘Intosh, that the first thing he ever recollected was a great struggle between his father and his mother in consequence of the father preparing to join his clan in a bloody expedition. The poor wife exerted all her strength, moral and physical, but in vain. He left her never to return alive from the battlefield.The proprietors of Kintyre were wise in their generation, and mustered men in their different districts to oppose Prince Charles, partly on account of his religion, and partly to retain their lands. On one occasion they marched to Falkirk, but not in time to join in the battle, it being over before they reached there. Prince Charles being victorious, they went into a church, which the Highlanders surrounded, coming in with their clothes dyed with blood, and crying out “Massacre them”; but they were set at liberty on the ground that their hearts were with the Prince, and had been compelled by their chiefs to take arms on the side of the House of Hanover against their will. But even the chiefs were not always masters, and men often did that which was right in their own eyes alone. An instance of this kind is traditionally told about the Black Fisherman of Lochsanish. The loch, which is now drained, was a mile in length and half-a-mile in breadth, and contained a great number of salmon and trout. The Black Fisherman would not suffer any person to live in the neighbourhood, but claimed, by the strength of his arm, sole dominion over the loch. The Chief Largie, who lived eighteen miles north of theloch, kept a guard of soldiers, lest the Fisherman should make an attack on him. He sent his soldiers daily to Balergie Cruach to see if the Fisherman was on the loch fishing, and if they saw him fishing they would come home, not being afraid of an attack on that day. A stranger one day coming to Largie’s house asked him why he kept soldiers. The answer was, it was on account of the Fisherman. When he saw him sitting he went and fought the Fisherman, bidding the soldiers wait the result on a neighbouring hill. When the battle was over, the Fisherman was minus his head. We read the head, which was very heavy, was left at Largie’s door. These old men were always fighting. The number of large stones we see erected in different parts of Kintyre have been set up in memory of battles once fought at these places. On one occasion two friendly clans prepared to come and meet. They met somewhere north of Tarbert, but did not know each other, and began to ask their names, which in those days it was considered cowardice to answer. They drew swords, fought fiercely, and killed many on both sides. At last they found out their mistake, were very, very sorry, and, after burying their dead, returned totheir respective places. The feuds and broils among the clans were frequent, and really for the most trifling causes, as the whole clans always stood by their chiefs, and were ready at a moment’s notice to fight on account of any insult, real or imaginary. It appears that in this distant part of the Empire, though the whole district is not far from Glasgow, with its commerce and manufactures, and university and newspapers, and the modern Athens, with its great literary traditions, there still linger many old Druid superstitions.
Some are particularly interesting. Old M‘Intosh thus writes of May-day and the first of November, called in Gaelic Bealtuinn, or Beil-teine, signifying Belus fire, and Samhuinn, or serene time.
On the first of May the Druids kindled a large fire on the top of a mountain, from which a good view of the horizon might be seen, that they might see the sun rising; the inhabitants of the whole country assembling, after extinguishing their fire, in order to welcome the rising sun and to worship God. The chief Druid, blessing the people and receiving their offerings, gave a kindling to each householder. If the Druid was displeased at any of the people, he would notgive him a kindling; and no other person was allowed to give it, on pain of being cursed, and being unfortunate all the year round. This superstition is observed by some to this day. On the first of November the Druids went nearly through the same ceremony.
The superstition of wakes in Kintyre is nearly worn out. The origin of this superstition is, that when one died the Druid took charge of his soul, conveying it to Flath-innis, or heaven; but the friends of the deceased were to watch, or wake, the body, lest the evil spirits should take it away, and leave some other substance in its place. When interred, it could never be removed.
An old man named John M‘Taggart, who died long ago, was owner of a fine little smack, with which he trafficked from Kintyre to Ireland and other places. Being anxious to get a fair wind to go to Ireland, and hearing of an old woman who pretended to have the power to give this, he made a bargain with her. She gave him two strings with three knots on each; when he undid the first, he got a fine fair breeze; getting into mid-channel he opened the second, and got a strong gale; and when near the Irishshore he wished to see the effect of the third knot, which, when he loosed, a great hurricane blew, which destroyed some of the houses on shore. With the other string he came back to Kintyre, only opening two of the knots. The old man believed in this superstition.
On the island of Gigha is a well with some stones in it, and it is said that if the stones be taken out of it a great storm will arise. Two or three old men told M‘Intosh that they opened the well, and that a fearful storm arose, and they would swear to it if pressed to confirm their belief; they would affirm also to the existence of the Brunie in Cara.
In Carradale is a hill called Sroin-na-h-eana-chair, in which it is said an old creature resides from generation to generation, who makes a great noise before the death of individuals of a certain clan. An old man with whom M‘Intosh conversed on the subject declared that he had heard the cries himself, which made the whole glen tremble.
A little dwarf, called the “Caointeach,” or weeper, is said to weep before the death of some persons. Some people thought this supernatural creature very friendly. An old wifeaffirmed that she saw the little creature, about the size of a new-born infant, weep with the voice of a young child, and shortly afterwards got notice of the death of a friend. Others affirmed that they heard the trampling of people outside of the house at night, and shortly after a funeral left the house. Many stories are told about apparitions in the hearing of the young, making an impression which continues all their days. Peter the Catechist deprecates such conduct. He writes: “I have seen those who would not turn on their heel to save their life on the battle-field, who would tremble at the thought of passing alone a place said to be frequented by a spirit.”
Very provokingly he next observes, “It would be ridiculous to speak of the charms, omens, gestures, dreams, &c.” Now, the fact is, it is just these things which are matters of interest to an inquiring mind. They are absurdities to us, but they were not so once; and then comes the question, Why? He does, however, add a little to our fund of information relative to the second sight.
“An old man who lived at Crossibeg, four generations ago, saw visions, which were explained tohim by a supernatural being, descriptive of future events in Kintyre. An account of them was printed, and entitled ‘Porter’s Prophecies,’ which I have perused, but cannot tell if any of them have come to pass as yet, but some people believed them.
“The Laird of Caraskie, more than a century ago, is said to have had a familiar spirit called Beag-bheul, or little mouth, which talked to him, and took great care of him and his property. The spirit told him of a great battle which would be fought in Kintyre, and that the magpie would drink human blood from off a standing stone erected near Campbeltown. The stone was removed, and set as a bridge over the mill water, over which I have often traversed; but the battle has not been fought as yet, and perhaps never will be.
“The Rev. Mr. Boes, a minister of Campbeltown, more than a century ago, was said to have the second sight. One time being at the Assembly, and coming home on Saturday to preach to his congregation, he was overtaken by a storm, which drove the packet into Rothesay. He went to preach in the church on the Sabbath. The rafters of the church above not being lathed, inthe middle of his sermon he looked up, and with a loud voice cried, ‘Ye’re there, Satan; ye kept me from preaching to my own congregation, but ye cannot keep me from preaching for all that,’ and then went on with his sermon. At another time, his congregation having assembled on the Sabbath as usual, the minister was walking rapidly on the grass after the time of meeting, the elders not being willing to disturb him by telling him the time was expired. At last he clapped his hands, exclaiming, ‘Well done, John;’ the Duke of Argyle being at that moment at the head of the British army in Flanders fighting a battle in which he was victorious. The minister, by the power of the second sight, witnessed the battle, and exclaimed, when he saw it won, ‘Well done, John.’ He went afterwards and preached to his congregation.
“Another Sabbath, when preaching, a member of the congregation having fallen asleep, he cried to him ‘Awake.’ In a short time the man fell asleep again. The minister bade him awake again and hear the sermon. The man fell asleep the third time, when the minister cried, with a loud voice, ‘Awake, and hear this sermon, for it will be the last you will ever hear in thislife.’ Before the next Sabbath the man was dead. On the morning of a Communion Sabbath, Mr. Boes got up very early, convinced that something was wrong about the church. He examined it, and found that the beams of the gallery were almost sawn through by the emissaries of Satan, in order that the congregation, by the falling of the gallery, might be killed. He got carpenters and smiths employed till they put the church in a safe state, and proceeded with the solemn service of the day with great earnestness. Mr. Boes was sometimes severely tried with temptations, having imaginary combats with Satan, and, being very ill-natured, he would not allow any person to come near him. On one of these occasions he shut himself up in his room for three days. His wife being afraid he would starve with hunger, sent the servant-man with food to him, but the minister scattered it on the floor. The servant-man exclaimed, ‘The devil’s in the man!’ In a moment the minister, becoming calm, answered, ‘You are quite right,’ then partook of the food, and returned to his former habits.”
The following is a good illustration of an olden chief:—We have many traditional stories aboutSaddell Castle, in which Mr. M‘Donald or “Righ Fionghal” resided. He claimed despotic power over the inhabitants of Kintyre. It is said he knew the use of gunpowder, and often made a bad use of it. He would for sport shoot people, though they did him no harm, with his long gun, which was kept in Carradale for a long time after his death. His character is represented as being very tyrannical. Being once in Ireland, he saw a beautiful married woman, whom he fancied, and took away from her husband to Saddell. Her husband followed; but M‘Donald finding him, intended to have starved him to death without his wife knowing it. He was put in a barn, but he kept himself alive by eating the corn which he found there. M‘Donald removed him to another place, but a hen came in every day and kept him alive with her eggs. M‘Donald was anxious that the poor man should die, and placed him in another place, where he got nothing to eat, and it is said the miserable prisoner ate his own hand, then his arm to the elbow, before he died, and said, in Gaelic, “Dh’ith mi mo choig meoir a’s mo lamh gu’m uilleann. Is mor a thig air neach nach eiginu fhulang.” When they were burying him, his wife was on the top of thecastle, and asked whose funeral it was; she was told it was Thomson’s. “Is it my Thomson?” she inquired. “Yes,” they replied. She then said they might stop for a little till she would be with them. She immediately threw herself over the castle wall, and was carried dead with her husband to the same grave.
Perhaps, after all, Saxon rule has not been such an injury to the Western Isles of Scotland as some people think. At Kintyre there are plenty of schools, and parsons and policemen instead of robber chiefs; and if there are few freebooting expeditions to Ireland and elsewhere, it is quite as well that people have taken to a more decent mode of life.
Alas! my “to-morrow”—unlike that of the poet, which “never comes”—is at hand. Under a smiling sky, and on a summer sea, we thread our way past Arran, or the Land of Sharp Pinnacles, down the Kyles of Bute, where the scenery is of exquisite beauty; past Rothesay, the Hastings of the West, and with an aquarium said to be the finest in the world, and almost as flourishing as that Hastings of the South which rejoices in a yatchsman for M.P. of unrivalled fame; past Dunoon, till we drop anchor atHunters’ Quay. We seem all at once to have come into the world again. On every side of us there are steamers bearing tourists, and holiday-makers, and health-seekers to the crowded bathing-places and health resorts. As we approach our journey’s end, the Clyde seems covered with rowing-boats, and music and laughter echo along its waters. I feel a little sad to think that my brief holiday is over. The Doctor and the Doctor’s lady tell me we shall meet in London, and that is a consolation. Yes, we shall meet, but no more as equals on deck. He will be in the pulpit or on the platform, I beneath. There is no equality when a man puts on the black gown, and begins lecturing to the pew. The mutual standpoint vanishes like a dream. But when, oh, when shall I sail in such a model yacht as theElenaagain, or meet with such hospitality as I enjoyed at its worthy owner’s hands? His sons, amphibious as are all the Scotchmen, apparently, in these parts, row out to meet us. The greeting is as affectionate as mostly the greetings of the British race are. “What did you come back for? We were getting on very well without you,” were the first words I heard.
As next morning I crossed the Clyde, and took my seat in a crowded and early train, it seemed to me that rain was not far off, and that at Edinburgh Royalty might be favoured with a sight of what in England is known as Scotch mist. Nor were my forebodings wrong. The modern Athens was under a cloud, and many were the heavy-hearted who had come from far and near to do honour to the day. The Glasgow men have but a poor opinion of the citizens of Edinburgh. They took a very unfavourable view of the matter. If Edinburgh desired to have a statue of Albert the Good, why not? If the Queen liked to be present at its inauguration, there was no harm in that; if there were a little fuller ceremonial on the occasion, it was only what was to be expected; but that Edinburgh should hasten to wash her statues and decorate her streets; that she should clean up her shop-fronts,and drape her balconies; that she should devote a day to holiday-making; that she should go to the expense of Venetian masts and scarlet cloth—in short, that in this way Edinburgh should attempt to rival a London Lord Mayor’s Show, was one of those things no Glasgow fellow could understand.
And I own at first sight there seemed to be a good deal in the Glasgow criticism. Few cities have so fair a site as the noble metropolis of our northern brethren; few cities less require ornamentation. Hers emphatically is that beauty which unadorned is adorned the most. To stand in Princes Street, with the castle frowning on you on one side, and with the Calton Hill in front; to loiter under the fair memorial to Sir Walter Scott (by the side of which I am pleased to see a statue of Livingstone has just been placed); to look from the bridge which connects the New Town with the Old—on the distant hills and the blue sea beyond—is a pleasure in itself. With its far-reaching associations, with its memories of Wilson and Brougham, and Jeffery and Walter Scott, with its dark churches, in which John Knox thundered away at the fair and frail Mary, with itsancient palaces grim and venerable with stirring romance or startling crime, it seemed almost profane to send for the upholsterer, and to bid him deck out the streets and squares with gaudy colours and gay flowers. When on Thursday the morning opened cloudily on the scene, it seemed as if all this preparation had been thrown away; and bright eyes were for awhile dark and sad, and refusing to be comforted. However, the thing went on, nevertheless. The crowd turned out into the streets, the railways brought their tens of thousands from far and near; balconies were full, and all the windows; and the sight was one such as has not feasted the eyes of the oldest inhabitant for many a year. There were the soldiers to line the streets, there were the archers to guard the daïs, there were the Town Council and Lord Provost in their scarlet robes, there were the men whom Edinburgh delights to honour all before them, and, above all, the Duke of Connaught, the Princess Beatrice, Prince Leopold, Brown—the far-famed Highlander—and the Queen. The ceremony itself was not long. When Charlotte Square was reached, Her Majesty took the place assigned to her, and the work was speedily performed. AsHer Majesty went back by Princes Street, an additional interest was created, and Princes Street looked very well; its hotels and fashionable shops rejoiced in crimson and yellow banners, and the Walter Scott memorial even broke out in honour of the day. It was decorated with flags, which waved gaily in the sun—for the sun did come out, after all. But Princes Street was not the chief route. It was down George Street that Royalty drove, and it was there that the efforts of the decorative artist had been most effective. Some of them were very beautiful, and full of taste; but the lettering was rather small. Nor did the inscriptions display much ingenuity. They were mostly “Welcomes,” or invitations to “Come again.” It was the advertising tradesmen who were most ingenious in that way, and it was in the papers that their efforts appeared. As, for instance, an enterprising shoemaker writes:—
“Welcome, Victoria! Queen of Scottish hearts!In many a breast the loyal impulse starts”—
“Welcome, Victoria! Queen of Scottish hearts!In many a breast the loyal impulse starts”—
and then finishes with a recommendation of his boots and shoes. As a crowd, also, it must be noted that the mob was far graver than a London one, and that little attempt was made either to relieve the tedium of waiting the arrival ofthe procession, or to turn a penny by the sale of the various articles which seem invariably to be required by a London mob. The boys who sell the evening papers, one would have thought, would have had correct programmes of the procession, and portraits of the Queen and Prince Albert to dispose of. As it was, all that was hawked about was an engraving of the statue itself.
As to the statue, it will be one of the many for which Edinburgh is famous, and at present, as the latest, is considered one of the best. It is in a good position in Charlotte Square—the finest of the Edinburgh squares—and stands by itself. Afar off is William Pitt; and, further off still, unfortunately for the morals of Albert the Good, who is placed just by, is George the Magnificent, swaggering in his cloak, in tipsy gravity, as it were; and at St. Andrew’s Square, at the other end, proudly towers above all the Melville Monument. That was utilised on the day in question in an admirable manner—Venetian masts were erected at the end of the grass-plat which surrounds it. Ropes rich with bunting were suspended between them and the statue, which was gaily decked with flags. It was in this neighbourhood, and as you went onto Holyrood, that the ornaments were of the richest character. Of the sixty designs submitted to the committee, the preference was given to that of Mr. John Steell, R.S.A., who was subsequently knighted by Her Majesty. It was on the occasion of the great Volunteer review in the Queen’s Park, in 1861, that Prince Albert was seen by the largest number of Scotch people; and it has evidently been the aim of the artist to represent him as he was then—in his uniform of field-marshal, with his cocked hat in his right hand, while he holds the reins in his left. The princely rank of the wearer is indicated by an order on the left breast. In order that the representation might be as perfect as possible, Her Majesty lent the artist the very uniform worn on the occasion referred to. The modelling of the busts was also done at Windsor Castle, under Royal supervision. The horse was modelled from one lent by the Duke of Buccleugh. On the pedestal are bas-reliefs indicative of the character and pursuits of His Royal Highness. On one side his marriage is represented; on another his visit to the International Exhibition. Again we see him peacefully happy at home in the bosom of his family; thenagain as a rewarder of the merit he was ever anxious to discover and befriend. In one part of the design are quotations from the Prince’s speeches, and classical emblems; rank and wealth and talent, in all phases of society, down to the very lowest, are represented as uniting to do honour to the dead. In this varied work Mr. Steell was assisted, at his own request, by Mr. William Brodie, Mr. Clark Stanton, and the late Mr. MacCallum, whose unfinished work was completed by Mr. Stevenson. The equestrian figure is upwards of fourteen feet high, and weighs about eight tons. The pedestal is of five blocks of Peterhead granite. According to a contemporary, the Queen’s emotion was manifest when the statue was unveiled. The Scotch are a cautious people, and are very slow in expressing an opinion on the memorial. All I can say is, that I prefer it very much to that statue at the commencement of the Holborn Viaduct, on which Mr. Meeking’s young men look down every day.
It was on the next day that you saw the statue and the preparations to the most advantage, and such seemed to be the opinion of all Edinburgh and the surrounding country. A cloudless skyand an Indian sun tinted everything with gold, and a smart breeze set all the flags of the Venetian masts waving all along the line in a way at once effective and bewildering. Fashionable people filled up the streets, dashing equipages drove rapidly past, shops were crammed, waiters at the hotels were tired to death. I never saw so many hungry Scots as I did at a celebrated restaurant, and a hungry Scot is not a pleasant sight; and at the railway station I question whether half the people got into their right carriages after all. Porters and guards seemed alike confused; and the people walked up and down the platform of the Waverley Station as sheep without a shepherd. However, wearied and hungry and bewildered as they were, they had had a day’s pleasure, and that was enough.
As for myself I took the Waverley route, and gliding past the ruins of Craig Millar Castle—the prison-house of James the Fifth, and the favourite residence of Queen Mary—and vainly trying to catch a view of Abbotsford, of which one can see but the waving woods, was gratified with a glimpse of Melrose, where rests the heart of Bruce, which the Douglas had vainly striven to carry to Palestine. All round me arenames and places connected with border tradition and song. Dryburgh Abbey is not far off, nor Hazeldean, nor Minto House. Passing along the banks of the Teviot, by the frowning heights of Rubertslaw on the left, I reach Hawick, whose history abounds in heroic tale and legendary lore, although the present town is now only known as an important and flourishing emporium of the woollen manufactures. Passing up the vale of the Slitrig, famous in legendary story, we come to Stobs Castle and Branxholme House, celebrated in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel.” Close by is Hermitage Castle, founded by Comyn, Earl of Monteith, where Lord de Soulis was boiled as a reputed sorcerer at a Druidical spot, named the Nine Stane Rig, at the head of the glen. At Kershope Foot the railway, having passed through the land of the Armstrongs, renowned in border warfare, enters England. Once more I am at home, thankful to have seen so much of beauty and blessedness, of wonders in heaven above, and on the earth beneath, and in the waters underneath the earth; thankful also for improved health and power of work acquired by yachting among the islands of the Western Coast.
Improved and Accelerated Service ofNEW EXPRESS TRAINSbetweenENGLAND & SCOTLANDby theSETTLE AND CARLISLE ROUTE.
The SUMMER SERVICE of EXPRESS TRAINS between LONDON (St. Pancras) and SCOTLAND is now in operation, and Express Trains leave St. Pancras for Scotland at 5.15 and 10.30 a.m., and at 8.0 and 9.15 p.m. on Week-Days, and at 9.15 p.m. only on Sundays.
A new NIGHT EXPRESS TRAIN now leaves St. Pancras for Edinburgh and Perth at 8 p.m. on Week-Days, arriving at Perth at 8.40 a.m., in connection with Trains leaving Perth for Montrose and Aberdeen at 9.20 a.m., and for Inverness and Stations on the Highland Railway at 9.30 a.m.
A new Night Express in connection with the Train leaving Inverness at 12.40 p.m., Aberdeen at 4.5 p.m., and Dundee at 6.30 p.m., leaves Perth at 7.25 p.m., and Edinburgh at 10.30 p.m. on Week-Days, arriving at St. Pancras at 8.30 a.m.
A PULLMAN SLEEPING CAR is run between ST. PANCRAS and PERTH in each direction by these Trains.
Pullman Sleeping Cars are also run from St. Pancras to Edinburgh and Glasgow by the Night Express leaving London at 9.15 p.m.; and from Edinburgh and Glasgow to St. Pancras by the Express leaving Edinburgh at 9.20 p.m., and Glasgow at 9.15 p.m. on Week-Days and Sundays. Pullman Drawing-Room Cars are run between the same places by the Day Express Trains leaving St. Pancras for Edinburgh and Glasgow at 10.30 a.m., and Glasgow at 10.15 a.m., and Edinburgh at 10.30 a.m. for St. Pancras.
These Cars are well ventilated, fitted with Lavatory, &c., accompanied by a special attendant, and areunequalled for comfort and conveniencein travelling.
The 9.15 p.m. Express from St. Pancras reaches Greenock in ample time for passengers to join the “Iona” steamer.
Tourist Tickets, available for two months, are issued from St. Pancras and all principal stations on the Midland Railway to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Greenock, Oban (by “Iona” steamer from Greenock), and other places of tourist resort in all parts of Scotland.
The Passenger Fares and the Rates for Horses and Carriages between stations in England and stations in Scotland have been revised and considerably reduced by the opening of the Midland Company’s Settle and Carlisle Route.
Guards in charge of the Through Luggage and of Passengers travelling between London and Edinburgh and Glasgow by the Day and Night Express Trains in each direction.
Derby,August, 1877.
JAMES ALLPORT,General Manager.
GLASGOW and the HIGHLANDS.
THE ROYAL MAIL STEAMERS,(Royal Route viâ Crinan and Caledonian Canals)
Iona,
Linnet,
Islay,
Chevalier,
Cygnet,
Clydesdale,
Gondolier,
Plover,
Clansman,
Mountaineer,
Staffa,
Lochawe,
Pioneer,
Glencoe,
Lochiel,
Glengarry,
Inverary Castle,
Lochness,
and Queen of the Lake,
Sail during the season for Islay, Oban, Fort-William, Inverness, Staffa, Iona, Lochawe, Glencoe, Tobermory, Portree, Gairloch, Ullapool, Lochinver, and Stornoway; affording Tourists an opportunity of visiting the magnificent scenery of Glencoe, the Coolin Hills, Loch Coruisk, Loch Maree, and the famed Islands of Staffa and Iona.
Time Bill with Maps free by post on application to DAVID HUTCHESON & CO., 119, Hope-street, Glasgow.