provided us with a boat and oarsmen, and we proceeded

through the

pass from which

"Loch Katrine lay beneath us roll'd-.

In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light;

And mountains that like giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land."

How accurate and graphic the picture! This lake is about seven miles long, and perhaps half a mile wide. We sailed over its smooth and brilliantly-dark transpa rent surface, and touched the banks of Ellen's Isle:

"The stranger view'd the shore around,

'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound,

Nor track, nor path-way might declare
That human foot frequented there."

Our boatman here gave us a specimen of the wonderful echoes.* His shrill call was answered three times, with perfect distinctness, and apparently from a great distance. He had a pithy way of talking, this rower. 'Do the sun's rays,' I asked, ' ever reach that glen under Ben An?' who here

6

"Lifts high his forehead bare."

'Yes,' he said; 'they give just a peep, to say 'Howd'ye-do? and are off again.'

Is it five English miles across the next pass?

"Father she cried; the rocks around

Love to prolong the gentle sound !'"

Loch-Lomond to Inverary.

English miles, but a Scotch road.'

145

We passed the goblin cave, and enjoyed all at which 'the stranger' was enraptured and amazed; that soft vale,' and this bold brow,' and 'yonder meadow far away.' On landing, our boat-party found ponies in waiting to take us over the rough and dreary pass to Loch-Lomond. Our cavalcade, with the guides, straggling along between these wild hills and precipices, was a subject for the pencil. There were some odd geniuses among us, too, who contributed much to our amusement. Arrived at Loch-Lomond, we descended a rocky steep, to the banks where the steam-boat from Glasgow was to call for us. The place is called Inversnaid; but the only habitation in sight was a little hut, at the foot of a pretty cascade, where Wordsworth wrote: 'And I, methinks, till I grow old, So fair a scene shall ne'er behold, As I do now-the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the water-fall,

And thou the spirit of them all.'

The boat took us to the head of the loch to see Rob Roy's Cave, (which also once gave shelter to Robert Bruce,) and then reversed her course toward Glasgow. As we proposed to see Inverary, and some of the Western Islands, we landed at Tarbet, opposite Ben Lomond. The sky looked too black to warrant an ascent; but with glasses we could see several persons on the sugar-loaf summit. A tourist wrote on the window of the inn here, in 1777, a chapter of metrical advice to those

'Whose taste for grandeur and the dread sublime

Prompt them Ben Lomond's dreadful height to climb.'

From Tarbet, we took a car and rode through the grand but dreary pass of Glencroe, Ben Arthur frowning upon us for six miles, and went round the head of Loch Long to Cairndow, on Loch Fine, where we again took boat for Inverary, and had a charming moonlight sail. This is a very neat and pretty little village, belonging almost entirely to the Duke of Argyle. The houses are mostly white, and evidently arranged for effect, being clearly reflected in the quiet lake, like Isola Bella, in Italy. The duke's castle, near the village, is an elegant modern edifice, of blue granite, with a circular tower at each corner. We had a ride through the extensive parks and pleasure-grounds, which are filled with every variety of valuable exotic trees. The owner of this fine estate has not been here for fifteen years; no great argument for his grace's good taste, or justice to his tenants. Some of the most eminent British artists have found ample employment for their pencils in this neighbour. hood. The loch is celebrated for its fine herrings, which is the chief article of trade of Inverary.

Loch-Fine-The Clyde.

147

X.

SCOTLAND CONTINUED.

The Western Isles-Sail up the Clyde-Dumbarton Castle-Glas gow—Cathedral, University, etc.—Linlithgow—Return to Edinburgh and London-Sleam Ships-Waverley Novels.

MONDAY MORNING.-At three o'clock we were awakened for the steam-boat, and were not more than half dressed, when the steam ceased from growling, and the bell from tolling; nevertheless, we caught up what garments remained, leaving a few as wind-falls to the chamber-maid, and fled to the dock. The steamer was off, sure enough, but came to, and sent a boat for us, on seeing our signals. It is now broad day-light, and was, indeed, at two o'clock! The sail down Loch Fine is rather tedious. It is a salt-water lake, from thirty to forty miles in length, and the shores are low and barren as the sea-coast.

We stopped at several places for passengers, and passing between the isles of Bute and Arran, (celebrated in ‘The Lord of the Isles,') we entered the Kyles of Bute, where the shores are verdant and interesting.

At the town of Rothsay, on the Isle of Bute, we saw the ruins of the famous Rothsay Castle; and a few miles farther we passed the Castle of Dunoon, and several pretty summer-villas on the banks of the water. Entering the Frith of Clyde, we stopped at the flourishing ports of Greenock and Port Glasgow, and the strong fortress of

Dumbarton, built on a lofty and picturesque rock, at the mouth of the river Clyde. From here, is a fine view of the Vale of Leven, and the whole outline of Ben Lomond, about fifteen miles distant. The pretty vale in the foreground is the scene of Smollet's beautiful ode:

'On Leven's banks when free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,

I envied not the happiest swain

That ever trod the Arcadian plain.'

In sailing up the Clyde, the most remarkable sight was the immense number of steam-boats which passed us in rapid succession. We met no less than twenty-one, of a large class, on the river, all bound out; and I was told that upward of eighty are owned in Glasgow alone. We landed at Glasgow, after a voyage of twelve hours, during which we had stopped at as many different places. I was surprised at the extent and elegance of Glasgow, as much as at its evident importance as a manufacturing and commercial city. It seems to be scarcely second to Liverpool, and is certainly the third city in Great Britain on the score of population and trade.

It is too far up the river for a seaport, so that Greenock is a sharer in its prosperity. The buildings, like those of the new town of Edinburgh, are nearly all of a handsome free-stone, which is found in great abundance near the city, and is the cheapest as well as the best material they can use. Loss by fire is especially rare. Some of the private residences would do honor to the west end of London.