CHAPTER ONE HIGHLAND LAKES 





HE beauties of Loch Lomond, Loch Awe, 

 and several other of the Highland lakes, are 

 ■ almost as well known to the English as Re- 

 _^^^ gent Street or Hyde Park. Lovely and mag- 

 nificent as all these visited lakes are, and worthy of the 

 praise of the poet and the pencil of the painter, there are 

 unnumbered other Highland lochs whose less hackneyed 

 beauties have far greater charms for me. Visit Loch Lo- 

 mond, or many others, and you find yourself surrounded 

 by spruce cockneys, in tight- waisted shooting-jackets,plaid 

 waistcoats, and (so called) Glengarry bonnets, all of whom 

 fancy themselves facsimiles of Roderick Dhu, or James 

 Fitz-James; and quote Sir Walter to young ladies in tartan 

 scarfs, redolent, nevertheless, of the land of Cockayne. 

 Steam-boats and coaches are admirable things, but they 

 spoil one's train of ideas, and terminate one's reverie when 

 enjoying the grandeur and sublimity of one of these spots 

 of beauty. Though a steam-boat, at a certain number of 

 miles' distance, with its stream of smoke winding over the 

 rocky shore of a large lake, and adding a new feature to the 

 scene, may occasionally come in with good effect; — when 

 it approaches and comes spluttering and groaning near 

 you, with its smoke drifting right into your face, and driv- 

 ing you from some favourite point or bay, you are apt to 

 turn your back on lake, boat, and scenery, with a feeling of 

 annoyance and disgust. I well remember being one bright 

 summer's day on the shore of Loch Ness, and enjoying 

 the surpassing loveliness of the scene. The perfectly calm 

 loch was like a mirror, reflecting the steep red crags of the 

 opposite shore; and the weeping birch-trees feathering 



