HIGHLAND MEMORIES 157 



since this line of rail was constructed, a testimony to the ingenuity 

 of the builders. 



The line hugs Loch Long more or less as far as Arrochar and 

 Tarbet, striking inland a little until, towards the head of the 

 loch, we are again at a high altitude, with the gleaming water 

 several hundred feet below. As experienced from a rocking 

 railway corridor for the first time, one unused to such things is 

 bound to be a little perturbed, and I honestly admit it was the 

 first time I ever felt nervous in a railway train ! On pulling up 

 at Arrochar, however, our nerves were strengthened, for, soon 

 after leaving the little Highland station mentioned, Ben Lomond, 

 as well as Loch Lomond, came in sight. The great aim of the 

 constructors of this line of rail seems to have been to afford the 

 passenger all the scenic effects possible, for the line hugs the 

 bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond in a delightful way, and 

 the wooded banks on the opposite shore appeal to the eye and 

 the imagination in a way that cannot be set down in cold print. 

 The reader will, of course, know how lovely Loch Lomond has 

 been immortalised. I can myself testify that its beauties have 

 not been one whit exaggerated. It is without doubt the finest 

 Scottish loch I have seen. I shall attempt to describe at a later 

 stage another trip I had to Loch Lomond yesterday, so, for the 

 time being, must very reluctantly bid it adieu. In the mean- 

 time we are looking at Ben Lomond (3192 feet) from the railway 

 carriage window. It towers above the loch like a huge cone 

 of dark lead-coloured sugar, the clouds embracing it, and putting 

 on a nightcap long before it is time to go to bed. We are so 

 enraptured with Loch Lomond and its bonnie banks, with the 

 Fir woods, which some recent storm has razed to the ground 

 with the majestic glens and mountain ranges now coming into 

 sight, that we draw up unexpectedly at Ardlui at the head of 

 the loch, before we realise we are at our next stopping place. 



After leaving Ardlui, we were soon travelling rapidly north- 

 wards, and, as we steamed into the station at Crianlarich, I saw 

 snow in the month of August for the first time. When one- 

 remembers that during these last few weeks I have been a pilgrim 

 in a land which has experienced the greatest drought within 

 living memory, the presence of snow on the sheltered crevice of 

 a mountain will appear all the more remarkable. On the east 

 side of Crianlarich station, there rises in stately grandeur the 

 mountain of Ben More. It is 3843 feet in height, and, towards 

 the summit, a large patch of snow could be easily discerned with 



