The Spell of Scotland

hose who are content and able to take the Trossachs as a beautiful bit of the world, like any lake or mountain country which is unsung, an

t eve had d

the moon on

s midnight

nartney's h

n

f gold the k

er Malcolm's

y drew the

clasp in El

knowledge; and half love-half love is maddening, shou

ions had not yet become a fetich. Since then I have looked with respect and affection on that impress of "1810." I have never looked on it with longing. So much better, that first edition of mine, an ordinary sage-green cloth-bound book, with ornamental black and gold title, such as the inartistic Eighties sent forth; I do like to note that the year of its imprint is the year of my possession. It has not even a gilt edge, I am pleased to state. The paper is creamy, the ink is not always clear. And because it went through one fire and flood, the pages have little brown ripples, magic

against that which was provided. There was especial prejudice in my own household. I think my teacher in school may have shared it. If he were an adult he would read,

mathematics-as I thought who had not even a moiety-and because, oh, very much because, of the splendid tussle he had-tulzie! that's the word-a very battle royal to my small terrified fascinated vision, there on the school-room floor, with the two Dempsey boys,

erstudy to the comba

t then with

field his ta

Tros

cs, with measurement; to-day it is possible to follow the stag at eve, and all the rest of it, in all its footsteps;

." The most remembering traveler has crossed the seas and buried his megalomanian American memories, let it be hoped, in the depths of the Atlantic. Neither Rockies nor Andes carry so far or so rich memories. Sir Walter has never projected an imaginary Roderick Dhu or a King errant i

thing in revolt-for no other reason than that Highlanders so long as they were Highlanders had to seethe and revolt. And if we would subdue the High

RTON

nd, en tour, and to go back to Stirling with Fitz

hand-the r

nd usher kno

Wallace was prisoner, passing the river Leven, which ought to interest us, for once its "pure stream" on his own confes

banks, and by y

shines bright

true love spent

bonnie banks o

mean to be romantic and sentimental and unashamed and ungrammatical.

attle of Glenfruin were very calamitous to the family of MacGregor." Sixty widows of the Colquhouns rode to Stirling each on a white palfrey, a "choir of mourning dames." James VI, that most moral monarch, let loose his judicious wrath, the very name of the clan was proscribed,

e lake, and the m

a name that is

gather, gathe

gather

f name and pursue

the flame, and their

vengeance, venge

vengeance

of Loch Katrine th

Ben Lomond the ga

gather, gathe

gather,

due respect, for it is a deer park of the present Duke of Montrose. I know not if he is descended from The Montrose, or from Malcolm Graeme and Fair Ellen, but let us believe it; it does not do to smile at the claims of long

is an outlandish scene; we might have believed ourselves in

sides. For I know one traveler who wished to be loyal to the Ben, and having seen it in 1889, and not seen it for the thick Sc

n heart kens n

we may be whil

ghway and I'll t

Rob Roy's prison, Rob Roy's cave, Rob Roy's grave, and all. And though there are other claims hereabout, and although Robert Bruce hi

o walk the pleasant ambling highways, that by some good public fortune run near the "bonny bonny banks," and, in spite o

so near a Scotch day actually descend upon the top of the Ben-it is not the mildest sensation to find one's foot poised just at the edge of a precipice. It is not well to defy these three thousand feet because one has climbed higher heights. Ben Lomond can do its bit. And it can furnish a panorama which the taller B

am dropped the package of lunch in the water. So like William! I wonder Dorothy let him

o Heaven! tha

to this lo

had; and

way my r

ke these it

eel that she

inks, till

fore me sh

ow, the c

he bay, the

he spirit o

llow travelers who quote and misquote the lines. No, it shall be on foot, up through the steep glen of Arklet water, out on the high open moor where the Highland cattle browse, with Ben Voirlich constantly in view, and Be

s-of which Rob Roy was one-in subjection. And the American looks with interest because here, in his youth-which was all he ever had in truth-General Wolfe, who fell on the Heights of Abraham but won Quebec, commanded the fort of this Highland height. I

len MacGregor, wife of Rob Roy, was born at Loch Arklet, and across the hill in Glengyle Rob Roy was born, conveniently.) The piper piped most valiantly. I shoul

when Dorothy Wordsworth viewed it, "the whole lake appeared a solitude, neither boat, islands, nor houses, no grandeur in the hills, nor any loveliness on the shores." Poor

KAT

w our way. We were approaching it from the direction opposite to Majesty, the soft gray

r's dawn r

anged Loch K

soft the we

lake, just sti

sed lake, li

t dimpled n

n shadows o

er broken

uncertaint

e joys to

-lily to

rear'd of si

woke and

h dewdrops,

t left the m

how'd its gli

e in fle

ent down h

rd and the s

gave from br

coo'd the

peace, and re

to come upon it as came Fitz James. With a glass of milk for fast-breaking-we had had a substantial breakfast at Inversnaid, and

. He did, you remember; refusing to charge upon Ben Venue, and thus avoiding the future site of the Water Works of the Corporation of the City of Glasgow.

lear in the increasing sunlight, but mists still skirted his feet; while Venue was mist-clad from base to summit, the thin wh

de hither-but then, we remembered, the stag did know, did save himself. Fishermen were out in their boats, and altogether we

that the owner of The Glashart would be gracious when we sent him word of his eviction. Glashart is a short wa

es of walk, come noontide and a

refuge fro

ol Jarvie," because this is all Rob Roy country. In truth we felt at home with the Baillie, and wi

twilight, too late for dinner, but Baillie Nicol was kind and we could have supper on our return. So we were off to Menteith, and

e southern shore is wooded. Near the southern shore lies anchored the Island of Inchmahone-isle of rest-where once stood a priory, and now on

island of refuge, since the defeat at Pinkie meant that Henry VIII was nea

ers, marine

il upon

ather nor mo

that I m

ance, together they made merry and made love at the French

e queen had

he'll hae

ie Seton, and

Carmicha

ave ever lost her since historic memories came to be my own personal memories. And yet, I knew I should fin

one poem of the region, with the far view, and with birches closing in the highway now and then, and no

RIG O

uick clouds, rushing across a deep blue, compact white clouds which say nothing of rain, and very vivid air, the surfaces and the shadows being closely defined. The birch leaves played gleefully

e Brig o' T

t horseman

with unba

ch cluster about the foot of Glen Finglas, typical Highland cottages. Not the kind, I regret and do not regret, which Dorothy Wordsworth describes with such triumph, where William and Dorothy and Coleridge put up-"we caroused our cups of coffee, laughing like children," over the adventure;

ossachs hotel, which aspires to look like a Lady-of-the-Lake Abbotsford, and

d the bell far off in the woods

opsewo

nd wept on L

ng from the countryside repossess their own, and of course the tourists are not in the church, or if there, with a subdued quality. The coaches d

Tros

tch it by no other Scottish sky, and only by the sky which shone down when we first came to the Lake, that ?on ago-and by th

ssed nothing, not even the horn of the Knight of Snowdoun. The paths twine and retwine, through this bosky birchen wo

d breaks, rocks heap themselves, a

own a dark

hound and h

Trossachs'

tary ref

d the story and I knew that the stag had escaped. I felt even more certain of it in

t of my own more certain knowledge. So I chose a lovely green spot-notwithstanding my remembrance of "stumblin

e chase, woe

hy life, my

way which James Fitz James was forced to take, I came again to The L

rn waves o

the glen the

peak, each f

n floods of

etting beam

e dark ra

the path in

y a rocky

bruptly fr

-splintered

ats to hire, on this Sunday, and I was not Malcolm Gr?me to swim the space. But there it lay, bosky and beautiful, a

ir

p boldly-in the m

coming on it from the North, English coming on it from the South, must have

ossess; either on one's own valiant two feet or on the resounding four feet of a battle charger. Alas, to-day one does neither. But-there lies Stirling rising fro

out of the plain, for the defense and the contention of man. And because Stirling lies, between East and West, between Nor

the east, the Grampians gray and stalwart to the north, and on the west the peaks of the Highlands, Ben Lomond and all the hills that rampart "The Lady of the Lake." All around the sky were r

wars, a mere human speck in the twentieth century look down on seven battlefields. Did Pharaoh see more, or as

and the Painted People fell back, and Kenneth, who did

liam Wallace with a thousand men-but Scotsmen-defeated the Earl

Falkirk, and Wallace was defeated. But n

y thousand Scots against a hundred thousand English, Iris

eburn, the nobles against James III, and James

ir, when Mar and Albany with all their men marche

great moments; how his great moments stand forth in

remendous

ha'e wi' W

Bruce has

n charge of that defense-"there falls a rose from your chaplet"-it is almost too romantic not to be apocryphal; and how Moray (who was the Randolph Moray who scaled the crags at Edinburgh that March night) countered the English dash for the castle and won out; how in the evening of the day as King Robert was inspecting his lines for the b

stirrups st

s battle-ax

oune, the whi

rn dint-the f

h upon the b

crashed lik

field that lies so unremembering to the south of the castle. There is no more splendid moment in human history, unless all battl

ads past the Bridge of Allan, on to Dunblane, near which is the hill of Sheriffmuir. You can see the two armies in the distance o

ay that

y that

that nane w

e thing

t Sher

ere was tha

an, and

ran, an

n and we ra

n. Or, is it? It looks that way, at this quiet moment, in this quiet century, and in this country where there is such quiet; a country with such a long tumult, a country with

astle stoo

ed sun at

s of the castle at Edinburgh as anything but romantic, of the troops as anything but decorative. Stirling is still

ing C

ruin, and was moved to express his Jacobiti

s once in gl

Scotland's

of'd their p

r's sway'd b

d Stuart l

ndish fills

Dhu, and here you get the beginnings of that long song of the Lake,

he picture

n met the S

n, till my

words, the cra

the Earl of Douglass (1452). It is a dark room for a dark

e cross it

ged my ki

hunder cloud

nsheathed

e king that

e so oft

haughty Dou

ed it to

a second Stewart, must have been great-"my kingly word"! and a "half sheathed" sword! Perhaps we shall have to forgive this secon

he Stewarts have dearly loved. At Stirling it seems more possible that James V did write those poems which, yesterday in Edinburgh I felt like attributing to James IV. North of the bridge there is a hill, Moat H

l pass with ane lass." It was from Stirling that she was taken to France, and when she returned she included Stirling in her royal progress. I cannot think she was much here. Mary was not dour. Stil

carousing-as usual-in Willie Bell's Lodging, still standing in Broad Street, if you care to look on it. Young James merely looked at the ceiling of the High church, and pointing his innocent finger at it, gravely criticized, "there is a hole." James w

e Buchanan who was his mother's instructor-and her defamer. Perhaps he was the author of the betraying Casket letter; in spite of Froude's criticism based on internal evidence, that only Shakespeare or Mary could have written it. I can almost forgive Buchanan,

hat capital with the king also in his keeping. Years and years after, when Scotland demanded back her records, they wer

uty-which is not temporal. Else would the prospect from these ramparts not linger immortally i

e mysterious octagonal mound; it may have looked lovelier when Mary looked d

for Wallace. Just below is the old Bridge which-not this bridge, but it looks old enough with its venerable five hundred years-divided the English forces. Near by, on one of the Links, stands the tower of Cambuskenneth Abbey, a pleasant walk through fields and a ferry ride across the Forth, to this memoried place, which once was a great abbey among abbeys; I doubt not David founded it. Bruce once held a parliament in it. Now it is tenanted chiefly by the

Bridge of Allan, come to be

anks of A

fair a

is Dunblane, with a re

e down o'er the

clouds to presi

tray in the calm

Jessie the flow

E CA

woods, away to the right, a

ng will

the Cast

ee the Ea

ing throug

his lordship-"oh, woe betide ye, Huntly"-to do the deed. It was our same kingly James VI, and I like to think that his life

ld queen was proudest of her blood from the eternally young queen. An inscription on the wa

overeign sinc

g a visit to Stirling. Consequently there were no carriages at the station-and one must be very careful how one walked on the royal crimson carpet. Two small boys who scorned royalt

gates were

drawbridge r

loud the fl

coursers' cl

down the s

d's King and

ntageous casements. The king and queen passed. I saw them plainly-yes, plainly. And the people were curiously quiet. They did not mutte

with such grace and dignity and retained power-looking with me at the memorial tablet to Queen Victoria and Prince

le space. (I remembered the old pun perpetrated by Lord Palmerston, when he was with Queen Victoria at the reviewing of the troops returned from the Crimea, and at the queen's complaining th

whither I went, because in the very old days I had known intimately, as

who had died about mid-century record that he died "at Plean Junction." Somehow it seemed very un

ople. But what a curious linking with this very old town. I thought of a man who had hurried away from Montana the winter before, because he wa

es Gardens; this green and pastoral, that multicoloured and urban. The whole situation is very similar, the long ridge of the town, the heaven-topping castle hill. Stirling is the Old Town of Edin